B.T Beauregard

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jun, 2020

Stories (8)

8 Stories

463 karma pts

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“Mr. Icarus and Lucky #31” by B.T Beauregard

Submitted to Contest #151

//TW: Language. Suicide.// Leo sits straight-backed on a bench on the south end of the Isabella bridge. He had half-sprinted and half-stumbled down its entire length–a good three miles–trying to build up the nerve to jump. The drop was larger than he had anticipated. This was not a bad thing per se, considering his goals, but it was intimidating nonetheless. There is no wind today, so the water is still. The young sunset turns it a soft pink. The water is so far away it doesn't look like water. It looks like the glass top of a fin...

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“Fire on the mountain, Run Boys, Run” by B.T Beauregard

⭐️ Shortlisted for Contest #131

The Hickory Stump had sprung from the ashes, and yellow tape, and crumbling concrete of Seventh Ave. There was never a construction crew, never any solicitation of Appletowns city hall, only one morning it was there, building permits nailed to a sign upon the door, an envelope, fat and stuffed with bills beside it. The sign read in a flashing green and blue:OPEN: 3AM-? CLOSED: SUNDAYS.The buildings, which had turned to ash around The Hickory Stump were, according to fifth generation Fire Chief, Trevor Denricks at the press conference covered...

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“C10H14N2” by B.T Beauregard

Submitted to Contest #97

C10H14N2 TW // Suicide 1st Cigarette: You do laundry on Tuesdays. You do laundry on Tuesday mornings at the Happy Bubble before your 8 o'clock shift. 15 dollars. Two loads. A $1.50 in change. A diet coke is $1.19. You drop what's left into the little cancer box above the cash register. You drain the coke and light your first cigarette of the day. Twenty cigarettes in a pack. Three cigarettes a weekday. You buy a new pack every Monday, $4.45 a pack. About 18 bucks a month. That's the plan. You're trying to quit. Well, maybe. 7:45 you wa...

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“Stand on the Right, Walk on the Left” by B.T Beauregard

Submitted to Contest #76

"How many fingers am I holding up, bud? Hey, bud, can you hear me? Wake up.""Hmm?""There he is. I told you he was breathing, keep the crowd back, will you Chris?""Yes sir.""How many fingers am I holding up?""What?""How many fingers am I holding up?""Well, shit, I- seven?""Close. Again now.""Four. Ah fuck, my head...""Nope. Only one.""One? Well, shit. That was my next guess.""I'm sure it was.""My head... I-""Took a mighty fall there, bud. Mia, come here, hold this against his temple.""Yes sir.""Where were you headed in such a hurry? Follow th...

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“The Arcane Truth of Neon Light” by B.T Beauregard

Submitted to Contest #56

Tranquil Travels Motel blends in with the barren desert. Dust covered and soul-draining. Its neon sign glows a deep blue, creating the only light for miles and adds a drunken glow to the worn stone pathway, spreading out across the land with a somber intensity, in competition with the twilight stars. It sways, buzzing, blue and blurry in the stiff and deadpan air. A mirage, a fever dream, sauntering away from reality. A silhouette rambles down the road, enticed like a moth to a flame, perhaps it is the urge to escape the deafening ...

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“The Pin-Drop Man” by B.T Beauregard

Submitted to Contest #54

They’re all looking at you funny like you shouldn’t be here. The strange part is, they’re right, you shouldn’t have come, you expected the reaction but it’s still a shock. People mourn in different ways, some cry, some turn to God, some turn away from God, some die a little inside, and others view the world with a shiny pair of sunglasses, hating everything that stumbles into their gaze. You know it’s all in your head but everyone seems to glare through you, shooting holes in your tattered ego. You shift anxiously in your chair, tr...

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“A Kamikazes’s Collection of Macabre Thoughts” by B.T Beauregard

Submitted to Contest #48

Somewhere in Japan the streets are silent. Well, in truth, we aren’t quite in Japan. We’re nowhere. But nowhere is simply a point of view, to the right eyes, we are everywhere. The usually busy shops are empty, looking naked without the constant stream of people. The street vendors left their carts abandoned, steam still rising off the unseen food. A man in aviators clothing is wandering down the street, calling for anyone and spinning aimlessly. He is the hero of our story. Or the villain, depending on your perspec...

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“Granola Guidelines for the Sensible Refugee” by B.T Beauregard

⭐️ Shortlisted for Contest #47

Don’t think about before. Never think about before, it will break you. Avoid the memories and resist the impulse to indulge in them. Forget the kind faces and small shops where everyone knows you. Forget the strange foods and smells beside the road, whether good or bad. Remembering these things will leave you empty. Empty is bad. Empty will leave you broken. Fact: Crying on a plane by anyone besides small children and babies, terrifies people. Always turn away or you risk having a good natured passenger asking if you are alright,...

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Author bio

(Changed my name on the site. I use this pen name more often :) PROTECT ABORTION RIGHTS. HEALTH CARE IS A HUMAN RIGHT. Back from hiatus, but still don't have an even semi-regular writing schedule. 😎 She/They Beauregard is a mangy werewolf who lives in a recycling bin at the beach somewhere in South-East Texas. They enjoy destroying children's sandcastles, stealing overdue library books, and hotdogs with mustard, no ketchup. They've somehow managed to get their filthy paws on a laptop. They have no idea what they're doing. Check out more of their work at: mourningdovelit.com ____________________ Feedback for feedback. If I forget, please let me know.

Shortlisted 2 stories ⭐️

Contest #131

Fire on the mountain, Run Boys, Run – read story

Contest #47

Granola Guidelines for the Sensible Refugee – read story