Writing Group: The Last Song We Sing (PRIVATE)

Hellooo Musicians, Soloists and Choir Members! 

I hope you’ve all sufficiently warmed up your voices. We have an important performance to put on tonight! Because…

This week’s Writing Group prompt is:

The Last Song We Sing

Make sure you scroll down and read them if you haven’t! You may not be eligible if you don’t!

This is a prompt filled with poetic melancholy. It’s the idea of an end of sorts, but an end that comes with a song—going out with a bang, or a roar, or with gentle warble. 

The first thing that comes to mind for me is a literal take on the prompt—the last song before someone’s death. You could write about a funeral march. A singer might be sick, and want to put on one last show before they die. Or perhaps loved ones sing to a sick person on their death bed. Perhaps someone doesn’t realize it’ll be the last song they sing before they get into an accident. Or maybe death is not so melancholy— warriors might sing before or during battle, ready to go to Valhalla. Maybe a group of rebels know they’re going on a suicide mission, and they sing together on their last night; they are helping their cause tomorrow…at the price of their lives. I also think of movies like Captain America or Star Trek (2012), where someone has to sacrifice themselves so that others might live—in both situations the character sacrificing themselves could have sang a final song with the person on the comms. Maybe you could write about a mythical creature, and their customs around song—maybe sirens have a way of serenading their dead that is both haunting and harmonious. 

There are other kinds of tragedies you may want to use this prompt for. Perhaps someone is developing polyps on their vocal chords and wants to sing one last song before they lose their voice. I could see a story like Ariel’s being told with this prompt—someone giving up their voice, and singing a last song, their very notes captured and taken away. 

Or maybe you want to go bittersweet with it. You could write about a high school choir singing at their own graduation before going their separate ways; the choir might get new members, but this is the last song the seniors will sing. Perhaps a party of adventurers is splitting up and they sing one last song around the fire before they start a new chapter of their lives. 

Or maybe you don’t want to add anything bitter in your story—just the sweet part. It all hinges on what the word “last” refers to. Because “last” could simply be the last song in a concert or show. The last song a band or bard sings on tour before going back home. The last song a group of friends sings at a bar before going home for the night. It could be the last song before a new beginning. Perhaps someone is going to change—whether in a way that is mental or physical, or simply changing their stage name—and they sing one last song as their previous self. Or else they may be revealing a truth about themselves to the world through their last song before it’s revealed. Maybe a couple sings a song that doubles as a proposal—their last song before they are married. You could even use this in a “one more level” sort of way; maybe your character says “Okay, but this is the LAST song we sing” …but they keep going for hours on end. 

You could also use this in a symbolic way. The last story an author writes, the last art piece a painter makes, things like that could symbolically function as a last song. Even something like the last game in a tabletop roleplaying campaign could be the last song, so to speak. However, if you go this direction, I will warn you to make sure the prompt is still clear within your story! 

You may have noticed that, for my challenges, I like to find the direction in which I think people’s brains will most likely go with the prompt, and challenge you to go the opposite direction. This prompt is no different. I think the most natural trajectory of this prompt is to think of death, and general melancholy. My challenge is for you to make this prompt about something other than death, and/or something that isn’t melancholy. 

My other challenge for you is the same as one we had a while back: pick a real song and use it somehow in your story—be it that the characters are singing that song in the story, or simply that you listen to it while you write and let its rhythms influence you, even if it’s not directly mentioned. (Feel free to share these in generalchat-media!)

Remember, these challenges aren’t mandatory! They are meant to be a fun bonus if you’d like to have a little extra challenge. But, if you don’t want to use them, please don’t feel obligated to!

The curtains are about to open, everyone! Take a deep breath, and don’t forget the lyrics. We’ve practiced this hundreds of times! I know you’ve got this.  


Remember, this is part of our weekly Writing Group stream! Submit a little piece following the rules and guidelines below, and there’s a chance your entry will be read live on stream! In addition, we’ll discuss it for a minute and give you some feedback.

Tune into the stream this Saturday at 3:00pm CST to see if you made the cut!

The whole purpose of this is to show off the creativity of the community, while also helping each other to become better writers. Lean into that spirit! Get ready not just to share what you’ve got, but to give back to the other writers here as well.

Rules and Guidelines

We read at least five stories during each stream, two of which come from the public post, and three of which come from the much smaller private post. Submissions are randomly selected by a bot, but likes on your post will improve your chances of selection, so be sure to share your submission on social media!

  1. Text and Formatting

    1. English only.
    2. Prose only, no poetry or lyrics.
    3. Use proper spelling, grammar, and syntax.
    4. Your piece must be between 250-350 words (you can use this website to see your wordcount).
    5. Use two paragraph breaks between each paragraph so that they have a proper space between them (press “enter” or “return” twice).
    6. Include a submission title and an author name (doesn’t have to be your real name). Do not include any additional symbols or flourishes in this part of your submission. Format them exactly as you see in this example, or your submission may not be eligible: Example Submission.
    7. No additional text styling (such as italics or bold text). Do not use asterisks, hyphens, or any other symbol to indicate whether text should be bold, italic, or styled in any other way. CAPS are okay, though.
  2. What to Submit

    1. Keep submissions “safe-for-work”; be sparing with sexuality, violence, and profanity.
    2. Try to focus on making your submission a single meaningful moment rather than an entire story.
    3. Write something brand new; no re-submitting past entries or pieces written for other purposes
    4. No fan fiction whatsoever. Take inspiration from whatever you’d like, but be transformative and creative with it. By submitting, you also agree that your piece does not infringe on any existing copyrights or trademarks, and you have full license to use it.
    5. Submissions must be self-contained (everything essential to understanding the piece is contained within the context of the piece itself—no mandatory reading outside the piece required. e.g., if you want to write two different pieces in the same setting or larger narrative, you cannot rely on information from one piece to fill in for the other—they must both give that context independently).
  3. Submission Rules

    1. One submission per participant.
    2. Submit your entry in a comment on this post.
    3. Submissions close at 12:00pm CST each Friday.
    4. You must like and leave a review on two other submissions to be eligible. Your reviews must be at least 50 words long, and must be left directly on the submission you are reviewing, not on another comment. If you’re submitting to the private post, feel free to leave these reviews on either the private or the public post. The two submissions you like need not be the same as the submissions you review.
    5. Be constructive and uplifting. These submissions are not for a professional market, and shouldn’t be treated as such. We do this, first and foremost, for the joy of the craft. Help other writers to feel like their work is valuable, and be considerate and gentle with critique when you offer it. Authors who leave particularly abrasive or disheartening remarks on this post will be disqualified from selection for readings.
    6. Use the same e-mail for your posts, reviews, and likes, or you may be rendered ineligible (you may change your username or author name between posts without problem, however).
    7. You may submit to either or both the public/private groups if you have access, but if you decide to submit to both, only the private group submission will be eligible.
    8. Understand that by submitting here, you are giving us permission to read your submission aloud live on stream and upload public, archived recordings of said stream to our social media platforms. You will always be credited, but only by the author name you supply as per these rules. No other links or attributions are guaranteed.

Comments on this post that aren’t submissions will be deleted, except for replies/reviews left on existing submissions.

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3 months ago

Or Maybe Not (Chronicles of The Dragon)
By Makokam

Spiked hair dyed red and gold, the top to his black biker leathers flapping open to reveal an orange tank top, Maddox pulled his motorcycle up in front of the nightclub. People were just starting to be let in, so the line was long.

He waved at the club goers, who screamed and cheered, as he entered.

When he reached the green room, one of his band-mates yelled, “You’re late! Thought you were ditching us early.”

“What? No way would I miss my last show with you!”

“So you’re really going through with it? Shipping off to become a ‘big time superhero’?”

“Hell yeah!” he said, his body igniting into flame, “Why would I deny my full potential?” The flames flickered out and he said, “The only real question is who you’ll get as the new singer.”

“I still say I could be the singer,” another said.

Maddox looked at her, then shrugged. “Maybe. A chick singer could help you stand out.”

Their manager came in then telling them, “Time to hit the stage.”

They moved out and took their positions, to a roar of excitement.

They started with an “old classic”, one they’re long term fans knew and loved. Then they moved on to their new songs, “their latest album” Maddox would call it, though they’d only been able to afford to make a couple hundred CDs. Then they ended with some of the favorites from their last “album”.

None of them had discussed it, but they each poured more into the night’s performance than they had ever before, Maddox singing his throat raw.

Eventually, after three encores, the night came to an end. They bowed, and took their leave. Maddox took the longest, shaking hands and hitting high fives with the people at the front. Cheering back and blowing kisses before finally stepping off the stage.

The band waited form him, sad but proud, before returning to their dressing rooms, only to find a man waiting for them.

“I’m with Platinum Dragoon Records, and we’d like to offer you a contract.”

jesse fisher
jesse fisher
3 months ago

Song Never Sung
By Jesse Fisher

Some have said we would hear the song of the ancestors when we pass. Others say the war cries are the choir that we hear as the world goes silent. More, think of a comfort song that we either find or our mothers gave us when we were young.

My wasting form in an immortal state makes many of these stories a faded hope of hearing these, or anything else beyond the wind and ruins of this place.

Broken ways of hearing songs that once meant the world to me, faded as I still stand here. I almost lose track of time if not for what songs still live out there. Some still conduct in the night as it was so long ago, the song changed just by the nature of time.

I try to join into another song but the speaker just crackles and snaps scaring the creatures away and drawing others in.

Once long ago someone could create beauty from my crackles and snaps but that died with the creative minds that could take noise and make it into music. Every part of me could make music in the right hands but now it is a shambling mass of parts of a once well thought out being.

I hear the rhythm of my steps, the clicking of the gears and sprockets allowing me to move. This is not a song, well not a song worth singing. It is a death march for a thing that will not die, no matter how the world beats it down.

Norman Gray
Norman Gray
3 months ago

A Song Where A Mountain Once Stood
By Norman Gray

There is a rocky hill somewhere out in the Barrens… I’d treaded it as a boy, when my family escaped across the wasteland.

Standing in the scorching desert heat, the Barrens are just as vast as I’d remembered them. Though we’d fled from war, I am amazed that I ever managed to cross these sands…

I wonder how I’ll ever find what I’m searching for.

“His voice had the power to crumble mountains,” father had told me, “or so the legend goes… He made songs so timeless that they needed not be written, for time itself would make exception; his words were carried on the breeze, their echoes reverberating forevermore… Some say he sang his final song for a mad king who lived beneath the mountain, and that if you put your ear to this hill and listen closely, you can still hear whispers of Tom Flint’s last ballad.”

I’ve recounted my story throughout the years. Many dismissed it as a young boy’s imagination getting the better of him… But I swear upon my father’s soul, that when I pressed my ear to the ground that day, I heard singing.

Perhaps it was his intent to distract me from the hardship of our journey, but father’s story never left me, nor did my fascination with song.

Some say it’s a tall tale; that in truth a mining town lived there, and in their insatiable greed they tunneled so far and so deep that the whole mountain was hollowed out and destroyed…

But those who know the story all agree: There’d been a mountain there, once… And one day, as slowly as the snow falls on a windless winter night, that mountain had crumbled.

I close my eyes, and listen to the breeze. I press an ear to the ground…


If I don’t find Tom Flint’s last ballad, then I’ll tell of my journey, and sing of a song lost beneath the rocks, buried forevermore…

But I have to keep looking. My life was shaped by father’s tale… I must know the truth.

I must hear that melody once more.

3 months ago

by Gerrit(Rattus)

The two Gods floated in the expanse of the cosmos, a river of stars surrounding them in all directions. A universe of their own design, full of beauty and wonder, soon to be teeming with life. It was the ultimate symbol of their union, a legacy above all others.

“At long last,” one said. “Every planet moulded and placed, exactly as they’re supposed to be.”

The other God’s mouth curved into a wan smile. “I hadn’t expected it to be so tiresome.” Every ounce of their energy had been spent, converted into matter as their creation took shape. At least they could relax, now.

Life had already begun to take shape on the planets, the first peoples settling the lands around them. In the blink of an eye civilizations would take shape, each unique and special, yet intrinsically linked in a way they wouldn’t understand for centuries to come.

Rivers of energy flowed around and between the planets, each one forming the elements of nature that would make up the worlds. The newly formed worlds acted as conduits for the flows, each planet connected with a specific flow that would guide its growth.

“Only one thing left now.” The first God smiled as they spoke. “Our children can take things from here.” In the furthest reaches of the universe, sparks of new divinity were beginning to awaken. They would be the shepherds of this new world left behind by their parents.

The two Gods clasped hands and closed their eyes, satisfaction painted across both of their faces. Their forms descended from their heights, to the centre of the planets. The flows weaved around them in a sort of cosmic dance. The Gods felt the energies all around them, their physical forms disintegrating and mingling with them, becoming flows of their own.

They had created the worlds, and their progeny would protect them, but their fates were in the hands of the people now.

3 months ago

By Taja DaLeen

A friend of yours has a huge crush you don’t necessarily like, you think he could do better, but… the heart wants what it wants, right?

Well, part of the reason you’re suspicious of that fire mage is that he’s in a small band, and while that’s not a problem, you’ve been to a few gigs now noticing he never turned down a flirt.

It doesn’t seem to bother your friend though, so you never said anything about it. He’s also very happy every time you join him for another band evening.

It’s a plus they’re actually quite good, too.

Now he’s standing in front of you, or rather bouncing, because this evening they were playing in another pub. “You’ll come along, right?”

Of course you go. Such a supportive friend you are, even when you don’t like his crush.

Once you sufficiently told your friend that he is looking very handsome today, you go to that pub.

When you arrive you notice a crowd; most you met at other gigs of that band. With some of them you talked before, others you noticed flirting with the mage.

Weirdest among those was probably the banshee, since she couldn’t even really talk to him; she had a friend translating her sign language. Although, that ice witch with her frozen heart necklace was also quite the character…

The band starts playing, which distracts you from your musings. They’re as good as ever, infecting the crowd with their fun and excitement; the bits of fire and light show definitely help with that.

You catch yourself singing along to all of their songs; and once the singer declares their last song, you’re even a little sad. You weren’t that big a fan at first, but they grew on you.

Just like your friend obviously grew on that fire mage, he’s definitely staring at him while playing that song about a happy “see you later”. Who’d have thought?

But among the last lines you hear a weird wail, almost a scream, before your breathing stops.

Seems like the banshee noticed as well.

…wanna try again?

Lee Strangely
Lee Strangely
3 months ago

Driven to Madness (Life of Madness)
by Lee Strangely

“Buford, time?!”

“Two hours… and, gaining…” he groaned.

Waterdrops slammed against the windshield so fast that it sounded more like gunfire than rainfall. The sound was almost loud enough cover up the incessant rattling from the lump of metal with wheels that Maddy lovingly referred to as her “car.”

As her hands practically strangled the steering wheel, she twisted herself around to look behind her. Past the moaning husk of her father and beyond the windshield was only more rain and darkness.

“Are you sure?” she panted, “are you absolutely sure?”

The query passed through Buford the way wind passed through the hole in his head. His response… repeating his last response… again…

“I’ll die before I let Dad’s poor life choices kill meEEE,” a pair of headlights barreled towards her as she turned.

In a carefully calculated split-second decision, she immediately jerked the wheel. The vehicle swerved just out of the way, the movement unfortunately bringing her almost over the edge of the pavement.

The downpour however, happily rectified this and slid the car all the way into the ditch…

The impact alone somehow managed to inadvertently activate the once busted radio. Despite her shock, Maddy quickly beat the thing back into dormancy… At that moment, she was in no mood to hear “No One Lives Forever.”

When the shock wore off, her seething frustration quickly refilled the void, “What did I do wrong?” She slammed her hands on the wheel, “WHAT DID I DO WRONG BUFORD?! I brought Dad back and it still went FOR ME!”

“What… is… missing?” Buford muttered.

“EX-ACTLY!” she shouted, “What did I miss? He’s a blood-relative. And more importantly, ALIVE! I mean, he walks, he breathes, he talks…. sorta… He’s as alive as you are! Sure, he lacks imagination, will, and all that, but so do computers… And they’re…” She paused. “…and they’re not alive…”

She pointed to Buford, “THAT’S IT! It’s not hardware, it’s software! His body may be functional, but he still lacks one thing: his soul… BUFORD! Help me push the car out, I know where we’re heading next!”

3 months ago

A Night Out
By MasaCur

Nabiki skipped out of the restaurant, stopping just outside for her parents to come out.

“That was delicious!” Nabiki exclaimed.

“You deserve it, Nabiki,” her mom, Akane said. “You’ve been doing so well in school and all. First chair violin is a big deal.”

“I should have got it last year,” Nabiki said, frowning.

“You got it now. Before you know it, you’ll be taking my seat in the city’s orchestra.”

Nabiki snorted. “I think I’ve got a ways to go before that happens.”

Akane ruffled her daughter’s hair. “Remember to thank your father for taking us out tonight.”

“Thank you, Dad.” Nabiki threw her arms around Rikuto’s waist for a second, then twirled away. Rikuto smiled and nodded.

“You sure are lively today,” Akane said.

Nabiki grinned, a song on her lips. “Don’t have to say that I love you, because you take a kiss from me.”

Akane joined in, bolting forward to take her daughter by the arm. “It’s you and I filling my mind, never forgetting this memory.”

The two danced away from Rikuto as they continued to sing. “Dorayaki got my stomach in a thousand knots. If I can’t have it all the time, then I’ll just make this a story about me.”

Nabiki skipped ahead.

“Don’t get too far, Nabiki!” Akane called out.

Nabiki stopped at the curb, turned and waved, then waited for the light to turn green. She glanced in each direction, then skipped out into the street.

“Don’t you know, I’m by you when you go?” Nabiki continued to sing. “Let me take the wheel when you can’t.”


Nabiki heard her mother’s voice, saturated in terror. She began to turn, and felt two hands plant themselves on her shoulders and push her forward.

She stumbled over the curb, falling to the ground. Her knees scraped on the sidewalk.

Behind her, Nabiki could hear the squeal of tires.

She turned around to look back into the street, afraid of what she’d see. “Mom!”

Fog Wall
Fog Wall
3 months ago

A Good Day Done Right

~Fog Wall


Above us, I could see the water flowing its course. Held aloft by transparent metal and gravitational manipulation. With my augmented eyes and a few blinks, I snapped some photographs to share with the gang back home. 

Looking over at James, Excitement played off his expressions. Then, turning my attention back to the city’s biggest water slide, I watched another screaming boat take the drop. “This’ll be so fun!” 

He was watching them too. With his fingers laced behind his neck and the biggest smile I’d seen on him, he responded. “Koelle, it’s a fifteen story drop at almost sixty degrees. This’ll be amazing!”

The ride operator whistled for our attention before beckoning us to check our park passes. “Go aboard and prepare yourselves for Sky Waters Fall!”

He directed us to a small boat, helped us in and secured our harnesses. Once he’d moved on, I had to shout to be heard, “Have you seen videos of this?”

“That I have!” He shouted back, making me wince and cover my ears.

“Acute hearing, y’know?!”

“Sorry, I forgot. Still, this has been on my bucket list for as long as I can remember. Mom and I have always struggled to just get by.”

“This’ll be a blast!”

That got a big laugh from him. “Coming from an explosives expert… Koelle, I can’t thank you enough.”

“Here we GO!” I screamed, throwing my arms up as we sped up as the boat lurch forward, carried by the current. Ahead of us the river entered an anti-gravity climb into the sky. 

The ride up was slow, so I took more pictures. Of the park, of the people, of James and the river’s peak. I felt weightless just before we fell into a high speed downward ride!

We were both laughing and screaming as huge waves crashed over us. After several banking turns, we came to a spiraling descent before hitting another gravity lift that would take us up for the final fall.

We exchanged gleeful looks, and as if reading my mind. He shouted to the sky, “Bring it on!”

3 months ago

Some Are Born to Sing the Blues
By Marx

It starts with a song

My song.

I don’t want to sing, but I don’t have a choice. He makes me. And to be quite frank, I lost the fight in me centuries ago. He’s just another in a long line to steal my power.

Next, comes the pain.

My song becomes a scream as my divinity is forced out of me and into him. It’s an agony beyond description. My divinity is my very being and he just…

…tears it from me.

But at least it’s over. I slump, depleted against my cage as his song begins. I wish, not for the first time, that deities could fall unconscious. That it could end for me, but…

That’s not my story, it seems…



I force myself to sit up and look for him in the adjoining room.

He’s… screaming?

Why is he screaming?

Then my view is blocked.

“You… don’t need to see that part. Hi. I’m Matt.”

I glare at the entity before me. How dare he choose that I not watch my tormentor be tormented?

I’ve earned that!

But then I take Matt in and I’m suddenly happier than I can ever remember being.

He’s the end.

The end of my suffering.

The end of everything.

“What’s your name?”

I can’t remember the last time I spoke. Nor can I remember the last time I needed to know my name. I have to think for a moment. “…Sarasvati.”

“Well, Sarasvati… this is about to get weird, but it’s necessary, okay?”

That’s when I feel him in my head.

Of course.

He’s going to use me too. Why wouldn’t h–?


What’s he doing?

I can feel the centuries of torture, agony, and trauma not so much… fading away, but… being organized and put away into boxes I can choose to open.

I frown at him. It isn’t horrible, all things considered, but–

“Your trauma is part of you. If I erase it… bad things happen.”

“Why… are you doing this?”

Matt smiles at me as the other ‘he’ finally stops screaming. “Because you’re free now.”

3 months ago


Penelope sat on the hill she usually went to when she was feeling off and needed to clear her head. She knew that pregnancy could mess with her mental state, but never expected it to go to this extent.

She started to hum a familiar tune, and wondered if her growing child could hear it. Would it be a boy or a girl? What if it was twins? Triplets? Her mind began to spin with the countless possibilities in store for this life forming inside of her.

“Rest now, my love, beneath the tree.”

Her mother’s song sounded odd at first coming through Penelope’s voice. But the more she sang, the more the melody swirled its waves into the air.

“And hear the song I sing to thee.”

She loved how the notes rose and fell at this part. She recalled her mother singing this when she was pregnant with each of her sisters.

“There’s a world of dark you cannot see.”

Which was true. Life these days was a constant war. Some days she even wondered why she wanted children in the first place, but if she didn’t, then that would just be agreeing with the darkness.

“So sleep now, never come to me.”

Lullabies always had to have a sad and ominous ending, didn’t they? She’d have to ask her mom where that one came from in the next life.

Penelope felt a kick, and tried to work up a smile. This was an exciting time, after all. She couldn’t let the baby feel how nervous she was. Lullabies were supposed to calm babies, not make mother’s cry.

She wished she had asked her mom more questions while she had the time. How did she find the courage to raise three girls during this ongoing war? How did she find the strength to go on until the bitter end? How did she not lose hope?

Penelope hummed the tune again and started walking back down the hill. Maybe she’d figure out the answer along the way.