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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Mar, 2025
Submitted to Contest #302
Whistling cut through the cold night air, slipping between the tombstones and echoing off the weathered marble figures. The moon hung heavy in the sky, its reflection shimmering on the surface of a man-made pond, rippling with the chill of the autumn wind.Clyde Bowman staggered through the graveyard in his old military Battle Dress Uniform. His boots crunched on dead leaves, and the neck of his beer bottle clinked against the rusted chains of an old iron gate as he passed. He took a long pull, the bitter taste coating his throat, and broke i...
Submitted to Contest #301
The temperature surged beyond 2,000 degrees, but he didn’t feel it. Screams of agony rippled through the air like wind through dead trees, but he wasn’t moved. Cries for mercy rang out like broken prayers, but he didn’t flinch. This was his eternity, unchanging, unchallenged. For the one once called the Light Bringer, this was his dominion.It was just routine in the pit, and he walked the scorched rows like a foreman checking his stock, passing demons armed with whips, fleshhooks, and iron brands. They delivered punishment with joyful precis...
Submitted to Contest #300
Barreling down the highway at over 90 MPH with no real destination, Frank Marsheton pressed harder on the gas pedal. Ghastly blue moonlight revealed stretches of farmland around him as he took another pull from his beer.The windows were down. Cold night air rushed across his face, but it didn’t sober him. Beer dropped from his chin, and he wiped it lazily with the sleeve of his blue flannel before tossing the empty can onto the passenger floorboard.Resting on the seat was a manila envelope that changed everything. He grabbed another beer fro...
Submitted to Contest #299
Father Matthews stood at the entrance of the Church of the Holy Ghost, bidding farewell to the congregation with a warm, practiced smile. He dutifully shook hands and thanked them, always wishing them well. The last lingering members would slowly work their way down the paved stone stairs.The church had a more Gothic style, which Father Matthews always admired. Stained glass windows, tall and narrow, would cast crystallized saints and martyrs across the warped and wooden floor, smoothed over from time. Gouges and scratches cut deep, with var...
Submitted to Contest #298
The Archivist glided through the Library of Heaven. The bookshelves rose in solemn silence, stretching beyond sight. Each book glowed softly—each one, a soul that had once lived. Each life, held in suspension, was now cataloged for all eternity. The Archivist moved toward a book still forming. She reached her hand towards the book, and it opened by itself. Her hand hovered over the pages, and the book filled with ink, not ink as humans know it, but pure experience. The cries of birth. The aches of first loss. The laughter shared between love...
Submitted to Contest #297
The bar strained under the plates like it was cemented to the floor. The world record for deadlift stood at 1,104.5 pounds. At 1,105 pounds, it was enough to destroy the spine and even destroy Stacey Maxwell. “This is Stacey’s final attempt to break the world record,” the announcer said. As Stacey applied chalk to his hands, he wasn’t listening to anything around him. He blocked out the crowd and music minutes ago. This lift would define his career. This was for his legacy. Stacey has imagined this moment a hundred times. The bar, the chalk,...
Submitted to Contest #296
People say I love all things, like I’m the happy-go-lucky type. And they’re not wrong. I’ve always had a soft spot for how people come together, how they share their lives, stories, grief, and joy. Love like how a dog looks at its owner, like they hung the stars just for them. Those things always brought a smile to my face.You can call me a nomad, drifting across the Earth, never calling one place home. I’d spend time in different places, never staying long. Small towns were always my favorite. There’s something different about them, a kind ...
Submitted to Contest #295
*Depiction of blood/injury.* “Sorry for your loss, Randall.” Mark said gently. “I have known your father since high school, he was a good man. I’ll give you a minute, let me know when you are ready.”“Thank you, I’m ready.”“Alright,” Mark said, handing him a document. “Here’s a copy of his will. Read it over and let me know if you have any questions.”Randall had known this day was approaching. His father’s health had been declining over the past few months. He had stopped drinking fluids and had required hospital visits for IV treatments. ...
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