Bethany Garner

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Nov, 2021

Stories (4)

4 Stories

82 karma pts

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ā€œThe Empty Tableā€ by Bethany Garner

Submitted to Contest #163

* Content warning: allusions to violence & sexual assault *The empty table yawned in front of her. In the absence of a tablecloth its mahogany surface, waxed and polished to within an inch of its life, threw off distorted reflections of the room.Sconces became glowing pools, the face of the grandfather clock stretched into a menacing grin, and her own, still figure bulged and twisted.It was almost time for dinner.Breaking out of her reverie, the woman set about laying the table with mechanical efficiency. The heels of her shoes tapped in...

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ā€œParis Syndromeā€ by Bethany Garner

Submitted to Contest #147

You have to see it to believe it.Ā  The romantic postcards make it look larger than life, but the Eiffel Tower isnā€™t all that.Ā  In fact when I saw it, I could easily believe it. It teeters off into the sky like match-stick spider-web scaffolding. Itā€™s got fussily intricate swirls and whorls like a geometric tree that didnā€™t know when to stop growing.Ā  It might have been less disappointing if I hadnā€™t had the poster. My Mum brought it home for me one night when she was working at the travel agentā€™sā€”selling holidays she cou...

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ā€œThere she isā€ by Bethany Garner

There she is. I canā€™t believe she had the nerve to show up here after what she did to me. And what in godā€™s name is she wearing? Swaggering through the door in a costume that barely covers her arseā€”I thought weā€™d evolved beyond that. Is she a cat? A sexy witch? Doesnā€™t matter to the lads at the door. Already sheā€™s been accosted by a gaggle of them. Oh, look, a vodka lemonade has found its way into her hand like itā€™s a bloody magnet. Christ, Steve brought it over. Heā€™s not your bartender, Steph!Ā  And what time does she call this? ...

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ā€œThe Bonfireā€ by Bethany Garner

ā­ļø Shortlisted for Contest #118

Itā€™s ugly, the way these searing tendrils of heat claw up my arms, over my face, across the brittle surface of my handsā€”which are clenched into fists. I can feel it scratching my eyelids. My nostrils. My gums. Tearing through parts of my body I usually think about so little that I donā€™t even realise Iā€™m not thinking about them. But this searing heat isnā€™t even the worst part. Itā€™s the smoke that gets you. Thatā€™s what the firefighters said when they came to my school back in the day. Stay low, stay low. Breathe through a wet sock.Ā  I...

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Author bio

London-based writer, who moved to the big smoke from the North of England. By day, I write about business education, by night I' trying to get into fiction.

Shortlisted 1 story ā­ļø

Contest #118
The Bonfire ā€“Ā read story