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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Aug, 2024
Submitted to Contest #275
If you want happy, look somewhere else. I can only promise to give you an ending in ninety seconds – one way or another. At 20,000 feet, you have ninety-seconds before you hit dirt. That information was generously provided to me by Sal Gianni, right before two of his goons threw me out of the plane. There may be things worth dying for, but, between you, me and that cornfield, Camello Gianni ain’t one of them. I met her in a Dairy Queen. She was blonde and knew how to wear the fuck out of a pair of Christian Louboutin high heel ...
Submitted to Contest #272
“I hate her!” Jesse whispered to the empty room. "I f-f-fucking hate her. Shame and excitement roiled through his eleven-year-old body, "I fucking hate her," he repeated, not wanting to let go of this feeling. His face felt hot, as if he'd been standing in front of the basement furnace. It was a familiar feeling. The anger and the heat. Tears escaping like steam. If he'd stop to think about it, Jesse would be hard-pressed to remember a week when she hadn't done some petty, cruel act that set him off. It was a ritual ...
Submitted to Contest #271
On a clean, deceptively bright morning, the storyteller lowers himself onto his usual bench. Even that small effort makes him wince. He has the misfortune of attaining an age where he aches in more places than not. He tries and fails to ignore the stranger standing behind him and off to the side. The stranger claims to be a nurse, but this does not fool the storyteller. There is no one here, other than the two of them. The storyteller and the stranger are always alone. Part of him knows this isn't exactly right, but most of him be...
Submitted to Contest #264
It's 6:45 a.m. A gritty, mundane magic pervades the air at "Valentine's Cove" in the Hamilton Hotel, known for its three and half star service and rooftop views of the New York City skyline. Silver troughs filled with thick wedges of French toast, pounds of flattened, cardboard-like bacon, mounds of shiny sausage links, and piles of other artery-clogging goodies shine proudly side by side on a long faux wood table. All the tables are draped in white linen cloth. Large stainless steel urns of strong, hot coffee stand guard over the holy of h...
Submitted to Contest #263
Fred's ruined face stared back at him from a fractured, mold-spotted mirror. The remains of breakfast pooled around his feet. A pair of lace panties clung to his shoe, glued there by God knew what. Bits of flesh stuck between his yellow teeth, along with the sodden remains of a "hand wash only" label. There was no denying that he'd seen better days.Being a zombie is no picnic. Compelled to pause and take stock of himself, Fred wiped his gore-stained hands on a filthy shirt, unsure if he was cleaning the hands or the shirt. His right eye...
Submitted to Contest #262
WKTU promised the two-week heatwave was winding down. The overly optimistic DJ promised a break in the heat as early as this evening. Too little, too late.George wiped his brow with an old dishtowel and pushed his sunglasses back up upon his nose. Everything ached. Overused muscles throbbing over arthritic knees and hands.The sun was climbing over the hills in the east and the world wasn't boiling quite yet, but the night had been one for the books and the ceiling fan didn't cut it. Everything was in a sort of suspension. Like a staged ...
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