Carol Stewart

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Apr, 2024

Stories (19)

19 Stories

507 karma pts

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“Night Watchers of the Rain” by Carol Stewart

Submitted to Contest #260

It was that kind of rain; rebound romantic, film-noir. Stars rising up from the concrete, playing strobe to the night, a ricochet of orbs under the streetlight. Silver-screen, cinematic black and white, like Bogart had never been buried and Marlowe was out there somewhere casting shadows. Collar turned up on his trench coat, one foot against the wall, fedora tipped… Here’s looking at you kid… She waited. Sheltered in her doorway, one curved flight above the street, the sultry Bacall. One last draw on her cigarette, firefly orange, flicked ov...

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“Trunk or Tail?” by Carol Stewart

Submitted to Contest #259

Ten years on, and there I was, looking down on him again. At least I would have been had my gaze possessed the power of the scorn it contained, and had it been intent enough to bore through the various layers of dirt. Not that there would be much of the man left to see beyond the macabre, but the six-foot distance between us, for all it was indisputably vertical now, brought his rodent-like, bespectacled features so clearly to mind, I might as well have been back there in that flat we'd once shared, staring across the floor to where he’d slu...

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“Finding Focus” by Carol Stewart

Submitted to Contest #258

*** CW: contains a description of a panic attack***They were making their way down the steps at the back of frozen food store, Haid’s (the acronym derived from the company slogan ‘Have an Ice Day’) when Louise stopped and pulled out her phone.‘Hold on, a minute, Ree. Just got to get a picture of this.’‘What now?’ Ria turned as Louise held the phone askew, photo taken at an angle to include her own foot.Ria was as many steps ahead of her as there were years between them, but in spite of her being the younger sibling – sixteen to Louise'...

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“Making Mountains” by Carol Stewart

Submitted to Contest #257

Matt couldn’t remember his father, but he could recall the slippers – boats with no sail, no means of manoeuvre from Port Hearth to Chair, other than that which he conjured up in his four-year-old brain, and which, when his mother was busy elsewhere, as was often the case, he physically effected, steering the choppy tides of Carpet by the power of his own two hands; a whizz across the ocean bright, safe docking in the harbour, and then the passengers would come - all the way down the slippery slopes of Footrest; soldiers with their guns...

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“Vendis” by Carol Stewart

Submitted to Contest #257

***Infrequent profanity***Even before she’d achieved celebrity status on prime-time dating show, Cloud Nine, Venus Eastman’s following, both online and in reality – the unscripted kind - had been talked about with envy. Indeed, for all she’d had her critics, condemned as being far too remote and aloof, or else too shallow and lacking in intelligence to be deserving of such attention, her model-girl figure, perfect make-up and fashion-sense, combined with her quiet air of confidence, had seen her up there on every extra-curricular High School...

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“The Cyclist” by Carol Stewart

Submitted to Contest #256

If there was one thing which irked Karen more than crowds, it was sporting crowds. The scarf-waving, yell-in-your-ear sort you got at football, or the let’s-all-get-dressed-up-in-our-finery- and-hypnotize-ourselves-ticking-the-seconds-and-minutes-and-hours-away-by-twisting-our necks-back-and-forth-in-synch kind you found watching tennis were, as far as she was concerned, as bad as one another. And as for this debacle, this squash-behind-the barriers, cordoning-off-of-the-streets annual farce, give her the red-light-Saturday traffic-tailback-...

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“The Silence and The Noise” by Carol Stewart

⭐️ Shortlisted for Contest #255

***References to violence, hints of sexual abuse of minors***Reach a certain age, and who doesn’t wish for the quiet life? Peace and calm and tranquility, no bumps in the road, no dramatic spikes. You left all those behind you in your youth, glad as you were to step from that roller-coaster ride and take your place behind the wheel of your brand new family saloon which the kids think smells like balloons, and in which your wife (your second, much sweeter but less exciting wife) proudly sits, as you cruise along the straight and narrow, A to ...

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“Feathers” by Carol Stewart

Submitted to Contest #255

*** Sexual references, including hints of abuse***Betty woke face-down in starfish position, hands gripping the sides of the double bed, feet similarly hooked. Morning, evening, night or afternoon? She hadn’t a clue. Nor did she know what day it was, although something told her Monday – the blueish tinge on the pillow perhaps – deeply shadowed or white gone grey? No matter, the washing of bedclothes was overrated. She sunk back down, inhaled her own scent. Sex and sweat weren’t so bad when the window was open to cool the sheets, when she’d s...

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“Cold Air on a Crepe Paper Chain” by Carol Stewart

Submitted to Contest #254

The magic of Christmas was this, thought Tim, as he drove into Gillirig and parked in the grounds of the Cottage Hospital; the pressures and anxieties – the evils – of all other seasons boxed up and stacked in ‘Sherlock’s Attic’, replaced for a while by the tinsel and twinkling lights, the choirs and angels, the smiles all merry and bright… Charades. How many people were currently playing that?A moment, he decided. Just one moment, to check himself in the mirror, to smooth back his hair. Suitably Brycreemed, properly shaved. Smile, Tim, smil...

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“The Giving and Receiving of Gifts” by Carol Stewart

Submitted to Contest #253

Mrs Enid Galbraith, born in the reign of Victoria, and more than a decade before the old queen’s death, was, much like her hens at this time of year, no spring chicken herself, but if they could withstand the frost, she was ‘bloody shair’ she could. Her legs, though swollen, hadn’t failed her yet, and her back, though bent, still had strength, and if her arms could bear ‘the weight o’ twae tin pails, yin filled wi’ sand, yin wi’ witter’, and she could make it down to the coop past those rickety steps with ‘twae pund o’ feed in her apron powk...

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“Skylights” by Carol Stewart

Submitted to Contest #253

***Contains a fair amount of Scots dialect*** The wedding reception was still in full swing when Ria found herself sitting alone – or as alone as a girl two days off her eighteenth birthday could be when backed into the corner of a snug and surrounded by a load of drunken Boomers. Aw, lass… yer pal away now, is she…? The woman next to her, squeezed into a leopard-come-zebra patchwork dress, placed a hand on the seat between them, leaning in over Ria’s jacket. Fingers heavily ringed, bronze-shimmer taloned acrylics, the upside-down, insect-...

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“The Shape of the Leaves” by Carol Stewart

Submitted to Contest #252

***mentions of murder, suicide and sexual abuse***I do hope Arthur’s going to put those pellets down. It’s all very well his not wanting to poison the birds, but picking out slugs one by one, and in this rain, I ask you!With a hand on the edge of the brown velvet drapes, and her slender, mouse-like body concealed behind them, Amelia Entwistle, sixty-two years of age, addressed her lifetime companion, the slightly older, taller and stouter Christine Borthwick, without once taking her eyes off the scene outside. Her gaze was fixed, as it...

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“Black and White and Red... All Over” by Carol Stewart

Submitted to Contest #252

*** Frequent profanity ***Joe had done a bad thing. He hadn’t meant to, and wouldn’t have if things had gone to plan, had his wife been more understanding instead of nipping his head, wittering on. And if that daughter of theirs hadn’t messed up and been sacked from her job – or whatever the hell it was that had happened - then everything would have carried on as normal, and the dog would not be dead.Much like the weather, the day had started out fine, at least as fine as could be expected, for what was life without a few clouds? He had mone...

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“FILTH” by Carol Stewart

Submitted to Contest #252

***Contains some profanity***Roland had sat at his window all morning. The view wasn’t anywhere near as clear as he would have liked, but then what could he do three flights up with that grimy, ill-fitting pane having long since morphed into its homophonous twin? Thrice he’d complained to the council. The last time he’d been more emphatic with regard to the damp and the mould, but would they listen? As for the state of the communal stairs – well, that’s the residents’ responsibility, sir, please refer to page four, section ten of your tenant...

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“ The Distant View” by Carol Stewart

Submitted to Contest #251

Tanya Sutherland. I always wondered why she didn’t change her name. An author thing, I supposed, when I first discovered she wrote – and that did come as bit of a shock. I mean, first she muscled in on my boyfriend, and then my dream career path. Granted, the two were in no way linked, and it had been years since she took up with Luke. As for the likelihood of her stealing my readership, there was about as much chance of that as a drayhorse winning The National. That tagline of hers said it all. ‘Poets don’t cry, they reserve the shedding of...

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Author bio

Carol Stewart is a 57 y.o. mother, grandmother and former content mill editor (2011 - 2015) who lives in the Scottish Borders. She writes both poetry and prose. Her poems have featured in various print and online journals including That (Literary Review), Gravitas, Coffin Bell, Change Seven, Scapegoat, and most recently Little Fish. She is currently working on a short story collection. Recent works appear (or are forthcoming) in Etymology (May 2024 issue), Otherwise Engaged Literature and Arts Journal (June 2024) and The Stygian Lepus (tbc).

Shortlisted 1 story ⭐️

Contest #255

The Silence and The Noise – read story