Practice writing prompt given to me by ChatGPT: In a town where people are born with their names already written in the sky
They say—if you can find your name in the sky, there’s a spot for you in Heaven. The names are written in black ink in beautiful cursive letters. They also say that if your name’s not up there, you might as well enjoy life while you can. Usually, names don’t get lost, but it’s possible. If your name isn’t hovering high in the blue of the sky above your house, it might be somewhere else in the city—or somewhere else in the world.
I grew up hearing stories of people who would journey from country to country searching the sky for their names. They’d be gone for months and even years, leaving behind jobs, families, and friends. Some go crazy trying to find it, but almost no one does.
I heard about this one guy who was an artist. His name wasn’t up there, but he was obsessed with it. He said the names were works of art and that they were so beautiful he painted them wherever he went. He called the collection “The World’s Ceiling and Heaven’s Floors.”
I don’t know if the stories are true, but my dad swears by them like most people in this town. He also just loves a good origin story. In my opinion, though—no one really knows what the names in the sky mean. Everyone is just guessing, and I guess they’ve just always been there.
Your name usually appears within the first 24 hours of life, and the whole family gathers together to watch. It’s a joyous occasion—unless nothing appears, and then it might as well be a funeral.
The names of each member of your family move with you. As soon as you walk through the threshold of your permanent residence, they appear in the sky right above it. Unless you have a name that’s gotten lost, yours might be mixed in with some other family—but that rarely happens.
I’ve spent the first half of my life believing that’s what could have happened with my name. Yeah, I’m a “no-namer.” I was born during one of the worst thunderstorms in history. Everything was destroyed, and my mother didn’t survive the journey. Shortly after she named me Alise, she left.
By morning, the storm had passed, and the family gathered at the house, which was mainly just the foundation since the storm ripped it away. Nevertheless, when the clouds cleared and the names were visible, no new name appeared in the sky—and only one was absent.
No-namers are like the black sheep of their family; they’re considered the runt, a tiny little embarrassment. Though it’s not often that a name doesn’t show, there aren’t many of us “no-namers” walking around.
Dad doesn’t believe I’m an embarrassment. He says, “There’s a place for everyone in Heaven. Name or no name, and there’s no way God would let someone as special as you go.” That made me smile, even if he’s wrong.
Everyone else calls me “the plague” and believes it’s my fault for the death of my mother and the storm. A lot of them lost homes and names that day—I guess they just needed someone to blame. On the plus side, I get to do whatever I want because no one messes with you when they believe they’ll be doomed by association. It does get lonely sometimes, but loneliness is okay. It makes it easier to hide and bury my head in my Bible. I read it even though no one else does.
Why read if you already know where you’re going to end up?
I lost my steam here and couldn’t add more since I know it’s just a fun writing exercise and not a real project 😆 Thanks for reading, subscribe below, & let me know what you think of this one!
Author Vera Knight 