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Darren Horton

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jan, 2025

Stories (4)

Comments

Library

2 Followers

2 Following

4 Stories

57 karma pts

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Breakfast Epiphanies

Submitted to Contest #289

The room is unfamiliar. I don’t know how I got here. That is, I can’t remember arriving. The reason I’m here, I do know. I fell off the wagon. As is often the case, when I begin to find my bearings after the tumble, I start from a place I don’t recognise.The last time I fell off was nine months ago. The wagon had been climbing a steep incline for what felt like forever, but I managed to keep control long enough to make it to the crest of a hill, looking forward to some respite. The breather was short lived. There was little flat road to enjo...

4 likes

Nan Knows Best

Submitted to Contest #287

On a September afternoon about ten years ago, Rose, a cup of tea in her hands and a look of peace on her face, entered the living room of the humble semi-detached she’d then called home for thirty years, the last five of those spent as a widow. As of a year prior, when Rose's eldest granddaughter added to her offspring with her first great-grandchild, she was the progenitor of twenty people, all of whom she loved dearly and was loved by as much or more in return. She was never short of visitors to help her deal with the loneliness of widowho...

2 likes

Plenty of Space in a Suitcase

Submitted to Contest #286

‘So, that’s the plan. Squeeze your life in a suitcase and trek about on the continent for a few months?’ James, topping up the korma in his slow cooker with coconut cream, asked his younger brother.‘That’s about the sum of it. After what Maggie and her lawyer did to me, shouldn’t be much of a squeeze. A holdall bag should do the trick,’ Luke, sat on a kitchen stool on the other side of the stone counter, answered breezily.As he stirred the korma and looked at his brother, a glimmer in James’s dark brown eyes coincided with the forming of a w...

6 likes

I Wouldn't Bet on it

Submitted to Contest #285

A couple of months ago, following a two-year onslaught of misfortune, I found myself with no option but to move back into my childhood home and spend some time with the folks. On the Friday night of my second week there, longing for a place to drown all the sorrows I’d accumulated, I made the twenty-minute walk to The Royal Oak, a traditional pub built over two centuries ago that sits at the halfway point of a steep hill in a nearby village. A regular spot for me in my early twenties, I figured if the sorrows resisted my attempts to drown th...

2 likes