Daniel Shurmer

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jul, 2023

Stories (4)

4 Stories

60 karma pts

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“Imperfect Strangers ” by Daniel Shurmer

Submitted to Contest #284

He lay naked on the dishevelled bed, a twist of limbs, sweat cooling on his skin. The air hung low and heavy, permeated with the heady odour of exerted bodies, conjoined and heaving as one, mere moments before. His eyes felt heavy, the buzz of the alcohol, the excitement of the sex; the comedown was intense, as if some force deep beneath the swells of consciousness was threatening to pull him beneath the waves which separate the waking world and the bliss of sleep. He wanted to succumb to it so badly, to drift away into that place where sham...

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“The Hand That Guides” by Daniel Shurmer

Submitted to Contest #274

“Fate is resourceful”, I whisper to myself.The mantra I’ve chanted so many times before. “Fate is resourceful”, I try to steady my breathing.The whooping siren blares again behind me in another short burst, red and blue lights, blinding in the rear-view mirror. Reluctantly, I ease my foot off the pedal. The road is empty, it's the early hours, nothing around but the woods for miles. I bring the car to a stop, the cruiser does the same, snug against my bumper. Oppressively close, breathing down my neck. Our engines rumble in unison,...

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“A Portrait Of The Soul” by Daniel Shurmer

Submitted to Contest #239

My art comes at a high price. A price higher than most can imagine, and for reasons few could comprehend. Kings and commoners alike had fallen to their knees before me, begging and bartering with all they had, just for a chance to be immortalised in one of my many portraits. I indulged a few, when offers were made simply to lavish to refuse, and I would always wonder if they could see the quiet dissatisfaction concealed behind my smile. As novel as it was to paint royalty, no matter how rich they made me, nor how brilliant the po...

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“Eisoptrophobia” by Daniel Shurmer

Submitted to Contest #206

As I lay in my bed, in my little box room, amongst the dust and clutter; I find my eyes unable to close, not for the dull stench of mould pervading the plastered walls or the stony mattress beneath me which pokes and prods my back with errant springs – nor the pitter-patter of winter rains against the windowpanes or the shadows of naked branches which dance against the walls like shadow puppets from spindled fingers. These distractions were not the thing that kept my mind gasping feverishly above the waves of sleep. In truth, I wished for no...

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Author bio

An aspiring writer from the UK, I'm passionate about creating and exploring fiction, with a special interest in Queer stories.