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A weekly short story contest
Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jun, 2021
Submitted to Contest #157
The marquee of the Georgia Theater in Athens was slightly dimmed in contrast to the glaring sun during the swelling summer of 1962. The weather had been unkind towards Georgia’s inhabitants. Blades of grass stood unmoving in the gradually condensing air, the ends slowly altering their colors until the fields looked tan. No longer was the dust carried by wind after being kicked by unbeknownst children, for when they played, it was almost as if it perched near their mouths before settling to the ground. Moira thought it was imperti...
Submitted to Contest #122
Florence pressed her palm into the horn. It bleated like a wilting goat, and her car reverberated from the noise, coughing.  This would have been productive, if she had been the only one honking. Alas, the sound of her blast just drained into the sink of yammering traffic around her. After standing still for ten minutes on Shepperton, she croaked her Volkswagon into park, and stuck her head out of the window, on the lookout for an explanation. This hadn’t been how her morning started. She woke up early, picked up hot coff...
Submitted to Contest #98
“Straight shoot.” Raglin spread five cards in front of him, eyes glinting. “Damn it, Rag. I was just about to fix you-” A stout man with obsequiously oily blond hair slammed his fist on the table, subsequently sending his hand of cards flying across the table. The nine of them sat in the Walton Blue’s lounge, their faces clouded behind a swarm of cigarette smoke. The round table was just barely illuminated by the swinging light overhead, and that, swathed with the plait of smoke, was a recipe for disaster. Each of them held a bri...
Submitted to Contest #97
Aloysius looked down. Thirty-two stories below him, he could see the ground. Infinitesimal human beings, greedily scrounging for something that would fill their aching souls, crowded the sidewalks. Alongside them, a river of cars square-danced their way through the streets. A faint murmur of honking could be heard from Aloysius’s vantage point, though the sound was dimmed by the steady rush of wind. He held his balance, his life, by the railings. One hand plastered to the metal, the other carefully wiping the glass in front of him. He...
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