Carol Stewart

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Apr, 2024

Stories (39)

39 Stories

1209 karma pts

?

“Homebodies” by Carol Stewart

Submitted to Contest #265

***CW descriptions of civil unrest (mild), one or two swear words***When the girls were small, I used to tell them that if Mother Nature wanted us to fly, she’d have given us wings, and because we could only walk a matter of miles in any one day, it was only right we should stay close to home. It’s then they would joke that at the rate their father was going, constantly zooming ahead of us on our family trips in and around the city, he would be on the other side of the planet by tea-time, so no point in yelling after him to wait for us to ca...

Read story

“The Age Gap” by Carol Stewart

Submitted to Contest #264

***Contains a single reference to racial prejudice***There was a great deal of talk when April and Simon got together, and more when aged just seventeen, she moved in with her forty-six-year-old lover and announced their plans to marry. ‘Whatever next?’ her friends would shake their heads and speculate but frequently descend into giggles when Belinda, who was easily the most vocal amongst them, would, in the midst of what had started out as (and ought to have remained) a concerned discussion regarding these new and outrageous developments, a...

Read story

“The Thorns of '69” by Carol Stewart

Submitted to Contest #263

When Barbara left for Universe City, Dad said she went with a rocket up her ass. 'Not a by-your-leave' according to Mum who still couldn’t quite believe she'd 'just flounced right on out of the door'. I think she really meant 'bounced' for I could see how my sister would have done that if she’d been sat on a rocket. Don’t know where she did blast-off. Maybe the carpark.Mum was so mad at her going like that as she’d wanted to see her off, and she’d made all those sandwiches too, went out and bought that special coffee. Wouldn’t get anything n...

Read story

“Ladybird, Ladybird” by Carol Stewart

Submitted to Contest #262

***TW fire***July 1976, the hottest day of the summer so far, perhaps the hottest since UK records began, and in the driest of years. Even Scotland, known for its rainfall, had imposed a hosepipe ban. Everything about this day was intense; the heat, the glare, the colour clash – sun and sky, yellow, blue and naked above the wilting green - and ladybirds, each a blink of a sty-in-the-eye of the borderland cemetery mourners, red swarm through their black and white swelter, their cluster of onyx and pearl broken ring, diamond in a box.Ashes to ...

Read story

“Colouring Outside of the Lines” by Carol Stewart

Submitted to Contest #261

School brought the smell of the herd; brown leather straps, regulation pens, black and blue pulled out of a multi-pack, ‘rather see than be ya’, Purple Cow… And Mrs Arnot…Mary Ann Bretton! What on earth do you call this? I don’t know what colour the cattle are where you come from, but I’m fairly certain they’re not purple. Are you really so stupid that you can’t even complete a simple colouring task? Cows are brown, Mary Ann… Brown!Shockwaves of icy blue, stun gun electrocution sparks. The split-second eyes-wide-open upward chin-jolt, and do...

Read story

“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...

Read story

“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...

Read story

“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'...

Read story

“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...

Read story

“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...

Read story

“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-...

Read story

“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 ...

Read story

“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...

Read story

“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...

Read story

“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...

Read story

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, '45' magazine, with another 3 poems forthcoming in Bar-Bar. Her most recent short stories (outside Reedsy) appear in Etymology (May 2024 issue), Otherwise Engaged Literature and Arts Journal (June 2024), The Stygian Lepus (Aug 2024) and Pentacat (October 2024). Favourite authors include: Ian McEwan, Thomas Hardy, George Elliot, Peter Robinson, Steve Cavanagh; genres classic literature, modern literary, domestic sagas, 1960's 'angry young man' type lit, and contemporary thrillers unspoilt by obvious Hollywood style endings. Currently reading Leo Tolstoy: Anna Karenin.

Shortlisted 1 story ⭐️

Contest #255

The Silence and The Noise – read story