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Alex Marmalade

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Feb, 2020

Stories (146)
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146 Stories

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Visiting Hours

The NHS laptop wheezed like Tariq Mahmood's own lungs, its ancient cooling fan struggling against seven years of ward dust and dropped tea. He'd commandeered it from the nurses' station despite their protests about "patient data security," because what were they going to do—charge him for usage? He'd already calculated that his daily bed rate was £347.Last Will and Testament of Tariq Mahmood, Version 52Each revision was a chess move, carefully calibrated to ensure maximum return on forty years of investment. Every pound spent on Hassan's edu...

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Jammy Dodger and a Cup of Camomile Tea

The police van smelled of disinfectant and desperation, with a faint undertone of someone's leftover bacon sandwich. Vera Fletcher pressed her palms against her thighs to stop them trembling as South London blurred past the tinted windows. In forty-seven minutes, she'd be sitting in Interview Room 3 at New Scotland Yard, reading from a script that would supposedly make this entire nightmare disappear."Nervous?" PC Cross glanced at her in the rearview mirror, his eyes crinkling with what seemed like genuine concern. He was younger than she'd ...

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Finally, My Brethren

The morning air in Caesarea carried salt tang and frankincense as King Agrippa adjusted his purple-striped toga, settling into his chair whilst Bernice picked at honeyed dates, their amber sweetness perfuming the air."So," Agrippa said, accepting wine that caught the light like liquid garnets, "Festus tells me our prisoner has finally agreed to speak for himself."Festus nodded, his broad face flushed from the heat. "Two years he's been rotting in that cell, and now he wants his moment before royalty. Typical prisoner's arrogance.""What do we...

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Where There's Muck

Samir was teaching Marlowe to recite Alan Bennett monologues when the woman stumbled through his door like she'd been running from the devil himself. Blood seeped through the bandage on her left hand, her navy coat was torn at the shoulder, and her dark hair hung in sweat-matted strands around a face that looked like it hadn't seen proper sleep in months. The sight of blood made Samir's chest tighten—three years since he'd left the Met, but some things still triggered the old responses."Please," she gasped, leaning against the counter. "I ne...

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Verification Pending

Riley Nash's password had been changed again.She stared at her laptop screen, cursor blinking mockingly in the login field. Three attempts. Account temporarily locked. Try again in 24 hours."¡Madre santísima!" Sofia's voice carried from the kitchen. "Isabella just found out her digital twin is dating her ex-boyfriend!""Not now, Sof," Riley muttered, switching to her phone. Same story across every platform. Instagram, TikTok, YouTube—all locked out of accounts that bore her name, her face, her voice. Accounts with a combined following of 4.2 ...

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Where Rivers Learn to Weep

Amara's left breast was leaking again, the milk seeping through the cloth she had wrapped beneath her clothes. She pressed her grandmother's handkerchief against the wet spot, praying the smell would not give her away. The community center smelled of cleaning chemicals and sadness, but mother's milk had its own particular sweetness that cut through everything else.The baby stirred in her arms, making those small sounds that meant he would soon cry with hunger. She had fed him in the restaurant bathroom one hour before, but he was going throu...

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In the Year That King Uzziah Died

Toby Hartwell stood knee-deep in a hole, spade in hand, when Mrs. Okafor's voice cut across the garden fence."Toby, what are you doing there?"He froze, dirt-streaked and guilty, beside the peacock's magnificent corpse. His Majesty lay sprawled beneath the climbing roses, tail feathers fanned in one final display of theatrical vanity."Gardening," Toby said weakly."Gardening." Mrs. Okafor's tone could have corrected a misbehaving child from three streets away. "In your good trousers. On a Tuesday morning."She appeared at the back gate without ...

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Lux et Veritas

"Sarah Hartwell! Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes."Jessica Whitman stood armed with a clipboard and the smile of someone who'd discovered that organising things gave her the same rush as crushing them. Behind her, the Ashworth Grammar reunion committee had achieved peak institutional beige: name tags featuring sixth-form photos, bunting that screamed compulsory fun, and a cash bar charging London prices for supermarket wine."Morrison now," Sarah said, accepting the air-kiss that felt like being blessed by a particularly vindictive vica...

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Borough at Five

The Borough Market at five AM belonged to a different species of London. Maya's trainers squelched against wet pavement as she navigated between stalls, her canvas bag empty but her mental list precise: prawns from Tommy, coconut milk from the Thai sisters, noodles from Uncle Chen if his arthritis allowed."Maya, love!" Bernadette's voice cut through morning chill. The flower seller was arranging chrysanthemums with aggressive efficiency. "You look terrible. When's the last time you ate something?""Yesterday," Maya lied, accepting herbs Berna...

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All The Things You Are

The Blue Moon Jazz Cellar smelled like cigarettes and sixty years of spilled bourbon, and Eddie Thornfield hadn't felt this alive since his diagnosis. He gripped his oxygen tank's handle with white knuckles, scanning the cramped basement venue while Dmitri hovered behind him like a guilty conscience."Is very small place for such important bloke," Dmitri whispered, his Romanian accent thickening with nerves.Eddie ignored him. The stage was a postage stamp of scarred wood, barely wide enough for a trio, but he recognised the acoustics immediat...

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Seven Wildflowers Under Glass

Maya pressed her palm against the laboratory's reinforced window, watching the protesters below wave their signs like prayer flags in the summer wind. MY DAUGHTER THINKS SHE'S MARRIED TO A DEAD MAN, one placard read. REALITY IS NOT OPTIONAL, declared another."Seventeen years," she whispered to the glass. Seventeen years since she'd first sketched the neural interface designs on napkins in her grandmother's kitchen, three days before the old woman died still believing Maya was wasting her gifts on "parlor tricks."Dr. Chen cleared his throat b...

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Solstice Confessions

The morphine drip cast dancing shadows on the white walls as Father Marcus stepped into room 314, his black cassock rustling against the starched hospital linens. Through the window, afternoon sunlight painted golden rectangles across the floor—the kind of light that reminded him why he'd once believed in miracles."You came," the patient whispered, eyes unfocused but alert. An elderly man, maybe seventy, with weathered hands that trembled slightly against the white sheets.Marcus hadn't planned to. The call had come during evening prayers: Pa...

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And A Squishy Giraffe

Marcus pulled the Focus into the last space between a Range Rover and something German with cream leather seats. The gift bag from Wilko sat on his passenger seat like evidence.The front garden was pristine—edges cut with geometric precision. A handwritten sign tied to the gate read "Mia's Magical Midsummer Party" in calligraphy that probably cost more than his weekly food shop."Marcus!" Claire appeared at the front door wearing a yellow sundress and a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I'm so glad you could make it. Mia's been asking about ...

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Fifteen Seconds in a Blackout

Detective Ray Castellano woke up in the same pew for the seventieth time, the smell of incense thick as Boston fog in February and twice as persistent. The funeral program crackled in his sweaty palm: Francis Xavier Murphy, 1943-2024, Beloved Father and Grandfather.Seventy times. He'd died more often than a Red Sox playoff run.The priest's voice droned over the congregation like static from his patrol car radio. Ray's eyes drifted to the altar where seven votive candles flickered in their brass holders. Everything identical except—the third ...

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Indefinite Leave

The citizenship papers were already burning when Nasreen smelled the smoke.She found Tariq collapsed beside the kitchen sink, a lighter clutched in his trembling fist, blue flames licking at documents bearing both their names. His face was gray as old newspaper, his breathing shallow and ragged."What have you done?" she whispered in Urdu, dropping to her knees beside him.He couldn't answer. Could only point with shaking fingers at the charred remains of Home Office correspondence—letters that had been arriving for months, always intercepted,...

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