reedsymarketplace
Hire professionals for your project
reedsyblog
Advice, insights and news
reedsylearning
Online publishing courses
reedsylive
Free publishing webinars
reedsydiscovery
Launch your book in style
Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jul, 2021
Submitted to Contest #105
The gemstone had shattered by the touch of her hands, sending streams of light flashing across the small brick-walled room. Halamous had told us that this should not be the case--that the gem should gravitate towards her if it were ready. But before I could warn her with even a muffled screech, her hand grazed the polished stone without the gemstone’s comfort signal. We walk back to Halamous’ tent now, our shame disguising our internal confusion. Halamous must have known that the gem wasn’t ready or that Varitha was not the one to be chosen...
Submitted to Contest #104
The energetic and bold honeybee is greatly talented in many activities for their survival. Buzzing from flower to flower, collecting residue of yellow pollen and nectar. Yet, their only defense is their stinger: and with the use of that comes their death. Flowers are gentle, colorful, and move only with the titillation of the wind. Their beauty, their talent, is worth boasting about, although they would never be able to. Each, in their mutualistic relationship, receives only what they need--nothing else, and certainly nothing less. This is y...
Submitted to Contest #103
Gemen: special kind of human that exhibits a power-wielding gemstone in the center of their chest, between their pectoral muscles. Their origins are unclear, but the powers that accompany their structure are indisputable: and sometimes, dangerous. This contrast between the small population and special powers of the Gemen and the much larger populations and lack of power of the normal people are a recipe for political tension. -------------------------------------------------------------- Varitha faces her father. The father of not onl...
Submitted to Contest #102
Content warning: abuse***Four ceramic plates, four tall glasses, eight pieces of silverware and a basket of bread in the middle. The family sitting around the table with a painted poise on each of our black canvas faces. My father will come home to this each day, cascading his fork into the pile of food without a second glance at the human chickens before him. But, without fail, my mom and I’s hands will always take us back to the dishes each night, despite our reluctance and depressive state. Our life depends on it, my mother says, because ...
Submitted to Contest #101
My name is Ella Briold, and it's stupidly embroidered on the back of my sweatshirt. I swiftly swing through the halls and my feet make a slight skipping noise across the tiled floor. People know my name. They know I’m an easy target. And that I never fight back. The It group is behind me, and I think they’re preying on me. I hear light footsteps behind me before a hand touches my shoulder and spins me to face its owner. It’s Kayla Waters. Her smile creeps across her face like a worm crawls on a dirt path. I’d like to step on it, but god kn...
Oops, you need an account for that!
Log in with your social account:
Or enter your email:
7 likes
