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Author on Reedsy Prompts since May, 2020
Submitted to Contest #292
June 14, 2019Alex GreenJournal 1/Therapy Writing“What I Love About Anna” It’s difficult to describe seeing voices as colors. People don’t understand when you tell them how whispers look like smoke, men usually speak in blue, or babies cry a vibrant white. I don’t have words for the feeling of going to a noisy bar to watch the colors of a hundred voices dance across the ceiling like the northern lights. I guess that was the hard part, the feeling of it all. My world was so strange to them, so incredibly foreign, that they would never understa...
Submitted to Contest #267
The air was heavy and smelled of iron. Edward took a deep breath to steady his hands. Henry’s words drifted into his mind, as clear as when he first heard them. A good captain never shows fear. The men see fear as weakness. The shaking continued, and he tucked his hands deep into his coat pockets. Emily’s handkerchief greeted his skin with a soft caress. The delicate strands of silk caught in the calluses of his hands, like a lamb’s wool in a brush. His fingers traced the embroidery in the corner, her name, sewn in golden thread. It wa...
Submitted to Contest #255
There once was a very old creature called Sun. Sun was ancient, and kind, and spread warmth wherever they went. Everyone loved Sun and Sun loved all of them. The flowers and trees would open their arms wide and praise Sun as it went by. Sun, in return, smiled brightly at their beauty and gave them food to eat. Cats loved Sun because it never judged them for sleeping all day and so, no matter where they slept, Sun could reach down and rub their bellies as much as it liked without worry of being clawed or bitten. The creatures of the sea swam ...
Submitted to Contest #245
-Transmission Incoming- Log: 2598 A.D. Skipper: Iris Lenox Coordinates: Orion System Blue I’m not sure where to begin. This is pretty huge. We’ve kept this stuff secret for years it feels weird to just broadcast it now. I’ll start with my story, I guess? They say it ‘humanizes’ me. Which is a very robotic way to put it, ironically enough. I don’t want to stare at a screen the whole time so I’m going to talk to Winston here. He’s my snake. Yes, we get to have pets. The onboard life support is top-notch, the military's best. Although the toile...
Submitted to Contest #243
“C’mon, Carson!”. Freddie’s voice blasted through the open shop door. “Th’ readin’s in ten minutes. Ring up th’ ole sod and meet me out back.” Carson winced as he hastily wrapped an ornate tome on the counter. The ‘ole sod’ in question was staring daggers at him. “Your friend ought to be more respectful, boy.” The priest huffed. “You sell these books at the Church’s allowance and we can swiftly take that away.” He glared down his nose in distain, and Carson tried to shrink into the floorboards. “I am so sorry, your grace.” Carson...
Submitted to Contest #237
The Boy stood frozen in the produce section, staring across the store at the familiar blonde curls of The Girl currently investigating the deli meats. He crouched down behind the tall stack of honeydews and considered the definition of insanity. Was it applicable to relationships? People change, after all, so it really wasn’t that crazy to expect a different result. Maybe she’d changed? He most certainly had. Some would say for the worse but healing wasn’t a process that could be rushed. It takes years for most people to get over the death o...
Submitted to Contest #233
At the end of all things sits a bar. It’s warm and inviting with a raging hearth and the perfect song floating above the conversation at the perfect volume. It exists in the space between everything and nothing. A space where Time is respected and not feared. Where Time can create instead of destroy. Because Time is what gives stories their power, and at this bar stories are the spirit of choice. A story is required to enter and a story is required to stay. No one is there to serve drinks as there are no drinks to be had. Time etches...
Submitted to Contest #225
Every day I paint a mask. The features shift and change with the tide of my own self-confidence but it’s always my face. The different masks of me, which I wear to avoid scaring my loved ones. I have a mask for strangers, a mask for friends, a mask for acquaintances, and one for family. I have masks for myself, depending on my mood, and sometimes they fight while I’m driving to work. These masks are not lies, merely a fraction of the truth. Every day I paint these fractions and every day I see the same face. It’s not until I show the canvas ...
Submitted to Contest #223
The problem with planning your future is that eventually, it becomes the present. And you have to be prepared to live in that present when it comes. Walter was wallowing in that present, presently. Mountains of papers spread out before him in a wave of mediocrity. This year's students were particularly mundane. Months of terrible reports had ground his once meticulous grading system into a rudimentary three-step process. Step one was checking for name accuracy. He had wasted hours on poorly written slogs of academic heresy from papers with s...
Submitted to Contest #222
Agatha waited for the large iron gates to open for a good five minutes before she remembered that she could just walk through them. A well-practiced ghost would know this but when one is freshly dead, the rules take some getting used to. She noted with curiosity that her heart was currently pounding in her very dead chest. The boys down at the pub would love that one. She could see Ernie now, slamming the table and laughing much too loudly about the prospect of ghosts with working hearts. Simon would lean in and chide Ernie for his ignorance...
Submitted to Contest #220
“Are you hungry, John?” His mother’s voice was soft and comforting. John could picture her standing in his doorway holding a plate of food and a glass of water. She liked to make sandwiches, usually tuna salad, filled with more good intentions than flavor. “Not right now, I’m sleeping. I’ll eat it later.” He mumbled into his pillow, which was oddly hard and sharp. How can a pillow be sharp? He felt for the covers and grabbed only air. Why is it so cold in here? Did I forget to turn the air off? Why is Mom in my house? Mom is dead. H...
Submitted to Contest #219
I was taught that there’s a spark that happens when people meet face to face. A transference of energies, so to speak. We can feel it, apparently, although many people are not aware of it or acknowledge it. They say it’s why we see all drivers as idiots or get annoyed with large crowds. We become desensitized to the millions of stories all around us and generalize them down to one simple idea. The idea that the majority of people are stupid, raving, easily manipulated, maniacs who would rather see the world burn than not get their way. I was...
Submitted to Contest #218
From a very young age, John Calloway had been forced to combat the sensations of sleep paralysis. It was just one of a number of perils associated with premonition. In this case, he began his routine, as always, with trying to wiggle his toes. He could not really wiggle his toes but his brain still took the attempt as a signal to focus attention on his extremities. As his mind floated in an endless ocean of static nothingness, a chill began to work its way through his body. His fingers and toes came alive with a burning pain that quickly ret...
Submitted to Contest #217
In a very small house. In a very small village. On a very small hill. A very small boy found a very small lizard. He loved this lizard with all of his heart. He loved how it skittered about on his hand and up his arms. He loved how it flicked its tongue out and sat on his shoulder. The lizard did not tease the boy for his size or push him to the ground. It simply sat and listened as it chewed on whatever bug it had acquired for lunch. He would wander through the village square with his lizard on his shoulder, spewing his latest musings of th...
Submitted to Contest #53
“Dinner is almost ready, come help set the table.” Derek’s Mom called up the stairs. “Okay, one sec,” Derek said. He still had about three more minutes before the yelling started. Plenty of time to finish the game. His fingers flew over the keyboard as gunshots and explosions echoed out from the monitor. A well-placed grenade blew an enemy into bloody chunks and a victory screen flashed across the monitor. “Fucking, fuck.” Tony exclaimed through the speakers. “GG. I almost had you that time.” Derek glanced at the lopsided scoreboard an...
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