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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Aug, 2019
Shortlisted for Contest #23 ⭐️
Smog diluted the orange lights, giving them an eerie tint. The motor-coach rattled over the uneven stones, alone in the reaches of the night. From far away came the singing of drunks, riding erratic eddies of the wind.It is dark, and Thaddeus Grey watches the moon.He has never considered himself a man of mystery, for the very simple reason that men of mystery tend to know what it is that they're doing, and to an extent, why. Eccentricity, he has long ago decided, requires a good amount of sanity to count for anything. Else you're just a schm...
The problem was their clothes. Everything else was just downright freaky, but wearing the thin cashmere and cotton of the desert, while four feet of ice covered the dunes? Blackened appendages were only the beginning. Horrible things happened to people who strayed too far from the fires, which had begun to tax the endurance of the man who was supposed to maintain them. Coleman eyed him with more than a trace of concern, up there at the head of the marching order. From beside him came a nudge."How much longer, do you think?""Days. Maybe week...
Submitted to Contest #22
As the hands of the analog whispered past eight, the boy began to worry. In front of him, perched on the battered old desk like a scornful old crow, the paper remained as empty as ever. His pen twitched in his hand, feinted downward, was dispelled by a wrenching conviction that it would fail to leave anything of importance. Elizabeth, yes, but what Elizabeth? "Dear," he'd decided, was far too formal, and to go straight to the point seemed abrupt. Last year, he'd used "To my," but tonight that seemed very childish and smug. It wouldn't do. No...
Time, as the magister of Manchuria had written long, long ago, had a tendency to pick favorites. By which was meant, in the primordial pecking order of various realities, it was actually quite rare to find one in which Time presented itself with any sort of self-respect. For every universe in which He was the sort to show up at steakhouses in a pinstripe vest, and talk amiably with His disciples over a glass of Chardonnay and perhaps a nice soup, there are at least a thousand in which He is the type to drive by that same steakhouse at one in...
Submitted to Contest #20
In the end, the matter was resolved in the same manner with which it had been initially pursued, to the acceptance of all and the satisfaction of none. However, since it was generally agreed upon that there could really have been no other conclusion, and since the failure came at no great cost to any person still living, even that shortcoming was destined to be forgotten.It happened like this.Two weeks and over five hundred miles ago, there came to the door of Aureon Mane a tremulous knocking, followed by a portly figure in a trim mustache. ...
Submitted to Contest #19
The most important part of watching someone was to make sure you weren't being watched in turn. Keeping this in mind, Romley walked silently through the outer promenades of the bazaar, taking care to stay only in the shadows. The sun was very hot, despite this being only the barest edge of the desert, so the loose turban which covered his eyes received no special attention. He passed quickly through the domain of the fruit vendors and fishmongers, and wormed his way into the crowded stalls of men who sold far more exotic items. Amulets of ca...
Behind the white expanse of the customer service counter, surrounded on every side by whiffs of orange, rose, and tincture of Roe, Amelia fiddled with the thin band of gold, still unfamiliar in its spot on her fourth finger. She turned it first one way, then the other, and the metal spun reluctantly but steadily, occasionally catching on the odd curvature of the joints. None of the infinite variations of position, though, were proving in the least bit comfortable. The hand felt ... leashed, somehow, which was ridiculous. It wasn't as if it w...
Submitted to Contest #18
It was almost three stations later when he finally noticed. To be fair, his new purchase had the most outrageously irritating collar, which had absorbed his attention for no small period of time, but the sheer bulk of the rod should have alerted him to its presence sooner, he thought. When he first touched it in a creased alcove of the deep pockets, he felt a shiver of nervous electricity race up his spine. He thought it was a gun. Only guns made you feel like that, like you could take on the very stars, and snuff them out one at a time. A r...
Submitted to Contest #10
Under his feet, the last remains of the Library choked the weeds with flaking ash. Softly, so softly did he walk upon those scorched bones of knowledge, though exactly why he took such care... well, he scarcely could have said. The long train of his robe swept across the wastes, picked up particles of the stuff like a mourner sifting through the treasures of the deceased, eyeing worthless trinkets for the fading memories therein.Four days. He had been gone that long, and no longer, and in four days... no. "Regret is for the weak, shame is fo...
Submitted to Contest #9
The air before me had a lonely scent, quite contrasting with my surroundings, and when I closed my eyes I knew the Phantom. Its voice? As it ever was, I think – a ponderous melody not entirely unlike my own tremulous cords. The notes thrummed inside my head, awakening in somber neurons, and a bit of my hatred and sorrow ebbed from thoughts of Her and marched soldier-like to this new intruder. “I told you not to return.” Fear shook my resolve, and was met with a fiery grin. “I do not obey you. I obey only myself. And though I am, in a fashion...
Submitted to Contest #8
"... 'And here the rising sun first touches the golden earth, and the glory of Zoltaeg, the Risen, still lives in the hearts of the people of bronze.'"The words were whipped away from him by the rising wind, and he sighed, lowering the tattered book in his hands with gloomy disdain. "I'm going to kill Wensley."Beside him, knee-deep in snow, a bundled figure coughed loudly into one heavy fur glove. "It's not - a-kaff! - all bad... I'm sure we must be close."But his words were lost on his companion, whose face had settled into its familiar "ba...
Submitted to Contest #7
The golden spoon of Ms. Hampshire was well known, in these parts, as a trinket of inestimable family value. It had been many decades since it had seen any practical application, but it was said that Baron Vindelin Hampshire, he of incredible antiquity and near-mythological achievement, had once proffered the utensil to the then King of England himself. She kept the spoon under lock and key, in a far-removed basement chamber of the house, and her esteem could survive this thanks to the efforts of a great-grandmother who had been on good terms...
Submitted to Contest #6
The stars drifted like motes of dust, swept under the cosmic rug to gather and breed into beings of dark speculation. Their closeness was deceptive; many a light-year had passed now, and no new encounter seemed at all imminent. A lone vessel travels the deserted hyperway, the quiet hum of the motors inaudible to we who drift in the vacuum, yet if we were to enter the small bubble of atmosphere which surrounds that road, we would hear the sparking music of the circuits flashing without end, propelling its partakers at speeds that would have m...
The coffee steamed very gently in his hand, sending plumes of steam like cigar smoke around his slicked back hair. He wasn't a usual partaker of the habit, but the drive was a long one, with many miles still to go, and the espresso helped him think. Whether or not that was a good thing was yet to be seen.He was a young man. What does that mean? His head was full of fancy yet - dreams and ambition and ideals. Love was prominent among them, for Matthew was a firm believer in the innate power of that theoretical philosophy of Man. All things fe...
Submitted to Contest #5
The door was of black varnish, very fine and just old enough to have class. It opens now, inward, admitting not just decadent snow and the sounds of traffic and life, but the bundled figure of a man, his overcoat providing not nearly enough protection against the deadly chill of the city. Perhaps, then, the sigh is one of relief, for as he hangs the garment upon a hook he feels the warmth of the nearby hearth, the smell of cooking stew from the kitchen close by.He walks there now, a small smile upon his face, and his shiny black shoes thump ...
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