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Author on Reedsy Prompts since May, 2020
I am sitting at her gravestone, her name pasted in front of me. The flowers are wilting, their colors not quite as radiant as they were the days before. Maybe I should bring her flowers, and replace the old ones that her mother leaves weekly. Then again, maybe not. She never did like flowers. We used to fight over her not liking flowers, a minuscule argument now, one that seems like a stupid detail to even recall, but it’s the truth. She never liked them and I couldn’t get enough of them. We were b...
Submitted to Contest #83
I could feel the ghost of him next to me. He was swimming and yelling and laughing and splashing the rushing salt water up into my face. When I closed my eyes, avoiding the droplets of the salty sea, it was easy to feel his warm presence contrasting the chilling water. Though he wasn’t swimming with me. He wasn’t yelling and laughing by my side, despite how I ached for him to be. Knowing that his ghost was here, in the spot where we met, was not enough to lighten the heaviness of the urn under my left arm. It was not enough to prevent...
Submitted to Contest #81
They were sitting across from each other eating their fancy meals - a large dish of angel hair pasta with shrimp for her, and chicken fettuccine alfredo for him, a plate of garlic bread sitting in the middle of the small table in the corner of the dimly lit restaurant. No other individuals in the restaurant knew, or particularly cared, that this was their fifty-ninth Valentine’s Day spent at this table, and no waiters or waitresses worked here long enough to keep this tab on them. This was their fifty-ninth night spent at the small bo...
Submitted to Contest #41
Papa handed me my first gun when I was three, or at least that’s what Mama always told me. “He always wanted a boy to hunt with, you know, but he saw you and he just knew that you would be his little country girl,” she would say with a laugh. “I remember him dressing you in camo the day we took you home!” I can hear her speaking them, her words echoing with the wind against the trees surrounding me, her Kentucky twang murmuring with the rifle in my hands. Though Papa always tried to get her to join us in our voyages for deer or squirre...
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