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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Apr, 2020
Submitted to Contest #167
Mindy had known what to expect. It was always the same formula, three people sitting around a conference room table with her resume and a script in their hands. After introductions and a few pleasantries about the weather, the director opened the interview with her question. What did Mindy consider her strengths? Mindy cleared her throat, smiled pleasantly and began speaking fluently in a calm, confident voice.“Poise and confidence are two of my greatest strengths. I can handle any situation with aplomb and keep those around me calm. I inspi...
Submitted to Contest #159
Ellen closed her eyes and massaged her temples. When she looked at her desk again, she had to resist the urge to laugh hysterically. The mountain of paperwork had not gone away. Staff evaluations to do, three meetings on the calendar for today, one nurse out sick and another due to go on maternity leave any day… She shook her head and took a swig of coffee. Taking a deep breath, she counted to ten, gazing at the serene landscape picture that her mother had advised her to hang in the office. Feeling slightly better, she turned on her computer...
Submitted to Contest #158
The college was started back in the day when educational opportunities for women were limited. It had grown over almost a century into a venerable institution with a Gothic style campus dotted with majestic oaks. Several buildings on campus were named after Ellie’s wealthy family who were prominent donors. Ellie was a large, short-sighted girl who wore this inheritance awkwardly. She was self-conscious about her weight, not particularly academically gifted, her innate kindness hidden under shyness. Lily and I were scholarship girls. My famil...
Submitted to Contest #157
Maggie sighed and tossed her home renovation magazine aside. The glossy pages of beautifully decorated rooms seemed to mock the idea that she would ever get the beach house that she longed for. She was doomed to listen to Audrey and Maude burble on at the book club about their beach properties for ever. It was not for want of trying to convince her husband Tom that it would be a great investment for their retirement. She pushed the magazines under his nose, made him sit through hours of reality television about flipping houses and buying rea...
Submitted to Contest #156
“Don’t you remember?” said Gerald as the family sat down to dinner. “Remember what?” said Rosie, returning for the umpteenth time to the kitchen, this time to take off her apron. “The way my mother used to make macaroni and cheese,” said Gerald. “When most people make it, it’s a stodgy, gluey mess. She used to get it just right, with a nice crusty top.” Marie winced as she heard plates clattering in the kitchen. “Dad, this is not the time to be going on about Gran’s cooking. You know it always annoys Mom,” she hissed at her father. “You...
Submitted to Contest #155
The monthly book club meeting was always run efficiently when it was Mrs. Cameron’s turn to host, which might have been why the gatherings were small on those evenings. She was a perfectly friendly lady but as a retired English teacher had retained the ability to silence a rowdy class with a glance The discussion never lapsed into gossip or doings of husbands and children under Mrs. Cameron’s supervision but stayed on the topic of the current book. This month they were discussing a psychological thriller which had been on the New York Times ...
Submitted to Contest #153
Lisa dropped her bags on the floor and hugged her mother.“Hey, sweetie,” said her mother with a smile. “Ready for summer?”"Finals were brutal and I think I've sprained my brain, but it's good to be done for a while. Wow, your famous chocolate chip cookies! I'm starving."Her mother smiled indulgently as Lisa piled a plate with cookies and grabbed a glass of milk. It wasn't until the plate was empty and she was wiping crumbs off her mouth that Lisa looked properly at her mother.“What’s up, Mom? You look worn out.”Her mother smiled and shrugged...
Submitted to Contest #152
“I can see it now,” said old Mrs. Jones. “He’s going to do it again. He’s not sorry. He’s just sorry he got caught.”Sandra and Dave looked round at the television to see what she was talking about. Mrs. Jones was very hard of hearing and the news program was blaring. A pudgy, balding man in an expensive suit and flashy tie was looking contritely at the camera, saying something about asking repentance from the Lord. He was holding the hand of his very pregnant wife who was staring at the ground, her face blank.“Brothers and Sisters, I ha...
Submitted to Contest #151
Doris shouted a perfunctory goodbye as as Jim departed for the golf club that evening. She volunteered at an organization which supported victims of domestic violence and had spent the afternoon at the thrift shop, assigned to unpack and sort donations with a bouncy young lady of her daughter’s age. She was ready to sit down and relax.“Hi, I’m Lily,” the new volunteer had said, proffering her hand. “Nice to meet you. Just tell me what to do and I’ll have at it.”Doris had smiled, enjoying Lily’s self-confidence. It was a stark contrast to her...
Submitted to Contest #149
Susie shook her little flashlight desperately as it flickered and went out. The battery must have died. Hiding deep under her covers, she had been about to escape to the Shire with Bilbo, her current literary hero. She didn’t dare turn on her bedroom light in case her mother noticed. Her mother had a habit of going outside to look up at Susie’s window to make sure her light was out. If it was on, her mother was liable to barge into the bedroom, followed by Hank who would be trying to calm her down. Depending on her state of intoxication, she...
Submitted to Contest #145
Laura and Nikki bounded ahead of me, rhapsodizing about the racks of used clothes. I followed, trying to hide my irritation. Had I not worked like mad for years so that she didn’t have to shop at places like this? Buying brand new clothes had been my dream throughout a childhood of wearing hand-me-downs and thrift shop purchases. Now my would-be fashion designer daughter thinks it’s cool to shop in these places.“Mom, the planet is being overwhelmed by the cheap fashion industry. Think of all those poor women slaving in sweat shops to make th...
Submitted to Contest #138
Moira sighed. Her best friend Lena had suddenly decided that a picnic would be a wonderful idea. Moira was dubious, having learned by experience to be wary of Lena’s inspirations.Lena had pleaded. “It’ll be so romantic down by the lake. We need to destress after these exams. Dave’s got a boat.”“Who’s Dave?”“He’s wonderful. We’ve been together for a month now. This could be the start of something beautiful,” said Lena.Moira rolled her eyes. Lena tended to have phases in men and in life. There had been a holistic, vegan period, a time as ...
Shortlisted for Contest #134 ⭐️
It’s my last day of gazing up at the blue sky, spring foliage and blossoms. Instead of a grassy meadow, I am lying on a hard, cold steel table which could belong in a morgue. The only sound is the whirr of the machine. No birdsong or spring breeze here. Every now and then the tech’s disembodied voice reverberates with instructions. Move, don’t move, hold your breath, breathe. She is safely ensconced somewhere out of sight. I picture the malignant cells in my breast as little green cartoon gremlins, squealing and running for cover as the invi...
Submitted to Contest #131
As Stella bent down to pick up her glove, a shove from behind almost pitched her headfirst into the soup can display.“Sorry, love, couldn't see where I was pushing the cart,” said a familiar voice. “Are you alright? It’s these darn bifocals. Can’t seem to get the hang of them. Here, let me help you up.”It was Mrs. Jones, the large, shortsighted lady who came to clean Stella's house every week. She reached down and yanked Stella up by the arm with the strength of a stevedore.“Say, did you hear about the old Miller place?”“What?” said Stella, ...
Submitted to Contest #130
Betty could have been a millionaire if she’d bet on the first words she would hear every time she returned home from work to the little walk-up apartment she shared with her mother.“What took you so long? You know I’ve been here by myself all day.”Never, “How was your day?”, "How are you feeling?" or, “Are you tired?”Betty had long since given up on responding. She’d hand her mother her cigarettes, and on a Friday, her paycheck, and go into the kitchen to make dinner. The old woman spent her days in the armchair by the window watching the ne...
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