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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jan, 2021
Submitted to Contest #268
“Help us! Please, God, someone help us! Please God, make it—” “Turn it off, turn that off right now! My apologies, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, my apologies.” The prosecutor adjusts his glasses, his voice tight. “What you just heard was a clip from the found footage discussed in this case. Upon review, the Honorable Mary Dolas determined it was insufficient for viewership, due to its grotesque and gruesome nature. For this purpose, you will be reading only the transcript of the found footage. You may proceed in reading Exhibit 1.” ...
Submitted to Contest #267
TW - sexual violence and substance abuseI let the liquor sing— slow and steady it burns as it blooms. I look across the kitchen table at my father, sitting there in his faded flannel, then take another swig. It goes down all too easy.“I think you need to cool it there a little, Jessica,” he says. Like he’s one to talk. This place, this cramped, craphole of a place, reeks of cigarettes and spilt beer. I guess the apple didn’t fall far from the tree with this one. But I can’t help what I am, right? I can’t help what I do, or what I say, not wh...
Submitted to Contest #266
Dear Cynthia,I want to write something with you again. I still love to write and I know you do too. We had so much fun. We still can. What do you say? I want to call it, The Cousin’s Cure, because I think we can help each other. Creating can be a very personal thing, and I want to share it with someone who will understand. I know you will. I’m curious to see where this road will take us. Maybe back to one another. Maybe we can be best friends again. God knows I miss you. I miss you more than words can say. Write me soon.&...
Submitted to Contest #261
Now what. I can’t move. I can’t think. I’m just sitting here, frozen, mouth slightly agape, staring at a sea of people. Well, a room with about 50 wedding guests, give or take— but you get the point. This isn’t a great start for a Maid of Honor.What am I supposed to do again? A small voice breaks through the fog. “Come on, Liss. You can do it. You’re almost there.” I look over at the boy sitting next to me. Not a boy anymore, not really. A man. Seth is more of a man now than our father ever was. I look into Seth...
Submitted to Contest #249
We’re just kids, Ma. Please let us stay. Please. Please let me keep my—I wake with a start, drenched in sweat. It takes me a few moments to realize where I am, but then I see the wooden walls made of timber, the pointed slope of the ceiling, and remember. The cabin. We’re still in the cabin. After lying on the stiff, unforgiving floorboards, it takes a great deal of effort to stand. But somehow I do. I walk over to the boarded-up window and peek through one of the slates. It looks like the first snowfall of the season has begu...
Submitted to Contest #235
“Please, let me help you,” the land whispers. “Hush and let me lay you to sleep.” “Never yield,” my bones answer back. “Never again shall I yield.” And so I stand. And then I climb. ***Why can’t I forgive myself? It’s a question I ask far too often. Me, myself, and I, cursed with an incessant conscience. You know how people get sick, like, with the flu? And they have a fever or sore throat? Well sometimes I get like that, but only in my mind. I’ll catch this mental cold, this downright depressing spiral of thoug...
Submitted to Contest #230
Funny, how places aren’t places, as much as they are times. I let the thought ripple across my stream of consciousness, as careless and as casual as a sea breeze. I look at the blooming hydrangeas before me, then reach out to pluck one of the pastel petals between my fingers. Yes, places aren't places, as much as they are times. Lost in thought, I study the flowers that grow here — lemon daisies, sunflowers, toad lilies — and admire how each flower adds a touch of wild beauty to my grandmother’s garden. Every step I take shifts their sh...
Submitted to Contest #221
Dear reader, The last house on Adeline Lane was supposed to be a new beginning for us. What happened within those walls is something I have never spoken about. Until now. Clay, my younger brother, was at the center of it all. I wasn’t able to save him. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but for me, it’s the stuff monsters are made of. It’s ok if none of this makes sense right now. Soon it will. In time, you’ll know everything about the last house on Adeline Lane, and how my little brother, in a way, is still there.Y...
Shortlisted for Contest #218 ⭐️
If we’re pulled apart, it’s because one of us let go. The will of waves reaching shoreline eclipses the cry of a seagull, and saltwater, carried by seabreeze, invites invigorating inhales. I breathe in. I release. I breathe in. I release. The whispers of passersby blend into muted murmurs and all I can hear are the crashing of waves and the crying of gulls. And so I breathe in. And then I release. I fiddle with a fistful of sand, it’s heat warming my skin, lulling me to sleep. I stretch out my legs, the tips of my to...
Submitted to Contest #215
Dear reader, When you find this, call 911. It’ll be too late, I’m sure of it, but at least you’ll be able to give their families closure, or something like that. I know none of this makes sense to you, but that’s ok. We have time right now, you and me, to get to know each other just a little. I believe that by the time you finish reading this, you’ll know me quite well. Maybe, you’ll even see me. Because when someone sees you, it can make all the difference. It can, mean everything. When someone — when everyone — do...
Submitted to Contest #149
The haunting melody begins at dusk each day, like clockwork. It is Beethoven’s Piano Sonata No. 14, of that I am sure. I step aside from my usual perch behind the weathered gravestone and roll out my stiff shoulders. Tired from standing all day long, I kneel down and rest against the head of the gravestone. With slow swipes, I smooth out the ruffles in my pink skirt and finally begin to relax. Next to me is a small, orange jack o’lantern, grinning. Gently, I lift it from the ground and cradle the pumpkin in my arms. It’s some...
Submitted to Contest #137
Can we ever really fuck up? I mean, to the point of no return. When the person you once loved couldn't give two shits about where you are, how you got here, or even who you are, as you write this.You hope that they'll stumble upon this note, “accidentally,” and that they will wish they could have done more.But we both know the truth; they left because there was no fixing us. We’re broken people, with broken hearts, and we’ve tried every which way to be better.I guess we could have tried a little bit harder, to stay in each other’s lives...
Submitted to Contest #133
This Is Me Trying I remember this, I whisper to myself, as I hold the old, wooden, heart-shaped box in my hands. I brush the tip of my thumb over the engraving, written in a childish scrawl. Written by me, years ago. Misty-eyed, I read “To Mom, Love, Em.” The word “Mom” is much bigger, and slanted sideways. “Em” is extra small, and if you didn’t know this gift was from me, you probably wouldn’t be able to make out the name. It seems so impossible, the world in which this tiny box was made. Years ago, more than a decade,...
Submitted to Contest #107
“Sam! Did you pack the cooler already?” I yell. No response. Our little apartment sits quietly on this August evening, and our two cats, Beans and Rasha, stand like statues in the kitchen. I hear our clock tick, one second. Two seconds. I can’t stand the silence. It’s almost three in the afternoon, we should have left an hour ago. What the hell is Sam doing? I decide to go see for myself. I climb the stairs two steps at a time, and am out of breath by the time I reach the top landing. “Sam!” I wheeze, as I poke my head into her room....
Submitted to Contest #89
Be brave, Bright. Do your best. *** I consider me and Thomas artists. I like to draw, doodle, and paint. I love taking a moment, freezing it, rethinking it, and keeping it. It helps me explain the words I can’t say. Thomas, he’s a different type of artist. He’s a writer, plain and simple, and one of the best I ever knew. We used to have a little friendly competition on Friday nights. I’d stop by CVS on my way home from work, pick up a bottle of wine, Cheez-Its, and Haribo gummy bears (those were Thomas’s favorite snacks and they had t...
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