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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Feb, 2023
Submitted to Contest #296
The fireplace burned with life in the back corner of their house. Lance had been staring at it for hours, still sore and rubbing the bruises on his left arm, the one which remained tied to the chair holding him captive. “I’m going to find a bounty so I have the money to buy your damned supper,” his mother said to him, before slamming the door on her way out. Her savings of coins glimmered in the firelight across the table. Lance reached over, but she had tied the back legs of the chair to the wall too.Even at thirteen, he saw t...
Submitted to Contest #204
Breaking free of the chains bound to his wrists five years was the easy part. Escaping from prison is a funny thing. You plan secrets with your fellow inmates, all of you bitter with aged enmity, script a plan to overwhelm the guards, disarm them, and fight your way to freedom. Escaping two ever-watchful parents that sequestered you according to their definition of your own good, though? That was different. &nbs...
Submitted to Contest #197
The end is never as exciting as the beginning. In the beginning, there is hope, joy, life, and potential. But potential for what? To become rich and famous? To cure cancer? To lead a happy life? To live happily ever after in a fairytale that ends with the words “The End” centered at the end of the page? &nbs...
Submitted to Contest #190
“She’ll hang by her freakin’ balls!”The sixteen mercenaries she’d sent to kill him met that fate too, so it wasn’t an idle threat when Lance swore that his own mother would perish.He chugged his ale and slammed the tankard onto the table, forming a crack across its wood. His sword stood unsheathed beside him, blood dripping from its edges onto the open wounds of his latest kill.She was growing more desperate to finish him off. He still didn’t understand, but he understood enough as he stared down all the faces gawking back at him. To send a ...
Submitted to Contest #185
Guardians of Gold By C. R. Lukische Vestata woke from his slumber with a loud yawn. He opened his gullet, then nearly choked as he sucked in a gigantic waft of air. He rolled over and spat, a coin hurtling free from the depths of his throat. It crashed into the mess of coins under him, steam permeating from its edges. He slapped his claw onto his forehead, then rolled out of his bed of gold coins, like a child on a slide. It was boring being a dragon, let alone one with a hundred-year hoard. ...
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