Alex Marmalade

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Feb, 2020

Stories (23)

23 Stories

341 karma pts

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“The Old Guard's Last Score” by Alex Marmalade

Submitted to Contest #286

The security cameras at Singapore's Changi Prison clicked west. Eight seconds. Walter Chen had memorized their rotation pattern during his weekly visits to Michelle. The cameras swung east. Another eight seconds before they'd pan back. Time enough to pick any lock in the world. Not that he needed to – he was here legally, watching his comatose daughter through reinforced glass while a guard hovered nearby. Still, old habits died hard, especially for a man who'd stolen the crown jewels of three different countries. "Mr. Chen?" Dr. Lim approac...

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“The Book of Small Things” by Alex Marmalade

Submitted to Contest #286

Yuri stared at the contents of his suitcase spread across the metal table, each item a carefully chosen piece of his world. The Ukrainian customs officer picked through them with latex-gloved hands, his movements precise and unhurried. Behind the one-way glass, Yuri knew others were watching, analyzing his stillness, his silence, the way his fingers traced the edge of *Knyha Malykh Rechei* – The Book of Small Things. The book that had been his constant companion since the night Sasha first pressed it into his hands, her eyes bright with urge...

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“Throw Out the Milk” by Alex Marmalade

Submitted to Contest #285

Dr Aurora Iriarte often told junior colleagues that neurology wards fell quiet after midnight. But tonight, she heard ragged breathing near the vending machine, well past two in the morning. As she rounded the corner, she found Dr Adam Walters — a fast-rising Infectious Diseases consultant, usually calm under pressure — crouched on the floor, clutching a 50ml syringe of fentanyl and vecuronium.Aurora’s pulse kicked up. “Adam,” she murmured, stepping closer. “Trouble with the machine?” He pressed the plastic barrel to his forehead, tears slip...

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“Twenty-Three Minutes” by Alex Marmalade

Submitted to Contest #285

John MacIntyre slumps at a battered landline in the NYPD’s Twenty-Sixth Precinct on December 31st, 1999, 10:37 p.m. While revelers pack Times Square awaiting the new millennium, he’s tethered to a squealing phone. The overhead clock ticks too slowly. Most nights, he’d roll with the usual calls—drunk fights, noise complaints—but tonight, the Y2K hysteria means an onslaught of doomsday questions. He’d rather be anywhere else, but a shoulder injury keeps him on desk duty.He answers a call from a man fretting that at midnight, computers might tr...

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“The Gathering” by Alex Marmalade

Submitted to Contest #284

The house was a crumbling fortress of whispers. Mariam sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor, her fingers brushing the coarse edge of the rug beneath her. She stared at the wooden door, its flimsy latch her only barrier against the world outside. Her breath came in shallow, uneven gasps as she pressed her hand to her stomach.The kerosene lamp flickered, casting shadows that stretched and twisted across the cracked plaster walls. The dim light accentuated the fraying threads of her worn dupatta draped over her head. Outside, the village mu...

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“The Long Way Home” by Alex Marmalade

Submitted to Contest #283

The cardboard was damp. Not soaked—Tom had enough experience to know the difference—but it wouldn’t hold up through another frost. He ran his fingers over the uneven edges, the jagged tears where he’d ripped it from a larger box the week before. The letters, scrawled with a fading black marker, had bled slightly in the misty air: Homeless Veteran. God Bless.Tom sighed, tilting the sign toward the streetlights to check if it was still legible. Probably not. Not that anyone cared. People didn’t really read the signs. They looked at the person ...

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“The Weight of Glass” by Alex Marmalade

Submitted to Contest #282

Sam shoved the door open with his shoulder, the hinges squealing in protest. The communal recycling bins loomed in the corner of the car park, squat and unyielding, as if daring him to approach. A bitter December wind whipped around him, cutting through his thin hoodie and biting at his ears.The bag in his hand sagged ominously. A renegade wine bottle had already poked a hole in the side, and every step sent another tin can rattling closer to freedom. Sam sighed. “Hold it together, mate,” he muttered, not sure if he was talking to the bag or...

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“The Heart of the Matter” by Alex Marmalade

Submitted to Contest #281

Ruth stared at the chocolate fingerprints she'd left on the invitation. Five years of keeping it pristine in her desk drawer, and now, on the actual day, she'd smudged it with half-melted chocolate from a stress-eaten candy bar. The heavy cream paper still smelled faintly of her father's signature cologne—sandalwood and something medicinal she could never identify. "The reading of Robert Sterling's last will and testament," the gold lettering proclaimed, "to be held at Sterling Manor, five years from the date of donation." Not death. Donatio...

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“Warp speed, Mr Chekov” by Alex Marmalade

Submitted to Contest #280

Welcome to Horizon Utilities. For quality assurance, this call may be recorded. Please tell me how I can help you today. I want to speak to a Representative. I understand you’d like to speak to a representative. To better direct your call, please briefly describe the reason for your inquiry. Representative. I’m not describing anything. Just get me to a person. I’m here to help you save time. Are you calling about your bill, a service outage, or something else? I just said I want to…Billing. Thank you. I’ll connect you to our automated billin...

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“Extraction Point” by Alex Marmalade

Submitted to Contest #279

The emergency klaxon pierced the silence like a blade, its distant wail resonating through Kai's consciousness. It was the first sound she could remember from her childhood. Not her mother’s lullabies or her father’s calming voice, but the harsh, unrelenting alarm of another evacuation. Another disaster. Another reminder of Earth's slow death. Seattle had drowned when she was six. The Pacific Northwest had once been home to towering forests, bustling tech hubs, and the promise of a future. But that promise had drowned beneath rising seas and...

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“The Last Confession” by Alex Marmalade

Submitted to Contest #278

“Death isn’t a thief,” Dr. Amelia Grant whispered as she adjusted the morphine drip, her voice thin as paper. “It’s an accomplice.” The words hung in the sterile air of Room 517, where the smell of antiseptic mingled with the inevitable stench of mortality. The man on the bed, Gerald Worthing, was skeletal, his skin stretched taut over brittle bones. He barely resembled the towering figure I had grown up admiring—and fearing. Gerald’s eyes fluttered open, cloudy but fierce. “I need to tell you something, Ellie,” he rasped, using my childhood...

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“The Wicked Thread” by Alex Marmalade

Submitted to Contest #277

The first time Jasper touched the thread, the world didn’t ripple—it fractured. For a breathless second, it was as if the air cracked around him, spilling a silence so heavy it threatened to crush him.   He crouched in the ruins of Silwood’s old tailor shop, where ivy draped the stone like a shroud and ash coated the floor from a fire no one remembered. He wasn’t supposed to be here. No one was.   The villagers whispered about the tailor who had vanished years ago, leaving behind nothing but ruined fabric and stories of a...

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“The School With No Uniform” by Alex Marmalade

Submitted to Contest #276

It was a Monday morning in 1990, the year that Saddam Hussein invaded our home in The Gulf. I was 9 years old. My brother Ethan was 7. My sister Claire was 3. My older brother Gideon - who liked to be called Ronnie - was not with us, but he was 14. My mother was 36 years old and struggling with the weight of an 8-month pregnancy. We were newly arrived in England, the country I was born in after my parents escaped the regime of His Excellency, President for Life Idi Amin Dada, The Last King of Scotland, in order for my father to complete...

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“Crossroads ” by Alex Marmalade

Submitted to Contest #275

The late October air had a bite to it, crisp enough to sharpen the senses, as Jake shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and stared down at the empty alleyway before him. He’d been on the run for a long time, but tonight, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something else was following him. Something… not from this world. Maybe it was paranoia, he thought, but the strange scent of candle wax and bitter herbs in the air wasn’t helping. Just as he turned to walk back to the busier streets, something brushed against his ankle. He looked down...

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“The Silent Grove” by Alex Marmalade

Submitted to Contest #274

The night draped the woods in darkness, a heavy cloak that whispered secrets and long-buried fears. A damp chill seeped through the trees as Reverend Elijah Mason threaded his way through the underbrush, the crisp leaves crunching softly beneath his careful steps. The lantern he carried flickered, casting long, trembling shadows that danced among the gnarled branches. He wore a cloak that hid the cut of his collar, the robes of a man of God, although he felt anything but righteous tonight. He paused to listen, feeling the forest's breath—a r...

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Author bio

Hi, I’m Alex Marmalade. Yes, it’s a ridiculous last name, much like my stories. https://alexmarmalade.substack.com/ My favourite quote is from OtR: If you're not embarrassed, then you're not doing it right. Here's me trying to do it right.