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David Ader

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Dec, 2020

Stories (50)
Comments
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37 Followers
23 Following

50 Stories

1168 karma pts

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No One Wanted to Be a Hero

Submitted to Contest #304

No one wanted to be a hero. Not now, anyway. It was over, pretty much, or would be soon enough. That's what everyone was saying. That's what newspapers were saying; the last one most of them saw was yesterday's news two weeks ago. It was true. You could taste it. You could see it in the slouch of prisoners marching back; kids mostly, and old men. They looked more relieved than depressed, more exhausted than anything else. And all those white sheets hanging out of windows? Everyone knew.The Army was so sure it was over they assigned one GI fo...

5 likes 1 comment 1
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The Pit

Submitted to Contest #301

Hoffman only stopped because he fell over the thick root of an ancient oak. He wanted to get up, to be back on his feet. He had to go on with his exhaustive run. In that moment though, he welcomed the rest. The cold, soft, ground comforted him. Hoffman didn’t realize how hot he gotten running, how exhausted he was.He gasped so deeply all he could hear was his breath and pulsing heart. They were so loud he feared he could be heard from miles away. After a while, his breathing slowed down, his heart had settled, and he listened. He listened fo...

6 likes 1 comment 1
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Forsooth Sayer

Submitted to Contest #299

Harry made suggestive gestures around the voluptuous crystal ball, his eyes rolling back into his head revealing only the bloodshot whites. He chanted words that could have been Arabic with a smattering of Hebrew recalled from a Bar Mitzvah. Most of the words were gibberish. The teenage trio at the table tried to hold back, but one couldn’t manage. “Dude, it’s like you’re grabbing a boob!” Hysterics ensued. Harry’s eyes rolled forward to glare. “It’s how I connect with the spirits,” he said, any trace of an exotic accent gone. “Do you want ...

10 likes 3 comments 3
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No Place Like Home

Submitted to Contest #284

Whittaker walked up Pilgrim Road deliberately splashing into the puddles left behind by the night’s downpour. He enjoyed the rain. April showers and all. He smiled at that. He also enjoyed the lightning and thunder that had accompanied the storm. He never felt wet, not especially cold even at his age. Oscar, no doubt, would be hiding under the bed just waiting to curl up in Whittaker’s lap which was no small feat for a fat old lab. Some candles glowed inside of his neighbors’ homes. That would be a legacy of the storm no doubt. He could...

7 likes 0 comments 0
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The Old Guard

Submitted to Contest #281

Rufus woke with another itch. It was the weather, of course, and the room. The room was too hot, the weather too dry, and he itched. He itched to the point of scratching away skin, bleeding on his bed, and feeling embarrassed by it but not nearly as ashamed as when he fell asleep on the couch. Incontinence. That wasn’t the first time; there’d been more “episodes” as the others would say. Poor old codger. Rufus wasn’t getting old; he was already old. It must have been yesterday surely when he’d had the energy to play with everyone. Laugh when...

12 likes 4 comments 4
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Greener Grass

Submitted to Contest #277

The realtor hadn’t yet removed the white post from the front lawn when she hooked on a new ‘for sale sign’ to the arm. Another commission on this house was on her mind, two in as many years and the price had risen 10% since she’d last sold it. She didn’t question the seller’s motivation; it wasn’t her business. She was, however, curious as to why Marvin Kaminsky would want to sell it.           “So soon?” she commented when he called her. She’d expected some insight.  &nbs...

18 likes 2 comments 2
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C’est la Vie

Submitted to Contest #273

The ancient vendor lifted a plastic sheet from his wares that lay on top of an even more ancient, if that was possible, olive-drab blanket. Ashes fell from his reeking Gauloises onto the faded US initials in one corner of the blanket. The old man looked up, his eyes hooded in the sort of contempt you’d expect from a dusty peasant trying to eke out a living with a display of mostly junk to a goofy smiling, and obvious, American tourist.  “Hi,” said Mark. “I mean ‘bon jour’” At least he was trying. The tourist guide said the French apprec...

17 likes 4 comments 4
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Over My Dead Body

Submitted to Contest #267

Wilkerson went about his business, such as it was which is to say not very much.  Wilkerson’s days were like that now, had been for several years in fact. His business was puttering about, extending the mundane into the profound. Today it was changing a light bulb on the outside post. That involved finding an incandescent bulb, 60 watts. It was no easy task. He went to three hardware stores in three different towns. In the one that had some, way in the back, he bought six, the entire stock. They were made by GE, at least; an American co...

14 likes 2 comments 2
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Anticosti Antagonist

Submitted to Contest #266

“Gosselin rose again. It was more of a struggle now. His feet would have felt like blocks of ice if he could feel them at all. His legs as heavy as tree trunks. Those thick wool pants nearly froze through. Still, he soldiered on, lifting one leg from the slush, then the other, then plunging ahead. Plunging to the shore, the edge of the ice.” What does he know about the cold? Yes, my feet are cold. And my hands. And my head. Everything. You get used to it. It’s winter in bloody Labrador!  “He fell again. It must have been the tenth time ...

9 likes 2 comments 2
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The Last Cast

Submitted to Contest #253

When Charlie Calisher was shoved into early retirement he made a promise to himself; he’d fish until he got bored. Boredom was not the goal. Boredom was a worry, an admonishment, a sentence that he was beside the point. He’d been at it since May and was still not bored. He’d had exceptionally good days when he’d land 23 fish, hooked, and lose, another seven, and extraordinarily bad days like when he caught nothing but a chill after slipping on a slimy moss-covered boulder, filling his waders with icy river water, and losing his rod, a $950 T...

10 likes 4 comments 4
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Busybody

Lilly stared at the jars of moisturizer standing like toy soldiers in front of her. She looked up from the copy she was reading, turned one jar around to read its ingredients, smiled sardonically, and with a red wax pencil made wide Xs marks on the paper.  “I knew she was making this up. There’s no ginseng root,” she said to no one in particular. It was her day job, reviewing articles for a fashion publication. She long suspected that the writers, mostly overly pretty women in their 20s, were more interested in life in th...

3 likes 2 comments 2
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Sliding Home

Submitted to Contest #247

Charlie O’Brien thought he heard the bell. He wasn’t sure; his hearing wasn’t very good anymore. A bell would mean it was 3:00 p.m. Not that it mattered. His internal clock was accurate. That clock told him school was out. At the janitor’s closet, his inner sanctum, he extracted the waxing machine. It had been there almost since he’d started working and worked like a charm, that heavy aluminum buffer. The old gal could still polish up a mirror finish. He’d replaced the pads more times than he could remember. Wool they were, origina...

11 likes 4 comments 4
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Rough Sailing

Submitted to Contest #240

 Nan looked toward the west again, where the clouds seemed to be growing an even darker shade of grey. The waves had picked up too, hitting the side of the small sailboat and splashing over the coaming as it slid down into the waves.           “Don’t you think?” she asked.           “No, I don’t think, and I wish to hell you’d let me handle this. Unless you want to be the captain!” Harrison pushed the tiller towards her, hard in...

13 likes 9 comments 9
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Little Ones

Submitted to Contest #227

The little children exchanged the mug each holding it with both hands to the count of two, just long enough to get their hands warm. They so wanted to taste its contents, rich chocolate, sweet, forbiddingly sweet, but they needed the heat as much as the chocolate. But in this cold, the dark cold of the alley, the mug would cool quickly and then they would drink, sharing the cup, taking one sip at a time. It was only fair that way.They thought the man who’d given them the hot cocoa must be an angel. He called himself Uncle Szymon, but he wasn...

16 likes 5 comments 5
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From a Deep Recess

Submitted to Contest #223

The panic erupted his sleep. It was a fire alarm going off in his head, a realization that he’d left a pot of soup boiling on the stove or the bathtub running, and he’d driven hours from home and had no cell service. It was none of those issues, though. It was worse.  Joe Boyle realized he’d failed to drop a course and tomorrow was the final exam. It was his last class in his final semester and how on earth was he still in it, how could he have forgotten? He tried to remember what the professor had taught in those first few ...

15 likes 4 comments 4
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