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 Jan, 2021
Submitted to Contest #320
Most explanations are simple once you let go of all your preconceptions.***That morning, I didn’t want to read her letter.I thought maybe she would try to stop me from going, or at the very least list out a few good reasons why I’m a shit father. I almost just threw the damn thing away. But her car keys were laying on top of the letter and the coffee pot was warm and full.She was no where to be found, yet here she was, offering me her hand.I wanted to take it. I wanted to take it badly.So I lifted her letter and began to read.Miran,I’m sorry...
To know my story is to know my sorrow.I’ve landed, finally landed. But not without definite damnation.I’ve borrowed too much time—and now, it’s my time. Dawn is closer than near.I have but one task to do. It will take all of me. And so with my last breath, which harbors mint moonlight, hear this:Egg. Larva. Pupil. Actias. This is the way of life. Egg. Larva. Pupil. Actias. We must mate and mate for life.When we are born into the brutality of this world, we know this truth and this truth alone, for it flows through us, from forewing to forewi...
Submitted to Contest #315
NOWToday is a lot of things.For one, it’s Halloween.Two, it’s also my birthday.And three, it’s going to be the day I have to say goodbye to my Grandma.It won’t be easy. These things never are. But I know she’ll do everything in her power to make it just a little bit better for me.I roll out of bed, slow to pull the curtains back. I look outside, at the trees bare of leaves, at the sky as gloomy and grey as a headache, and think of her.She loves this time of year, when night falls early and when the winds change. She says she waits all year l...
Submitted to Contest #299
Dear Uncle B,I’ve been meaning to write to you for a couple of weeks now, but every time I sit down and begin this letter, things… get in the way. It’s been hard. And for good reasons, I might add.For example, yesterday I was walking to my car, had my headphones in and everything, and I could see an old homeless woman approaching me. She was wrapped in a tattered black shawl, her hair ran ragged, and her face looked like a pinched pastry. She was on the path directly in front of me and I had no choice but to walk right past her to get to my ...
Submitted to Contest #293
We build the road and the road builds us. ***Ed Shenton’s most favorite thing in the whole wide world was driving his VW Golf GTI. He liked the way the engine purred softly to life, the feel of the leather seats (heated, of course) on his behind, and the horsepower she had when he shifted into another gear.Anytime spent in his Golf was sweet serenity. Long commutes to work? No problem. Midnight grocery runs? You got it. Designated driver on the weekends? Not as much fun as having a few pints himself, but hey, he’d do it just to be in hi...
Submitted to Contest #292
This story will end in blood. At least, that’s what Gilbert says. They don’t believe me; that he’s real, that’s he been doin’ all these terrible and awful things. But I know the truth. I swear it. Mama made me come here. She thinks I need medicine or somethin’. These doctors though, they’re real pieces of work. They come on in here, with their fancy white coats and big serious words, and think they can make sense of it all. Of him.Of me. They come on in here and they tell me to write it all down, sweetie, every last...
Submitted to Contest #290
The little one lay on the other side of the fire, not moving. I watched the flames lick and furl their way up the front door, then stretch further along the side wall, fanning like feathers into the night.The house was burning. And soon, so would he.I couldn’t just sit there and watch it happen.So, I called to the little one, loudly, but still, he didn’t move. I ran then, making as much noise as I possibly could, trying to get someone, anyone’s, attention.And I did.Eventually a man stepped outside. A man wrapped in a robe, I think. His eyes ...
Submitted to Contest #289
When you look up the etymology of the word monster, it means “to warn.” For as long as humans have been around, and even before the genesis of written language, we’ve found ways to communicate this word.Whether it was with clay tokens or cave paintings, monsters have appeared in our histories, our stories, and our lives, time and time again. And though they might haunt and horrify in a variety of shapes and sizes— some baring claws and fangs, others decorated in clown makeup or Halloween masks— they all have one, undeniable factor in common:...
Submitted to Contest #285
I am dead. I am dead. I am dead. Please press the A and C buttons at the same time, then I shall be Kuchipatchi once more! If you were to press the A and C buttons at the same time, then I could tell you that I am a sweet, laid back Kuchipatchi who loves to eat and sleep (and eat!). And should you press the A and C buttons, at the same exact time of course, then you would know I am from the lush Patchi forest. Oh, and did I mention that I love to eat? But PLAYER TWO does not know any of this, because PLAYER...
Submitted to Contest #284
It’s hard to know where to start when all I can think about is how it ended. She was here. She was alive. Flushed, warm, and by my side. All was calm and all was bright. Until he arrived. ***I stared out the kitchen window of my cabin, watching the late afternoon snow fall with a fury. The sky was fading from grey to black and soon it would be dark. I walked into the garage and shoved the fat, orange plug into the side outlet. Suddenly, tiny blue, red, green, and yellow lights blinked on, igniting the rim of the roof...
Submitted to Contest #282
TW - This story contains depictions of domestic violence, abortion, and emotional trauma that may be distressing to some readers.***January 12, 2022Dear Charlie, I’m sorry I haven’t written in a while, but you need to know this: I left Josh today. I did it. I really did it. It felt as if I had finally swept the giant jar of lemon drops off the counter, letting them shatter into a kaleidoscope of shards and sugar. It was the first step in a life that would no longer taste of regret.I’m sorry it took me so long. I’m sorry you’re...
Submitted to Contest #281
I’ve never been one to play with dolls. Can’t say the same for my little sister Holly, though. She’s just five years old, about to turn six tomorrow, and always has a Barbie tucked under her arm. So of course she’d be thrilled to clean our late Great Grandma Nellie’s attic. It’s practically filled with her collection of vintage, glass-eyed, porcelain dolls. You know. The creepy kind, dressed in Victorian gowns with eyes that seem to follow you, no matter where you are in the room. And me? Well, with Christmas just a few days a...
Submitted to Contest #280
“Say something, or I’m going to hang up—”“No, please don’t go. Not yet. Tell me about school, about English class. What book are you reading?”“Dad, just stop. What happened? Why does this always happen? Mom is a wreck, and the boys, they don’t know what to think.”“I know.”“Do you? Because you just left us. Again. You have no idea what you put us through every time this—”“It doesn’t matter. None of that matters anymore.”“Of course it does! We need you.”“No you don’t. You’re better off without me.”“Don’t say that. Please don’t say that. You’re...
Submitted to Contest #277
Perhaps you’ve heard stories of glass slippers, sleeping beauties, and candied cottages. Or maybe you’ve read about wicked witches, frogged lips, and happily ever afters. Whatever the case, I’m sure, quite sure, you know my story. Well, a version of my story. But it wasn’t told in its entirety, of that I am certain. It’s time I tell the truth, now that she’s almost grown up and has a mind of her own. Now that she wants to hear the real story. Her story. Let me begin. ***There once was a little girl who wore a ho...
Submitted to Contest #275
Onward. Onward and out, breaking surface, breaking even, and—Mad woman. No one likes a mad woman. Moonlit silk strung together by the thine of song, and whispering, whispering, SCREAMING! Limericks, long forgotten. The hem of my soaked dress drags against wilting lavender stock. Mad woman. No one likes a mad woman. I let my imagination run wild, fully knowing what I am seeing and what I am not seeing. Behind me, the lake, where sorrows and secrets can rest. In front of me, the meadow, its flowers painted in mute...
Oops, you need an account for that!
Log in with your social account:
Or enter your email:
1 like
