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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jun, 2020
Submitted to Contest #96
Psychopath. Psychopath. Psychopath. You’re sitting in a small room with paint peeling out from the walls. The only thing talking back to your physic talks is your echo. You look around for water and get up to fetch some, only to realize there is nothing around. They call you a psychopath. Your shirt is always torn and the pants you wear are too baggy for you. There are dark circles underneath your eyes and your once blue eyes look almost colourless now. Your teeth are yellow and rotten for you only dine in on squirrels and dead rats. Y...
Kabir. My name is Riddhima. I am Riddhima and as I write this, my hands shiver and my heart pounds. Will I be able to pen down the truth? Will I be able to win over my real enemy ? Will I be able to do that? I loved Kabir( a cop) ; I loved him more than a mother loves her child. I loved him more than a child loves her toys. My love for him was deeper than the roots of a tree and stronger than any love that can ever be. I loved Kabir with all my heart.Meeting Kabir after the lockdown was one hell of a roller-coaster ride. I felt sad and happy...
Submitted to Contest #61
The hospital corridor is stuffy and the air has an undertone of bleach. The walls are magnolia and are scraped in places from the hundreds of trolleys that have bumped into them. The pictures on the walls are cheap benign prints of uplifting scenes and above the double doors are large blue plastic signs with the areas of the hospital that lie ahead. I am a mother now. A mother to a beautiful little baby girl. Tiny fingers curl around my pinky. I watch the newborn peer through brand new eyes at what must be such a strange world after life in ...
Submitted to Contest #59
Lonely.The colours of the next town remind me of children's toys. Every red is the exact same one, a brilliant cherry scarlet. Every blue is a bright royal hue, neither dark nor light. There are no trees, perhaps the foliage does not cooperate to be the same shade on every leaf. The street-lamps are the same canary yellow as the rain-slickers and the taxis. There is no pink, no grey, no orange or violet; but it is more than that. Nothing is sun-bleached, nothing scratched or chipped. The street is free of litter, the walls are unvandalized p...
Submitted to Contest #58
Surrounded by four white walls, there is nothing else to do but stare at them. To look at the paint that has started to chip off as time passes, or gouges left by other prisoners - anything to pass time, slowly going mad, theorizing absurd meanings from the wall's blank stare.Your stomach grumbles, echoing round and round the chamber walls until it fades into nothing. In an effort to stop the pain, you grasp your stomach only to find the familiar feeling of your bones, crushed under your tight skin. You’ve been in the cage for as long a...
Submitted to Contest #57
November 9, 2000Lucky. Lucky. Lucky. I am a very lucky person. Neil Armstrong became famous as he was the first person to walk on the Moon, Bob Ross for his extraordinarily good artistic skills, The Rock (Dwayne Johnson) for his wrestling guts but I...I became famous for something I never did.On November 9, 1999 I encountered with the Press for the very first time. It had been around noon, when they arrived. The scorching sun had them sweating as though they had just taken a bath. After asking my whereabouts and my daily routine, they came s...
Submitted to Contest #56
Caught in traffic is like my life before I left Elon, just a waste of time. There is a procession of headlights on the highway. Tail lights are snaking their way down the road and over the brow of a hill, cars bumper to bumper, exhaust fumes are belching out, blurring headlights through the driving rain. The highway has become a giant parking lot. I sigh and wait.After waiting for what seemed like the longest hour of my life, I have finally arrived at my new working place. A place where I wouldn't be forced to breathe the same air as Elon. A...
Submitted to Contest #55
Mia:It is a breezy March afternoon. I stare out at the scene before me as I note just how much the Season of Birth has made it's presence known. The lake is lined with a seemingly never-ending line of cherry blossom trees. The salmon pick petals are found in irregular clusters on the wayward branded of the trees. Daffodils are scattered across the landscape, their golden heads hanging low, staring at the ground below. The manicured lawn does it's job excellently in concealing the less eye-pleasing mud. Thin clouds of a creamy beige are refle...
Submitted to Contest #54
Hi guys! Batool here. For those of you who haven't read "You and the train" and "Zita" already, go and read those two first and then read this one. I'll gladly wait:)Monster. Monster. Monster. You are a monster. What else can you be? A person who lost his parents, his siblings, his family, his wife, his relations, all because of his vicious nature. What else can he be called? There is blood, a lot of it. And, then there is Zita. Despite being bruised all over, a weak smile blossoms over her face as she whispers, "Jules, it isn't...over." And...
Submitted to Contest #52
Dead. Dead. Dead. You love babies. They're adorable. You had babies when you turned twenty-six. Twins, the nurse had told you. They were cute as a button, both of them. Unfortunately, they didn't survive. You still remember the nurse's words. How can you forget? No mother can ever forget, even if her child is long dead. "I'm sorry," she had said. "They couldn't make it. They are dead."Your eyes snap open and you see a black ceiling. Confused, you get up because you had painted yours a bright blue, just days ago. You throw away the covers and...
Submitted to Contest #51
Without my eyewear, the sky above belongs in a museum of modern art right alongside Van Gogh's starry night. The light radiates from every star and my distorted lenses twist it into gleeful patterns. Returning the starry night to constellations of pin-pricks is simple, but my glasses stay right in my pocket while I take in the sky above. The grass on my soles is soft on soft, warm on warm, a gentle tickle as each giving strand forms a cushion of green. Each strand moves in the summer breeze as easily as my hair, the waves and rustling as ali...
Submitted to Contest #50
One.I am in Arizona out for a weekend. I look down and pick at my tangled hair. It touches my lap and looks like there are eggs caught on my locks. Standing in the middle of the Grand Canyon Park, I see a slender man. He looks like he is in his late twenties. His front tooth is chipped. His hair is held back by gel. He takes out a ring, gets down on his knee, and murmurs something. The woman he has knelt before cheers. Yeah, she practically cheers. Ah, they are getting married. The woman is very beautiful. Her hair is blonde. A fairy tale ki...
Submitted to Contest #49
You are busy finishing your caramel apple when you see her. Her long, blond hair is being whipped into a frenzy by the wind. Her eyes are a very unique shade of honey brown. Peeking out from her flat denim jacket is the prettiest striped suit you’ve ever seen. She catches you looking at her. A mischievous smile plays across her plump lips. It is, definitely, love at first sight.After a year of tremendous convincing for your parents, you get married to her. ‘The perfect match' your friends call you. What they don’t know is that neither o...
Submitted to Contest #48
She radiated light just like her name. Her beautiful skin glistened in the neon light coming from the paved court through the slits in the blind, her soot-black lashes matted, and her gray beady eyes mischievous more than ever. Her long jet black hair fell in loose waves past her shoulders, with a few black peekaboo strands. “Haya. . . .?” called her mother. She quickly hid her diary under her pillow and marched off to her mother, anxious to see what came next.Dear diary,Ma still doesn’t know of my shape-shifting. It has been three days...
Submitted to Contest #47
Suitcase in hand, you head to the station. At the station, there is a great hustle and bustle; everyone is fighting to reach the booking window. New day, new people. An old man's pocket is picked. He starts to shout. You cast a look at his direction, but instantly regret it; he isn't just an ordinary old man. His colorless eyes don't even reflect light and make him look blind. In addition to this, he has a hunchback. You start to look away but your eyes fall on his hands, they are bloodied and wrinkled, scattered with lines. He starts runnin...
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