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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jan, 2021
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...
Submitted to Contest #84
Kids, I hope you get to read this one day. I want you to know that your Mom knew your Dad was the one back in March 2021, a full year after the pandemic ended, and even back in 2016, when she left high school for college. *** She didn’t wait around for him when graduation day came in May of 2016. They had already discussed the possibility of him following her, but neither of them could live with that choice. She remembers him telling her that he applied to Monterey Bay, but didn’t get in. Instead, he’d be going to San Diego State Univers...
Submitted to Contest #81
12.12.2020 “And where’s there?” “Where’s what?” I answered. “Where does the road end? What are we driving to?” He inquired, curious, and reasonably so. I hadn’t told Ben anything yet. How strange it was, to have him here beside me, in the passenger seat of my small, dark blue honda civic. He looked so different from the 18-year-old boy who left me at Homecoming. But right now, I didn’t want to answer him yet. To be honest, I was surprised that he already didn't know. Years ago, we took the school bus here, together. W...
Submitted to Contest #80
1.22.2020 Dear Diary, I think we all have something important to say. I haven’t found my story yet, but I intend to. I’ve always wanted to say something that was helpful to others. Or maybe helpful isn’t the right word. I want to say something that gets people thinking, and hopefully, talking to one another. I am only in 8th grade and don’t know much, but I do know that 6th period US History with Mr. Hizal is my favorite part of the day. Right now we are learning about the US Constitution and we have to make over 100 flashc...
Submitted to Contest #79
Drinks by the dozen. And smoke. Lots of smoke. That’s what she remembers most from the night in June of ‘84. It takes the shrieks of a chainsaw to pull her from her thoughts. “What, Dad?” Gripping her coffee in one hand, she uses her other hand as a shield to block out the sun so she can see her Dad. And there he was, teetering on the top step of a ladder, chainsaw in hand, his floppy hat covering his eyes. He makes a few more muffled groans and tries to take a step down. She walks a little closer. “What!?” Jesus Dad, turn that thing o...
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