Aburrow Marsh

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Sep, 2020

Stories (22)

22 Stories

502 karma pts

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“The Dream Door” by Aburrow Marsh

Submitted to Contest #82

The biggest problem John struggled with wasn’t loneliness or broken-heartedness, occasional joblessness, chronic constipation or lifelong childlessness, but the inability to adequately describe his dreams.He always felt there might be a great drama -- or at least a good film script -- in his dreams, if only he could capture the damned things.His dreams were wacky, off-kilter, grotesque, spritely, erotic, ironical, visual, intensely wordy, overly-masturbatory and comical. They rocked him, crushed him, suffocated him,...

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“The Exchange” by Aburrow Marsh

Submitted to Contest #82

Frank looked up from his coffee to see Norman sauntering in. Dressed in a gray business suit, Norman might have been anybody. A banker. A film executive. A lawyer. Frank, however, could only have been a cop. There was no mistaking the world-weary eyes and rumpled, off-the-rack suit. Even the waitress had said, "Can I take your order, Officer?" Maybe she'd seen him before; maybe he'd busted her once. Norman locked on him and crossed to the booth, self-consciously smoothing his tie."Thank you for joining me," said Frank, watching Nor...

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“Standing Together” by Aburrow Marsh

Submitted to Contest #80

Xavier Matthews entered the room with the dignity afforded royalty, which, in a way, he was. Though slightly stooped with age, he stood tall and proud, with defiance in his eye. He was escorted by a coterie of adult children and grandchildren. I stood to show my respect; even visiting journalists are permitted to show humanity.We shook hands all around. Xavier clasped my hand firmly, a smile tugging on his lips. I did not shake hard, conscious of delicate bones, but Xavier had no such frailties. This man, who had once faced down th...

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“Upstairs Guests” by Aburrow Marsh

Submitted to Contest #64

The boy knew from an early age that there was someone else upstairs, someone who was not part of the family.His grandparents lived in an old, two-story, brick home on a corner lot. Though not quite a Gothic manor, it filled roughly the same space in his imagination. He feared the house almost as much as he loved it.The interior seemed built out of disparate parts. A formal living and dining room, furnished mostly with bulky old antiques, gave way to a small kitchen and smaller breakfast nook. Two tiny hallways opened onto th...

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“Reflection on a Kill” by Aburrow Marsh

Submitted to Contest #62

“So what can you tell me?”Olle dragged on his cigarette. Outside, the lights of Stockholm sparkled in the swirling snow. Harry removed his coat, draped it across a chair. The small, cramped apartment smelled of burnt toast and gun oil.“Nothing,” said Olle, shrugging hopelessly. He wore only board shorts and a stained white T-shirt. The thermostat must have been set to 75; despite having just come in from the cold, Harry already felt uncomfortably hot.“That isn’t what you said on the phone,” Harry reminded him patientl...

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“Boy Meets Warrior” by Aburrow Marsh

Submitted to Contest #61

Angela and I parted at the door to Buster’s. I could already hear the clop-clop of skaters on the floor above. Mr. Gentry – no relation to the Buster family – lifted his eyes from his newspaper to flap his hand in greeting. For a Saturday morning, Buster’s seemed unusually empty.My wife was dressed for a flea market deep-dive in khaki shorts, a purple tank top, and sandals. Her ponytail – braided to hold back her hair while she inspected merchandise – was threaded through the backstrap of her ballcap. For all her clot...

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“Someplace Safe” by Aburrow Marsh

Submitted to Contest #60

Someplace Safe Ten minutes. Jake closed his laptop and sat thinking. Cold sweat trickled down his back. I’m dead. How could the safety nets have failed Mankind so miserably? So fatally? I’m fucking dead. All had failed -- the politicians, the diplomats, the generals, the spies, the presidents. Now there was ...

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Author bio

I'm a career journalist interesting honing my craft as a fiction writer.