The Her-A-Way Badge: A Wordle Inspired Short
We all surely know by now that Wordle has taken Twitter by storm and become a hugely familiar face among the writing community online. Over at OverWoods, we truly love the game and as a kind of pseudo tribute (and a not so subtle way to remember to keep up that Wordle streak!), we've decided to use each daily, 5 letter answer as the inspiration to a short story or poem this May!
*Of course, we wouldn't want to reveal the answer of the day's Wordle prematurely and ruin the experience for others. So, every Wordle inspired short is brought to you the day after its inspiration hit your screen. This is a no spoiler zone! We promise.
This short is brought to you by our blogger, Megan Oberholzer.
Author Note: Yesterday’s Wordle answer was “badge, and it inspired me to write this short story about a young girl who is just beginning to process her mother’s death and to define her own identity outside of their complicated mother-daughter relationship.
The Her-A-Way Badge (06/05/2022)
The limo pulls up on the opposite side of the street, coming to a stop on the cobblestone road where the crowd is thinner and begrudgingly parts around its bonnet.
Rachel looks out the tinted window at the bustling market, the pink banners and the technicoloured streamers. Someone releases a rainbow of confetti into the air and a few tissue paper squares come to rest on the windowpane as the rest pock the sky.
“Here alright, Rachel?”
She jumps, looking left to her father and stretching her lips into a smile. “Yes, thank you.”
“20 minutes, okay?”
She nods, and after a deep, stifled breath, she opens the door and steps into the crowd. Even among the throngs of people, she camouflages about as well as the sleek, black body of the rented limo sat in the town square. The dress her mother picked out for her, once upon a time stored at the back of her master wardrobe between the smoke clouds and faux furs, billowed around her, dark and lacy, nearly whimsical in its cut and elaborately embroidered corset.
It looks ridiculous.
Even at the funeral, it was a crass and insensitive fashion statement. And in its own way, all it did was remind them all of her mother and her extravagant ways, the way she turned every moment into a catwalk, every man into an unstable mess. As the yardmen lowered her casket into the ground, Rachel could have sworn she still heard her familiar, cackling laughter.
Even now, as she enters the market, chin tilted up at the crisscrossing bunting and quaint market stalls, she couldn’t chase her mother’s face from her mind; she still saw her pin-prick eyes and exaggerated smile, the narrow, slender face that tapered down into a sharp jaw and a pointed chin. She still feels those black leather gloves tightening on her shoulders while wine glasses clink and adults look down. Even as she passes ornate mirrors, Rachel can see her mother reflected in her own face: the unique, genetic white streak in their hair over each of their ears.
“Excuse me!” An elderly lady waved from a blue-green stall, which shimmered and waved in the light breeze. Rachel moves hesitantly towards her. “I can’t help but notice how finely you’re dressed, my lovely. Going any place special?”
“No, just here.”
“Can I interest you in this broach?” The old lady says. “No, no! Don’t misunderstand me, I want to give it to you for free! I’ve been having trouble selling it, and I think it would look just wonderful with your lovely hair. Come, come.” She beckons, and despite herself, Rachel follows and takes the broach.
The smiling face of a badger winks up at her, its three white streaks a sharp contrast to the bright, yellow sunflower in its mouth. She reaches up to touch her own face, much softer and chubbier than her mother’s, as she rubs her thumb over its puffy, round cheeks, towards its sleek, grey neck.
She looks up at the shopkeeper with a watery smile. “It’s lovely.”
The old lady wiggles a finger, rattling her bangles and the thick fleece hanging off her elbows. “Handmade!” she cheers.
Looking around the stall, which seemed mostly filled with second-hand items, like old kettles and jewellery, Rachel spied a large, grey coat and thought about how much her mother hated that “dreary, pointless colour”. Wiping her face and trying to bring some moisture back into her mouth, Rachel pointed at the coat. “Mind if I try that on?”
“Of course, honey! Give me just a moment, I’ll get it.” The lady twirled round and plucked the coat from the rack.
It had a nice cut, particularly business-like and streamlined. There didn’t seem to be a single inch of material wasted; it all served a purpose somehow, none of it draped or felt unnecessary. It fit Rachel well too, hugging her shoulders nicely and not wrapping too tight around her arms but also not wrapping half as loose as her father’s jacket had when the wind picked up by the graveside. Although, with the extravagant lace and delicate embroidery on her mother’s black dress beneath it, the jacket seemed wildly out of place.
“With a good plain shirt from Marks and Spencer’s, I think you’d look quite the sight in that. I believe it’s made of real cotton from that ethical environmental people place. There’s unlikely to be many more like it, I don’t think.”
Rachel smiles warily and claws around for her purse. “You know what, miss? I’ll take it. And the badger badge too.”
The lady nods, gives her the total and graciously accepts an offer to keep the change. “You know, I knew your Harriot,” she says, looking momentarily sombre. “She never liked my little shop on 5th Avenue. Nothing but low brow, poor people fashion and helpful, friendly staff. What a terrible crime! She especially didn’t like it when I handed her a skunk pin as a little joke, you know, with her lovely hair. I just made a silly connection! But everything always had to be her way, old Harriot. Her way or it’s not worth a dime.”
The lady rubs her jaw and inches as if to move away. But then she turns back, catching Rachel’s eye. “I thought you looked a like her a minute ago, it’s true, but I think I see you a little more clearly now. I think I understand.”
The old lady waggles her finger again and reaches over to touch the badge still in Rachel’s hand. “You see this badger? He’s a kindly fellow. Warm. Strong. He cares a lot about family, but he cares a lot more about his space. He’s an individual with a keen sense of people and a fine will to protect and build up his own home. And he absolutely loves sunflowers. They brighten up his day every time he finds one!” Then she let the badge go and gave Rachel a little wave. “Now, you have a good day now miss. Feel free to visit old Marigold any time!”
And with this, open mouthed and fighting a confused, somewhat charmed smile, Rachel found herself absorbed into the crowd and whisked away down the street past steaming curry stalls and laughing cupcake vendors and funny little shops with strange, incomprehensible things hanging from their short, stilted canopies.
Minor Critique: “The Her-A-Way Badge” is definitely, in my opinion, a solid entry to the Wordle Inspired series. Although grief isn’t necessarily as much of a theme as parent-child relationships, I think the affect of her mother’s life and death can be felt in this girl’s story, from her complicated relationship with herself and her appearance to her simultaneously nostalgic and reproachful reflection on her memories of her mother. I will admit though, sometimes the themes are handled a little heavy handily and some metaphors or lines can be a bit on the nose.
But maybe you enjoyed it. Maybe, if I’m lucky, something might have resonated with you?
Let me know what you think in the comments down below Vv.
Inspiration Breakdown: As is the typical form, I did draw on a few extra pieces of inspiration to help round out today’s idea.
First, I bunged the Wordle answer into google to see what might pop up. Apparently, according to the top result, a “badge” can be considered a “symbol of freedom,” and so here is my first thread. The idea of freedom. And a badge.
I instantly thought of the first time Katniss Everdeen found herself staring at a mockingjay in the Hunger Games books: she bought (or was given – details are a little foggy) a mockingjay badge by an elderly lady (as far as I know) in a bustling market, which follows her throughout the series and becomes a renowned symbol of rebellion.
Now, I don’t think I’ll ever be covering something as big as turning over an authoritarian, dystopian government in less than 100,000 words, let alone in around 1,000, but I really like the market idea, and the old lady, both of which have clearly been well absorbed into my story.
But that did leave me with the question, if the badge symbolises freedom, what is there to be free of?
Next, I located a Pinterest quote. Today’s is by honeytuesday from tumblr and their post reads:
“maybe i’m just a portrait of all the people i’ve loved and nothing else tastes so bittersweet. A little dash of my ex-best friend in the way i walk or laugh. my scarf tied in a double knot for that beautiful stranger at the bus stop. a whisper of my mother and the sigh of a lover in the way i braid my hair. pockets full of fire and infinite regret like my dad or his dad or his dad. The tilt of my jaw, the curve of my smile, everything, everything is someone else. when they’re all gone, my own reflection will be the biggest ghost i have.”
The final line really got me and just had to have this quote.
My particular takeaways, though, had less to do with being a collage of all the people you know but being a product of someone else’s mannerisms, influence and expectations, but not just people who are ordinary, overall neutral, or fondly remembered; I chose someone who is, to the main character, a source of pain. I thought this might be an interesting twist on the concept and give a good basis for conflict, complexity and interest, which hopefully shined through!
Lastly, I made one final connection. What should the badge be?
Well, a badger obviously.
You know, because … badge … r … badger?
You know what? I’ll see myself out.