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Alex Marmalade

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Feb, 2020

Stories (176)

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85 Followers

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176 Stories

2087 karma pts

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Lugha wa Kalam

The ping from my phone at 4:17 PM felt different from the usual ride requests. Something about the location—Tottenham Court Road, outside one of those converted Victorian houses split into flats where elderly people live alone with memories that sometimes feel more real than the present day.I was sitting in traffic, engine idling, thinking about the WhatsApp messages I'd been avoiding all week. Photos from my old school's 25-year reunion in Kuwait. Ahmed—Lebanese mother, British father—posting pictures of his new private clinic in Dubai. Kha...

1 like

Codex Monetarius

PRIVATE CORRESPONDENCE FINANCIAL CRIMES DIVISION - EASTERN PROVINCESTO: Marcus Lucilius, Deputy Quaestor FROM: Gavius Silvanus, Your Former Commander DE RE: The Currency Investigation - What They Won't Tell You DATE: Five days before the grain ship sails for SardiniaMarcus,By the time you read this, I will be chained in the hull of a merchant vessel bound for the silver mines of Sardinia. Twenty years of service to Rome, and this is my reward. You will have my position, my office, my seal. They're calling it promotion. I call it blood money....

2 likes

Finding Coins with Elizabeth

Mary's knees hit the cool earthen floor harder than intended, dust puffing into the morning air. At barely three months along, her body still felt mostly her own, though sudden movements had begun to feel different.She peered beneath the grain jar into shadows holding only scattered barley and dry husks. Her fingers swept through the debris anyway, hope making her thorough despite futility."Nothing," she muttered, rocking back on her heels with one hand pressed to the small ache in her lower back. Even this early, bending was becoming negoti...

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Samaya Chakra

Dr. Rajesh Patel pressed his reading glasses against the bridge of his nose and stared at the medical journal lying open on his lap. The words blurred together like monsoon rain on glass. For the third consecutive afternoon, his "nap" had yielded nothing but ordinary sleep—no shimmering dissolution of the present, no familiar sensation of consciousness sliding backward through time to inhabit his younger self.Just an old man dozing while his grandson's birthday party preparations echoed from upstairs like a Bollywood film festival organized ...

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Tuesday Morning Physics

The barista's hands moved with the precision of a particle accelerator, steam wands conducting their morning symphony of hiss and gurgle. James Nkubana had calculated that if he arrived at exactly 9:47 AM, the queue would be manageable, the corner table would be vacant, and he could review quarterly reports in peace before his eleven o'clock meeting. What he hadn't factored into his Tuesday morning equation was the girl.She sat tucked into his usual corner booth like she'd been placed there by some mischievous universe, textbooks spread acro...

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Fore! Give Us Our Trespasses

The Reverend Nigel Fitzpatrick-Pennington was not, by any reasonable definition, an athletic man. So when Mrs. Weatherby donated her late husband's golf clubs to the church jumble sale, Nigel should have simply tagged them with a price sticker and moved on with his ecclesiastical duties.Instead, he'd made the catastrophic decision to "test their quality" in the churchyard.The first swing sent a practice ball sailing cleanly over the cemetery wall into Farmer Henderson's cabbage patch. The second resulted in a divot that would grow back by sp...

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And Us Is Happy Together

Celeste Papadakis positioned her phone at the optimal angle—seven degrees left of center, lens elevated to capture the hand-thrown ceramic mug beside her ethically-sourced morning journaling practice. Behind her, golden hour light streamed through linen curtains onto floating shelves displaying air plants arranged by chromatic progression. The aesthetic was calculated: accessible enlightenment, attainable mindfulness, curated authenticity for the 1.2 million followers who began each day consuming her content about conscious living."Morning, ...

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Saffron and Ashes

The saffron-scented lamb dissolved on Esther's tongue like honey, its Persian spices a symphony of flavors that should have brought pleasure. Instead, each bite felt like swallowing sand. Across the intimate dining chamber, Haman savored the same dish with obvious relish, golden sauce staining his lips as he smiled at something King Xerxes had said about tomorrow's purification.Tomorrow. When her people would burn."My queen seems distant tonight," Xerxes observed, his voice carrying the warmth reserved for their private moments. The lampligh...

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The Truth About Egg Mayonnaise and Appropriate Grief

The thing about funeral sandwiches is they're always cut into triangles, as if grief somehow makes us incapable of handling rectangles. I'm standing in the parlor of Hartwell & Sons, clutching a paper plate loaded with what appears to be egg mayonnaise that's seen better decades, watching Uncle Gerald's widow Marjorie hold court by the chrysanthemums like she's accepting an Oscar for Best Performance in a Bereavement Role."Such a shock," she keeps saying, dabbing her eyes with a tissue that's suspiciously dry. "So sudden."Sudden. Right. ...

0 likes

Bimbo, Bimbo, Pan Bimbo

The smell of cordite and fear-sweat still clung to Marcos's clothes as he downshifted through the mountain curve, knuckles bone-white against the cracked steering wheel. Six hours since Plaza de la Revolución had turned into a killing field. Six hours since they'd watched El Maestro's body swing from the government's execution platform while news cameras rolled.The radio coughed static through the dashboard's spider-webbed plastic, spitting fragments of accordion and government propaganda. Ever since El Maestro's death, pirate stations had b...

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Our Lady of Guadalupe

Dr. Elena Vasquez pressed her security badge against the scanner for the last time, watching the little red light blink like a dying star. 3:17 AM. The corridors of Hospital Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe stretched empty in both directions, fluorescent lights humming their electronic requiem over twenty-three years of twelve-hour shifts, groundbreaking research, and a reputation built one impossible surgery at a time.She'd submitted her resignation letter six hours ago. By morning, the board would discover that their most celebrated cardiac sur...

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Almost Dawn

Cold. Stone cold. The ground beneath my hip has turned to ice somehow, though the night air still holds warmth from yesterday's sun. I shift against the olive tree's trunk, bark pressing ridges into my spine through the thin fabric of my tunic. The wool itches where it bunches at my shoulder, damp with sweat despite the chill.My brother's breathing comes heavy beside me, that familiar whistle through his nose that used to keep me awake when we shared the boat's narrow cabin. Now it's almost comforting. Like home. Like normal things that make...

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Alakeen's Gun of 1892

The rooster's crow split the pre-dawn darkness, dragging Kwame from dreams of London buses and lecture halls. Eighteen months since the borders closed. Eighteen months since Uncle Kofi's funeral trapped him in this village where time moved like honey in winter.He rolled off his reed mat, joints protesting. Through gaps in the mud-brick walls, he glimpsed cousin Ama stoking the cooking fire. The agricultural age had its rhythms—wake before dawn, tend goats, harvest cassava, sleep when darkness fell. Repeat until you forgot there was ever anot...

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Here's to the Crazy Ones

Steven adjusted his worn Levi's jacket for the third time, watching the garage fill with the usual suspects—engineers clutching breadboards like prayer books, programmers with pocket protectors full of pencils, and the occasional venture capitalist pretending to understand what a microprocessor actually did. The February air in Menlo Park carried the scent of solder and possibility, though Steven suspected most of these Homebrew Computer Club meetings produced more hot air than actual innovation."You're early," observed Daniel Kottke, slidin...

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3:17 AM

Dr. Khalil Tabela pressed his stethoscope against Mrs. Patterson's chest, listening to death's approaching jackboots. The A&E ward at Sheffield General wheezed its 3 AM death rattle—ventilators gasping like drowning men, monitors beeping out morse code prayers to gods who'd clocked off hours ago."What's your name again, love?" Mrs. Patterson wheezed through lips the color of old newspapers."Dr. Tabela," he said, adjusting her morphine drip with the mechanical precision of a man who'd stopped feeling his own hands months ago. Twenty-three...

1 like

Author bio

Hi, I'm Alex Marmalade. I'm a working author building something in public—turning my journey into story structure insights that help readers become storytellers.
After decades of burying my writer identity under "you're supposed to be a doctor first," I'm finally becoming the writer I always hoped I could be. One story every weekday, sharing what I learn along the way.
My breakthrough came reading Robert McKee's "Story" in one sitting—16 hours that changed how I see narrative forever. Now I write stories that explore authentic human moments while teaching the structural foundations that make them work.
Want to see behind the scenes? I share beat sheets and creative insights at: https://alexmarmalade.substack.com
Mon-Fri story breakdowns, weekend Extended versions on Amazon KDP. Learning structure together, one story at a time.
The garden gate is always unlocked. ✨

1 winning story 🏆

Contest #294

Unspoken Orders – read story