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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jul, 2025
Submitted to Contest #313
# The Other Eva ## By Daisy Agnes Jones *“Childhood is long and narrow like a coffin, and you can’t get out of it on your own.”*— Tove Ditlevsen, The Copenhagen Trilogy ## The Cold Key The apartment opened like a mouth that had forgotten how to speak—stale breath caught in its throat, curtains half-closed like eyelids too tired to lift. Eva stepped inside, the floor moaning beneath her soles, and the door sighed shut behind her. Here it was: her childhood, preserved like something pickled in vinegar. The air was thick with the sour tang of...
Submitted to Contest #312
# Unlearning the Body## By Daisy Agnes Jones *"We do not live in our bodies, but in the stories we tell about them."*— Marina Lark, Fragments of the Self ## The Sugar Bowl **Ingrid** The house hums like a thought trying to remember itself. It begins in the bones of the floor, crawling through the walls—a vibration more felt than heard. Low, tonal, persistent. Sometimes I mistake it for the blood in my ears, or a dream caught between sleep and waking. Sometimes I imagine it's the voice of someone I forgot to miss. A lullaby played backward...
Submitted to Contest #311
# I Remember the Wallpaper ## By Daisy Agnes Jones *“There are things in that paper that nobody knows but me, or ever will.”* — Charlotte Perkins Gilman, The Yellow Wallpaper ## The Wallpaper The room is small, like a box that was made to hold something delicate. A cradle of soft light collects near the window in the morning, but by afternoon the sun pulls away and the walls seem to fold inward. It smells faintly of warm milk, cotton, and something older — the scent of paint drying over old secrets. This is the nursery. This is where I sit....
Submitted to Contest #310
# Interlinear## By Daisy Agnes Jones *In the beginning was the word.**And in the middle —**a room with no door.* ## One The flat had gone quiet in a dangerous way. Not mute — no, not that. More like a sound pulled too thin. The radiator breathed in long vowels. The tap dripped out Morse code no one could read. Even the shadows seemed to exhale. She hadn’t spoken in days. Her voice felt like a sealed jar, tucked into a high cupboard she no longer reached for. The cat was gone — months ago now. The food bowl remained, perfectly placed under th...
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