Menu

Menu

Prompts

Contests

Stories

Blog

Directory

Contests

Magazine

FAQ

A Mehendale

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Nov, 2020

Stories (48)

Comments

Library

35 Followers

0 Following

48 Stories

769 karma pts

?

Rain on Tap at The Bar

A Mehendale

A Summer’s Sun bears Bright down on the Earth;A Winter’s Chill gives cause to Light your Hearth.But keep a Watchful Eye for Seasons’ Bane,And Mind you Never find yourself in Rain.The Waters may well ease the Flowers’ Wilts,And Floods of Heaven’s Tears may soothe your Guilts.I urge you, from Temptation, yet Refrain,For it’s a Sin to Dance among the Rain.****************************************************************************“But don’t you ever wonder?”Avi shrugs at her, eyebrows raised over the rim of his dark glasses. Kira groans, fist ...

0 likes

Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Their Stories

A Mehendale

Kiran would have loved indexes.It’s late, and he’s sitting alone at a long hardwood table, surrounded by hefty, half-open tomes, their pages fluttering like butterflies in the draught. Moonlight spills through the arched windows, washing the library silver-grey. The world is quiet, and peaceful, and the thought comes to him just as calmly and quietly and catches him completely off guard. And he’d been doing so well at not thinking about his past.She would love indexes, is the thing. Each person, place and event relative to the book, lis...

0 likes

Right There Where You Left Me

A Mehendale

“Look, Lu.” She exhales, sharp, through pursed lips. And Luna, looking up at her from the corner of her eye, knows, that she is going to relent. Cool, calm resolve writes itself across her face, ironing smooth her brow; fingers splayed in anger settle slowly, lightly, once more upon the gear stick. Luna closes her eyes, just for a moment. A brief respite, a pause, to recollect herself. Her arms are crossed over her lap; unconsciously, or perhaps just unwillingly, her fingers pinch the soft skin at the inside of her elbow, nails dig...

0 likes

A Story Untold

A Mehendale

Prince Jonah and the Lady Faith stand at the edge of the courtyard. The noon sun bears down on them, heavy with heat, and the air rings with the sound of metal, blunt edges meeting blunt edges as the squires trade blows before them. Faith scans the scene, and every time her eyes fall inevitably to a pair in the near corner. “Her,” she says, elbowing her cousin, and indicating her choice with a sharp jut of her chin. “I want her.” The Prince narrows his eyes, as though considering, but she notices a sudden tightening of his jaw, a tensi...

1 like

No One Deserves to Disappear

A Mehendale

He’s standing barefoot on rocky ground. He can hear the ocean waves crashing against his ears, and stinging salt burns the back of his throat. Fog shrouds him, as thick and opaque as smoke, and though the stench of brine assures him that there is no fire he feels an overwhelming sense of foreboding all the same.A shiver runs down his spine and he tenses, forewarned. The wind picks up, and he staggers as one furious gust clears the path before him and suddenly he can see.Anjali stands there, ten paces from him on the crumbling clifftop. Knott...

0 likes

Honour Among Thieves

A Mehendale

The woman sighs. “You know, you’re really starting to try my patience.” She stands in the middle of the room, leaning back on her left leg, thumb hooked in her belt loop. Her stance is easy and open, expression amiable. The very embodiment of relaxed, except that her right arm is tensed, third finger lightly resting on the trigger of her gun, that she holds absolutely steady even as she rocks back and forth, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Her muzzle is motionless, fixed in place, its aim unmoving. She lifts her free hand...

0 likes

Look at Where You Came From; Look at You Now

A Mehendale

There’s something wonderfully entrancing about watching a roaring fire.An amber inferno engulfs the crumbling timber, sending ashy plumes spiraling towards a star studded sky. It’s a blazing lily, blooming petals of flame. It’s a beacon, burning bright in the night, bringing hope and change.It’s a wondrous sight to behold. She’s never been able to see the beauty in fires before, caged in hearths well-tended and tame. But here, with this unleashed hell of her own creation, she finds herself awestruck, pupils dancing as they follow the fiery p...

1 like

A Hero's (Lover's) Lament

A Mehendale

Submitted to Contest #105

A rope dangles before her, thick and writhing and descending through smoke. It twists and turns like a live python, and she feels like if she could only take hold, it would never let her fall. She could be safe.She reaches out, and watches her fingers turn to mist, insubstantial. She tries to step closer, and stumbles; she looks down to see chains about her feet, iron cuffs biting into her ankles.She tries to assess the situation, but all she sees are burning grey fumes. Charcoal stains the white expanse that surrounds her, but the patterns ...

6 likes

Wipe the Smile off your Face

A Mehendale

Submitted to Contest #104

She giggles. Tosses her hair, and looks up at her partner, eyes sparkling.Count Ahmed of Vyl smiles down at her, as the music swells to a close. He takes a step back, keeping hold of her hand, though his other arm drops to his side and her own falls from his shoulder, and bows to her, soft lips brushing her knuckles. She nods back at him, and after a moment’s thought, leans forward briefly to press a kiss to his cheek.His face brightens, and he casts his eyes aside, abashed. His voice is warm, when he asks, “Might I have the pleasure of your...

21 likes

The Curious Case of Eliza MacDougall

A Mehendale

Shortlisted for Contest #103 ⭐️

Eliza MacDougall is hearing voices.She tells her father, over breakfast one morning. “There’s an invisible woman talking at me.” “To, you, dear,” her father corrects absently, as he butters her toast, “talking to,” and they speak no more of it.She tries to tell her mother the same, peeking her head around the doorway of her study, where her mother sits on the rug covered floor, surrounded by textbooks. Her mother does not turn her head and simply shooes her away with her notetaking hand.She does scribble a reminder, somewhere in the mar...

41 likes

Marriage Story

A Mehendale

Submitted to Contest #102

For as long as she can recall, Ada has been fascinated by the dusty wardrobe that stands in the corner of a forgotten bedroom on the second floor..More specifically, she has been fascinated by what hides inside it.A dress hangs there, abandoned, all trailing veils and petticoats and lace. The bodice looks satin smooth from where it towers above her, reflecting flickering candlelight, and when she reaches out the layers of soft fabric wash over her cautious hand.She can sit there for hours, cross legged on the cold floor, keeping the heavy wo...

8 likes

Upon Reflection

A Mehendale

Submitted to Contest #101

“Don’t. Don - don’t come any closer.”The figure does not respond, except to take one step forward and wait, watching her with eyes unblinking.Jaya stumbles backwards, palms out and pleading. She trips on the corner of a rug and falls hard, thrusting an arm behind her as she does, in attempt to break the impact. The figure - the, woman? - does not react, and Jaya’s fingers fumble blindly for something, anything, to defend herself with.They find nothing, and so she sits there, on her treacherous rug, and raises her fists, hoping to intimidate,...

8 likes

The Engagement of Miss Ida Green

A Mehendale

Submitted to Contest #100

“Please, Miss Green.”Ida arched an eyebrow, but permitted the young Master de Valle to pull out her chair, and hover as if to steady her as she slowly took her seat..Master de Valle, she thought to herself, stifling a snort. He had long since grown into his large features, and stood before her now a man full grown, bedecked in finery - all silken waistcoats and silver cufflinks. Still, such formality would always feel strange when addressing someone she had known since childhood, in the years gone where she was a young girl shadowing her fat...

4 likes

Usurper

A Mehendale

Submitted to Contest #99

The message arrives in the hours of early morning.An eagle, dark feathered and resplendent, silhouetted against a blushing sky. Parchment clutched in her talons, plumage ruffled by the wind, she soars through the biting air, far above the castle grounds, and descends in slow, wide-arcing spirals: once, twice, thrice circling about the tallest watch tower. A man stands there, among the crumbling battlements, waiting, watching. His eyes follow the bird being chased by the sun's rise. He holds up a hand as she nears, and the eagle swoops l...

8 likes

Red Sky at Morning

A Mehendale

Submitted to Contest #98

Red wakes up that morning - like he does most mornings - with screams ringing in his ears and the bitter taste of smoke faint on his tongue.He stares unblinking at the ceiling, like he does most mornings, taking a moment to simply be and breathe, to fill his lungs with cold air that does not choke him.And then, like he does most mornings, he shrugs off his bed covers, twisted together and clammy with sweat, and makes his way to the open window, to determine by how many hours he has beaten the sun’s rise.Today the moon is paling, low in the s...

8 likes