Claire Lindsey

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Sep, 2020

Stories (29)

29 Stories

3947 karma pts

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“Dandelion Roots” by Claire Lindsey

We write our histories in permanent marker on the bathroom stalls of life.She types it in and stares for a while into space, searching for the reason, as if her muse might appear out of thin air. There is nothing, no one there. She hits the little blue button anyway.She enjoys the hopefulness of the moment—perhaps they will see merit in her poetry, perhaps they will ask, like she does, where it originates. She wonders if there is life here. Will something grow from these seeds she’s planted?

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“The Real Stories” by Claire Lindsey

Mama says that everything will be okay.She is warm and her arms are soft and even though I am frightened, I believe her. Mama never lies.I like to say that I am big, because I am 9 years old and older than most of the other kids I’ve met on the journey. But today it feels nice to be little. Little and safe.I curl up tighter in Mama’s arms and close my eyes to pretend. We are river otters, like the ones I saw in a book once. We float in the current, and I sit ...

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“Baobab Trees” by Claire Lindsey

She is enthroned on my desk in a photograph where she stands, enthusiastically pointing at a large baobab tree. The center of the tree is hollow, the size of a small bedroom, and the branches spread, short and thin, above the swollen base. If I look closely, I can see the shadow I cast on the ground while I took the picture with a pink disposable camera.***Neither of us were from Ethiopia, but that is where we met. Our fathers were childhood friends who had not seen one another in longer than either of ...

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“Evensong” by Claire Lindsey

Nunc dimittis servum tuum, Domine,secundum verbum tuum in paceShe hums as she works, her thin calligraphy pen tracing the contour of her voice onto the page of the manuscript. The notes, perched daintily onto the lines and the spaces, feel as ancient and essential to her as the prayer itself.It is futile, she knows, this strange desire to preserve that which cannot truly be saved. She is one of the last at the abbey who finds the work of a scribe worthwhile. Now that ...

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“The Grandfather Clock” by Claire Lindsey

I’ve always hated the expression “if walls could talk.”In my experience, walls are remarkably unobservant and rather square. The way they go on, you’d think they were the greatest thing mankind ever invented. Not so, my friend, not so.Sure, walls are important for holding up roofs, keeping out the elements and such. But the things that make the heart of a place, that hold a home together, are not walls.The family has come and gone for decades now, visiting the cabin now and then to esc...

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“Strings” by Claire Lindsey

He starts his day with a shot in his coffee. I pretend not to notice. “Good morning, Dad,” I say. “Morning, baby,” he replies. He fries the eggs. I toast the bread—two slices for him and one for me—and wash the strawberries. We eat in silence. I remember the way he used to pick me up when I was little, bundle me tightly in his arms, and drop me onto the...

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“A Death in Still Creek” by Claire Lindsey

It was a lovely day in the woods just outside of Still Creek. The towering trees and dense foliage muted the sound of traffic coming in and out of the little town. Apart from that distant roar of tires on asphalt, the forest was silent. The birds and insects and animals sat hushed, waiting. It was there, in quiet beneath the trees, that 9-year-old Sean found the body while taking a shortcut home from a friend’s house.The lazy, small-town Saturday soon filled with commotion. Police sirens, the lights of an ambulance, and ...

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“Water and Stone” by Claire Lindsey

They walked hand in hand through the tall grass, the blades bending beneath their footsteps with papery sighs. The sun was setting in the distance, over the tops of the mountains which hemmed the valley in shadows. The air hung heavy with the last of the day’s warmth, full of the slow song of crickets and the few birds yet to escape the impending winter.Gwen smiled at her fiancé, her face alight with the fire of the evening sky. They knew that they should head back, that the night threatened to overtake them before they ...

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“Born of Lightning” by Claire Lindsey

“Disrespectful, that’s what it is,” Isolde whispered fiercely to her companions.A group of children walked by, weighed down by heavy loads of candy. There were not many children still out, as it was getting late, but the stragglers—ghouls and princesses and one boy dressed as a toothbrush—still wandered, looking for the last houses with lights still on.“Oh, go eat a toad, Isolde. Let the mortals have their fun,” one of the others replied. She looked like a child herself, small and youthful, but her eyes...

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“Linden Drive” by Claire Lindsey

I sometimes feel that I knew you once, that the memory of your voice has haunted me for what feels like centuries, ringing in harmony with the silence of death. Yes, I think that I did know you, that this house was ours, but I cannot recall what our names were or even the shape of your face. Everything fades in death; even the sharpest memory becomes muddled and thin, mist on the moorland. Dying is being wrapped in an unending blanket of fog, watching the shape of the world as it happens without you but not seeing anything clearly.

38 comments 38 SHORTLIST ⭐️

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“The Song of the Air Above” by Claire Lindsey

It is cold here. The air is thin and tastes of clouds.The gusts of wind guide me, rustling through my feathers with a familiar tickle. It is both alarming and comforting, knowing that the closest thing to me is the air.The air is the thing that knows me best, better than the brief warmth of Mother’s nest full of hatchlings, better than the bark of the trees that I have touched, better than the sunlight and the rain that has fallen on me. No, it is the air that leads me, that fills my wings, that brings ...

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“A Letter to Stella” by Claire Lindsey

There is much to be said for the light of the stars, for the rose-clouds over the setting sun, for the taste of newness in the early morning air. There is much to be said and even more to be missed, but there is so little time. I think I will miss most the memory of the curve of your mouth, the crinkle of your cheeks right before you smile. It’s impossible to know, really, until I have been kissed by the light of the stars for centuries and wake up someday in a new world.I do not know many things, but I know that the wor...

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“Desert Sage” by Claire Lindsey

I like to watch raindrops on the windows of moving cars. I’m always entranced by their wobbling, tentative dance as they search for the path of least resistance. Once they find a path, it’s a sudden race down an established rivulet, rushing across a blurry backdrop of the trees and scenery beyond the glass. The raindrops, of course, aren’t aware of the world beyond the window and for a little while, neither am I. God, I wish it would rain.Marcus and I have been driving for a while, taking turns at the wheel, the U-Haul trailer behi...

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“Hunted” by Claire Lindsey

I have learned that it’s not about what’s left behind when the dust settles, but who is left. There weren’t many of us to begin with after everything that happened, and those of us who made it still aren’t sure exactly what exactly caused the end of the world. Sure, we all have our theories, but honestly, it doesn’t matter. At least, it doesn’t to me. I’m a bit more concerned with the fact that my heart’s still...

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Author bio

Claire is a dog enthusiast and music teacher. If she is not writing, she can be found crocheting or tending to her small army of houseplants. Copyright © 2023 Claire Lindsey - All Rights Reserved. Using content without written permission is prohibited.

Winning 2 stories 🏆

Contest #97

In situ – read story

Contest #93

What’s Left – read story

Shortlisted 4 stories ⭐️

Contest #151

How to Seek the Sun – read story

Contest #88

Feathered Fables – read story

Contest #86

The Forest’s Heart – read story

Contest #64

Linden Drive – read story