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Abigail Airuedomwinya

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Oct, 2019

Stories (22)
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3085 Followers
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22 Stories

22494 karma pts

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It is what it is

Submitted to Contest #94

After the fire had gone down and the rain had become nothing but a drizzle, Ria said to him, "you should know me by now."He did not look at her but he knew she was smiling. "You're right. I should."And yet, here he was, straddled to a chair, knowing he would die and she would kill him. And perhaps he'd known all along that the fire in his eyes had burnt with a delicate tenderness for a woman who did not love him. By his feet, her cat lay curled up. He wanted to stroke the furry coat but she did not want to take any chances. "Tell m...

66 likes 8 comments 8
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Adieu

Shortlisted for Contest #93 ⭐️

I find out, quite early, that scrubbing spilled wine off the carpet is a waste of time. I find this out not by myself but from the mouth of Olive. She's still talking, carefully putting away the disposable cups and plates in a bag."They don't know what it feels like," she says. She's been repeating the same line whenever her hands touch a cup or a leftover pizza. It's somehow become an anthem for cleaning and I have since come to appreciate the way her lips signal words to come out, to tear the silence away.I am kneeling on the carpet now, t...

121 likes 47 comments 47
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Aesthetics

Submitted to Contest #92

It didn't feel right at first to join him in the dining hall but as Elaine got dressed, she forgot right from wrong. Outside the cottage, the rain danced and made fast strokes against the windows. Elaine tiptoed closer and placed her forehead against the glass. With her tongue sticking out, Elaine felt the coldness of the glass and almost wanted to run away.  For one, Elaine did not know the man who'd asked her to come to dinner. She barely knew who she was. A week ago, Elaine had woken up on her bed, holding tightly to a stranger. Sh...

75 likes 7 comments 7
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the writer's design

Shortlisted for Contest #78 ⭐️

I wrote a story about shoelaces and city skylines where the protagonist loved a boy and the boy died. None of that was important or rightly belonged in my heart but I titled it Oblivion and asked my sister to read. There was a fear in my heart as she took the book to read. I was afraid, as most writers would, of how she would perceive the story. Would she understand the gravity of the story or the dilemma which I'd created for my characters?  I stood behind her as she read. My little fox was by the fridge, his oversized ears at ease. ...

104 likes 21 comments 21
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The Eight-year Cycle

Shortlisted for Contest #62 ⭐️

"Pa, let me make your tea." He looks at her as she weaves her hands into her hair. He likes how she reminds him of snowfalls. He doesn't know who she is except that in eight years, the police would find her in her kitchen, an empty packet of cigarettes beside her bloodied form. He's seen that before and it doesn't scare him anymore."Of course. Add a lot of milk." He tells her."But..." She stops herself and begins to walk away."What?" He asks.The morning is purple as if someone has drowned it before. She pulls the curtain apart and begin...

97 likes 28 comments 28
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The Practice of Half Memories

Shortlisted for Contest #31 ⭐️

She puts a pot on the stove and watches as the flames burn their orange and blue flames through it. She has a half-empty cup of tea beside the kitchen table. Tea, already cold and tasteless as it struggles being caged in the unwashed cup. She puts it in her lips again and lets the brown liquid slip into her sore throat. The flames keep flaring up as the empty pot sits calmly on it. She stares at the smoke already rising up from the pot. In her mind, she tells herself she isn't ready to do this yet and then she pours water into it and se...

91 likes 7 comments 7
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Like I'm Tired

Shortlisted for Contest #30 ⭐️

Some man in blue oversized coat starts to laugh as he spins another horrendous tale about something we all will probably forget before the night shift. He is sitting on a stool by a careless couple, holding a glass of foamy beer in one hand and laughing. The drunken men are all listening to his tales of a far off country with no name - only that the women are pretty- and about the necklace on his pudgy neck.I am listening too because he amuses me in a kind of desolate way. I know he is lying and he knows it too but we all sit or stand and li...

92 likes 4 comments 4
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