APRIL Writing Challenge #425: Ladybug Paradox The ladybug is both adored and feared. Its bright red shell with black spots says “I am beautiful”—but also “I am not to be messed with.” It looks like a lucky charm, but it is a silent destroyer of garden pests, devouring thousands of aphids with methodical efficiency. It’s small, but it is armored and poison to potential predators. Quiet, but decisive. This month’s contest explores what it means to hold strength inside softness, to wear camouflage with purpose, and to wield power without fanfare.

For ages 15 & Under:  “More Than I Seem”
The winner receives $25 and publication in the Sentinel!

Prompt: In 100 words or fewer, write about a character, animal, or object that’s misunderstood. Maybe it’s underestimated, overlooked, or mistaken for something it’s not. Like the ladybug, it might look harmless—but has a secret strength, a job to do, or a hidden side no one sees. You can write a story, poem, letter, or journal entry. Surprise us with what’s under the surface.

EXAMPLES:

Example 1: 
I’ve lived under the floorboard for ninety-three years. Long enough to hear every footstep and forgotten spell in the room above. 

They think I’m a relic, dropped by accident. But I wasn’t dropped—I was hidden. 

I’m iron, cold and clever, and I open what must never be opened unless things get really bad. And judging by the sounds last night—the whispering cloaks, the crackling air—it’s getting close. 

There’s a girl now. She has the gift. She dreams about me. 

Soon, her heel will catch on the plank. She’ll pull it loose. And I’ll be ready.

Example 2: 
They always forget me. Shoved into closets, car trunks, backpacks. I sit quietly, waiting. Then the rain comes. 

They curse the sky, scowl at the clouds, and finally remember me— useless no more. I rise, unfolding my ribs like wings, shielding hair, shoulders, secrets. 

No one thanks me. But I hear the whispered relief.

 I am not flashy. I am not fragile.

 I am the quiet shield between you and the storm. 

You think I’m just a thing you carry. 

But when everything opens up above you, I’m the only thing standing between you and drowning.

For ages 16 & Up: “Camouflage and Clarity”
Winners receive $100 and $50 and publication!

Prompt: In 250 words or fewer, write a scene, monologue, or vignette about a character who uses perception to their advantage. Maybe they’re underestimated because of their looks, voice, or demeanor. Maybe they hide their power until the moment it’s needed. Like the ladybug, they should move through the world with quiet certainty—capable, strategic, and exact. Show us the moment their message becomes unmistakable. The setting could be a boardroom, a greenhouse, or anywhere in between. The reveal should linger.

              EXAMPLE

              She arrived in Warsaw with two names: one in her passport and one stitched inside her head, like a birthmark. At the embassy, they referred to her as “the language attaché,” which was as good a euphemism as any. She wore low heels, took her tea without milk, and let the attachés dismiss her as charmingly irrelevant. But she was not irrelevant. She was patient. She observed. When the Russian trade delegate’s briefcase disappeared for eight minutes at Chopin Airport, she noted it. When the German cultural attaché suddenly “transferred,” she sent no farewell card—but filed a separate report. The men spoke freely near her. That was the trick, always. To be present but never seen. To smile like a hostess while listening like a wiretap. Tonight, the asset would arrive at the opera. He’d be carrying a red folder and a limp. He would nod twice, then vanish into the crowd. The envelope he left behind would pass through three hands before reaching London. She would never be thanked. She wore a coat the color of wine. On the collar: a pin shaped like a ladybug—bright, small, unnoticed. If anyone asked, it was a gift from her niece. No one ever asked. And when the world finally shifted, when the lines on the map redrew themselves again, she would still be watching. Still recording. Still dangerous.

Deadline: Midnight, April 27, 2025. Winners announced in the first May 2025 issue.

How to Enter: Craft your clever response to this month’s prompt, then enter it below.

Multiple entries are welcome, and pseudonyms are accepted—giving you the freedom to be as inventive as you like.