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Author on Reedsy Prompts since May, 2021
Submitted to Contest #315
Maya had perfected the art of being invisible. At twenty-eight, she moved through the world like a shadow—head down, earbuds in, always taking the long way around groups of people. Her apartment was a fortress of solitude: blackout curtains, grocery deliveries, and a job that let her work entirely from home, debugging code for a company whose office she'd never seen. The panic attacks had started three years ago, after the accident. What began as reasonable caution—looking both ways twice, wearing her seatbelt religiously—had slowly consumed...
Submitted to Contest #278
Delia looked up from her laptop at the flatscreen TV as the telephone rang, expecting to see another "Unknown Caller" on the caller ID. Irritated by the interruption to her flow of ideas and work, her annoyance turned to surprise when something wholly unexpected appeared on the screen: USPS DEAD LETTERS and a local phone number. Hesitating for a moment, she grabbed the handset and answered with practiced caution. “Hello?” “Hello, is this Delia Fielding?” a deep voice asked on the other end of the line. “Yes,” she replied, her curiosity pique...
Submitted to Contest #239
I am Celestia, your narrator for this tale and fellow traveler in this unknowable universe. I am the epitome of midnight's grace, the silhouette that prowls in silence beneath the silvered glow of the moon—cloaked in obsidian velvet, my fur drinks in the essence of the night, each sleek strand a tribute to the darkness that dances in my veins. My eyes, twin orbs of shimmering emerald, gleam with the wisdom of ages untold, reflecting the secrets whispered by the stars. They are windows to a world beyond mortal comprehension, where magic weave...
Submitted to Contest #190
Disguises He chose me to ghostwrite. Eight months ago, when his agent contacted me, he’d warned—Thomas Stroud, although extremely well-known, was hard to know. So now, as I did thrice weekly, I sat outside his dressing room in the Barrymore Theater. Waiting. The hallway was lit with dim sconces, making it seem like the 1920s rather than the 2020s. So many of these old Broadway houses had never been modernized. The chill of the air surrounded me. The old theater was also drafty as hell. He summoned me. I could ...
Submitted to Contest #167
The time was 2 minutes to Midnight when I was born in October of 1953. When I turned ten, they reset it to 12 minutes to Midnight. When I was 21, it was reset to 9 minutes to Midnight. Since I was about nine, I've kept my eye on it with a vigilant, tormenting worry. The Doomsday Clock has been my obsession, my reality, and my measure of life's possible end date for the last fifty-eight years. Just as my 67th birthday passed, the Clock was reset once more. It was 100 seconds to Midnight. One minute and forty seconds, the smallest measure...
Submitted to Contest #165
Danny Morton and I became best friends on the first day of kindergarten. We were both 5 years old. Even then, I knew we’d be friends for a long time because when I stumbled up the bus steps, he didn’t laugh like everyone else, including the driver. He simply held out a little hand with long fingers, helped me up, and then made room for me on the green vinyl seat next to him. He was kind, gentle, and sweet. He never lied or tried to hurt me. So, why was Danny doing this to me today when the pile of files on my desk weighed more than I did, an...
Submitted to Contest #164
He sat quietly beside me. Austere in his black suit, crisp white shirt, and black tie. I turned my head to the right and silently studied his profile for a moment. He’d been on the edge of every significant event of my life from the day I’d been born, and he was here with me now. Finally, he turned and gave me a tight smile. I could see the emotion filling his soft eyes. Not so long ago, our positions were reversed. He was the mourner, and I was there to lend my support. Although his children and grandchildren had also been there, my husband...
Submitted to Contest #133
He unearthed the heart-shaped box from under a pile of sweaters that had been in a grimy cardboard box in his spare bedroom. It was fourteen years ago, he’d given this particular red silk box to his wife, Sarah. Their seventh married Valentine’s Day. Shaped like a heart, it had been filled with Godiva truffles. His impeccable memory recalled that Strawberry Crème Tarte Truffle and decadent Black Forest Cake Truffles were a couple of flavors. How she savored those chocolates! Only allowing herself one or two a night while she read to make the...
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