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Author on Reedsy Prompts since May, 2021
Submitted to Contest #274
"Aw, I dunno, Penny. I think you're fibbin'. I ain't never heard of a mango tree dropping plum fruit tasting like a fizzy." "Oh, Michael—you're from Sydney," Penny answered with a roll of her sparkling green eyes. "An' no one from the city knows what kinda good secrets we Bogans keep past the black stump." "Where's that? The 'black stump?'" With hands upturned and thrust to the heavens, Penny shook her head, sending her braided, blonde pigtails flailing, "It's not a real 'black stump'; it means it's far off—like a long way out of the way." ...
He had never been afraid of the dark until the night it whispered his name. He had never suffered from insomnia either, but the sun was setting on his third day without a wink. How could this be? After 30 years? He paced from the table to the bottom of the stairs and back again. Aside from beef jerky, some cheese and crackers, and endlessly brewing pots of coffee, he had barely eaten or drank anything. When he raised an arm to lean on the kitchen entryway, he caught scent of himself and flinched. You stink. You need to wash. You need to get...
Submitted to Contest #262
John Wallinger stood on the beach of the tiny, isolated atoll, staring at the horizon of an azure sea. But beyond where the water turned dark and deep, he sensed change on the way. Here on the western edge of the Society Islands of French Polynesia, the transplanted Canadian wondered what the day would bring. Unlike the mere palmful of sky available to the eye above his Rocky Mountain hometown, in this place, the sky was without end in all directions. And though he could see as far as forever standing on his beach, knowing what would c...
Submitted to Contest #252
“‘Be careful what you wish for,’ Do you remember when I told you that?” She never meant to hurt them. It wasn’t intentional. She knew it was because she was fundamentally flawed, and experience had taught her the only way she could live without the guilt was to make it their choice. She was honest from the get-go. It was always their choice. “I told you I couldn’t make you happy.” He hadn’t said anything, but the weight of his hand on her bare shoulder spoke volumes. She knew he wanted her to reach deeper, to find more, but she had nothing...
Submitted to Contest #249
The scent of seared meat from a charcoal grill floating in the early evening air skipped across my nose, eliciting an ache of hunger. The remainder of my shopping excursion would have to wait. Crossing the cobblestone plaza of the arts district, I followed the sounds of boisterous conversations, the clicking of metal utensils on porcelain, and laughter with the unmistakable voice of Édith Piaf as the soundtrack. I picked up the sweet scent of seared scallops, onion, garlic and the heady aroma of rich cheese. Cafés a...
Submitted to Contest #234
The room was nearly without light, but Rose Bennet could see her daughter curled in the fetal position on the hospital bed. Daphne was a beautiful 14-year-old girl, and she was dying.Among the many other symptoms of Von Hippel-Lindau’s (VHL) disease was acute light sensitivity from the decay of the retinas. Rose’s mother, Ashley, had VHL, and it took her life before she’d turned 40. VHL was also hereditary, so there was great concern in the Bennet family that the children were at risk.But Rose and her older sisters, Iris (two years...
Submitted to Contest #225
It was more a shape than a face that moved behind the broken glass, and instantly, I felt drawn in. Pulled. I leaned toward the surface, and the face moved with me. The figure remained obscured, partially masked by a veil of dirty fog brushed over the reflective coating, distorted and disjointed from the splinters. I bent my head toward my left shoulder; my eyes focused on the figure in the shattered glass, and as I moved, the misty reflection followed suit. A large section of the mirror at the bottom right was undamaged. I...
Submitted to Contest #216
“I don’t get why you have this place,” said Kelly as she took the order for an Americano. “You don’t even like people.” Taking a stack of books from the counter and setting them on the trolley, I answered. “What? That’s not true. I like people fine; I don’t understand most of them, but I like trying to figure it out. Besides, it’s research.” “Uh-huh. For your novel.” I didn’t have to look at Kelly to see the dubious expression on her face. My “novel” was a stack of folders in my desk drawer stuffed with notes, anecdotes, plot lines, an...
Submitted to Contest #215
He was an enormous beast, and as the thin fingers of her dainty hand disappeared into his silver-tipped black hair, Kali shook his shoulders and then dropped to the floor. "There-there, darling," said Circe, his Mistress, "Why you're not a nasty creature at all, and don't you listen to those wretched ravens caw. You're beautiful and divine. Those rotten birds are jealous of you." Circe went on lovingly stroking her companion's thick, shimmering hair. Her fingertips curled and turned slow circles between Kali's ears. "They know I love you a...
Submitted to Contest #214
Autumn lay nuzzled beneath his arm, running her slender fingers through his thick brown hair, "Coper," she said, looking at his strong jawline and super-kissable lips and felt the heavy thump-thump, thump-thump of his heart beating against the naked skin of her rib cage. She inhaled deeply. It reminded her of stepping out of a camp tent on a summer morning; he smelled like the forest mingled with a sweet wisp of cologne and a tinkling of sweat that tickled her nose pleasantly. To her, Coper Fields smelled like love. "I...
Submitted to Contest #212
The First Letter. Lyon France, July 15, 1989. Thaddeus, you're going to divorce me. I'm not on the train to Lyon. I'm in Barcelona. Now, before you call the lawyers and have the papers drawn up—I know I deserve it, and I swore the last time was the last time, but let me explain—I saw my father. I can feel you rolling your eyes, and I get it, but I know it was him this time. It was him! I was getting on the train to Lyon, and I was early at the Milan Porta Garibaldi terminal, so early that I had time to p...
Submitted to Contest #207
Diners and critics hailed "La Tavola Appassionata" as the premier Italian restaurant on the west coast, and its Chef, Arturo Pacioretti, emerged as the newest culinary star in the industry. He was short, with a round, plump face, beady black eyes set beneath a Cro-Magnon protruding forehead, and even though he kept his hair trimmed close to the scalp, it was still as thick and unmoveable as fresh asphalt. For a man whose entire life revolved around found, it was ironic that he had such a small mouth, with lips pursed in a perpetual pout. ...
Submitted to Contest #199
The smell of a charcoal grill and seared meat floating in the early evening air skipped across my nose, returning hunger pangs from my stomach to my lips. The remainder of my shopping excursion would have to wait; food became an unshakeable need. Crossing the cobblestone plaza of the arts district, I followed the sounds of boisterous conversations, the clicking of metal utensils on plates, and laughter with the unmistakable voice of Édith Piaf blending it all. It had to be a French Bistro and a good one. Following my nose, I picked u...
Submitted to Contest #196
He wasn't much good at waiting but walking into the office of the woman you've loved for decades unannounced wasn't a great tactic. The fact this version of Heath Breeland stood seven inches taller than the original only added to his conundrum. It would be one thing if LeeAnn recognized him and totally another to explain it. The last time they spoke, Heath the OG made a lighthearted remark, suggesting that if he could only find a portal to a parallel universe, he'd show up at her door, flowers in one hand, hope in the other. And, in...
Submitted to Contest #191
The streets were alive with the energy of a thousand joyful faces. People milled together, raising flower-adorned drinks, smiling at one another while knocking glasses together in toasts and good cheer. The scents from the food vendors in their small street shacks mingled aromatics with the sounds of knives knocking swiftly against wooden blocks. The musical notes of percussion, wind, and stringed instruments resonated through the air. It was Sakura, the annual Japanese celebration of the Cherry Blossoms. Overhead, pink and...
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