Bruce Carrington

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jul, 2023

Stories (4)

4 Stories

238 karma pts

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“The Woman Who Was a Beach” by Bruce Carrington

Submitted to Contest #263

Sounds of chops and clicks of knives at work, the business of pans underneath the makeshift fire pits. The air smells of grilled skewers of lamb and chicken marinated in lime, soy, and garlic. Everything fades when a cloud of steam blows on my face and mutes all my senses. I bravely walk across it and see a young Thai man standing behind a steel cart. He is hard at work despite no clients in sight. I see the smile on his face as he greets me, exposing his teeth, yellowed from the number of cigarettes he passionately consumes, even while cook...

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“Puzzles” by Bruce Carrington

Submitted to Contest #258

I stared at the marble walls of the building I was about to enter. Ivory stone, complemented by dark wood elements - window frames, an arch above the tall doors with contrasting gold handles. Carefully trimmed bushes on both sides of it - roses, some light blue flowers, and other unfamiliar vegetation. There was total silence, interrupted only by the tree leaves dancing in the wind. Then the buzzing sound. A bee flew in my direction and stopped right in front of my face. I was allergic, yet I hoped that it would sting me in the eyeball. A sc...

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“Desperate Remedies” by Bruce Carrington

Submitted to Contest #248

Marlon Brando got it. He understood the craft. He was disliked by his costars. They called him ‘frustrating’, ‘unpredictable’, ‘difficult’. Short-sightedness was the common feature among the people working with him. They couldn’t see beyond his intricacies. But their worst sin was that they couldn’t comprehend that art requires sacrifice. I got it. I understood it perfectly. I, like Brando, was an artist in the truest sense. I, like Brando, would be misunderstood at first but it would not matter in the end. The thing is, Brando never even th...

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“The Milwaukee Iron” by Bruce Carrington

Submitted to Contest #209

The fuel in my Harley Davidson was running low, so I pulled over at the nearest gas station, recharged it with the mojito-quality oil (only the best for my girl), and went in to pay.This particular model of Harley Davidson, three years old already, is called Low Rider S. I hate the name. I associate it with Mexican gangbangers’ trucks, able to dance thanks to their modified suspension’s hydraulic systems.The thing about Harley is that they’re not the best bikes in the world. They’re not even close. They’re overpriced, not reliable and run on...

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Author bio

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