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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jun, 2020
Submitted to Contest #126
Each of the seven years Natasha Wright had lived in the small New England town of Belfry, she had experienced a rare encounter on New Year’s Eve, though she’d never known it. There was only one dual coffee and pastry shop in town: Little Armaño’s, which sold the best danishes and fruit cakes in the country, as far as the residents were concerned. Even those people who came in from the far reaches of the world lauded the small shop and the husband and wife who ran it. Natasha always got the same thing at the same time. She’d come in near clos...
Submitted to Contest #122
Jack Washburn’s heart hammered in his throat as he sat in the stall just outside the food court at City Center Mall. He’d been there for half an hour already, and his legs were starting to get sore, as were his arms, mostly from the fact that he was perched with both feet on the toilet bowl with his hands pushing at the sides of the stall for support. Sweat beaded on his face, and his mop of curly black hair was sticking to his forehead from beneath his hoodie. He gave his arms a short break, but a ding from the intercom made him quickly pus...
Submitted to Contest #119
Though the waves crashed against the cliffside and the wind battered the thin walls of the old cottage, Cindy Davis didn’t stop smiling and set the table in her kitchen for one. She couldn’t hear it anyway. The lights had gone out, but she had a plethora of candles just for this occasion. Every time she went out to the market, she bought a few candles, especially if there were new scents out. Something about the dancing yellow flame enchanted her. It was so frantic, so desperate to escape its shackles, and yet so playful. She liked to put he...
Submitted to Contest #116
“-and whatever you do, stay away from Harrow’s Lane,” finished the older boy emphatically. It was a saying all the children in White Lake knew by heart, and so it came as no surprise that the boy’s grisly story was met with a tired nod from his audience; they had all heard every type of story about Harrow’s Lane one could imagine, from the old man with the axe waiting to dismember you by the toolshed on house 114, to the ghoul that lurked the shores of the property at the end of the lane: White’s mansion. An outsider may have scoffed, and in...
Submitted to Contest #115
I suppose when the four horsemen came up to my car, I should’ve known to put it in reverse. Or perhaps their grim faces should’ve sent me running. Either way, I swallowed the hot stone lodged in my throat and lowered the windows as they approached. Their lanterns bathed the dirt road in a ghoulish orange glow. Not vibrant, but tempered and sickly - as though someone had placed frosted glass around the Mona Lisa. The hooves clopped on the ground and a horse whinnied as it stopped by my door. A man slid off, his coat dark and graced by a shimm...
Submitted to Contest #112
Her heart beat so rapidly it was folly to try and measure it against her watch, though she tried, tapping her foot on the ground in a similarly frenzied pace. The ambient, romantic lighting of the restaurant was so juxtaposed to her state of mind that some part of her felt like laughing, but most of her thoughts were bent on keeping herself from sweating through her red dress. She’d worn this dress the first time she’d been at this restaurant, when she was nervous for a much different reason. Glancing at her watch again, she realized he was ...
Submitted to Contest #111
“Go to bed, honey,” her tired mother said, clutching a glass of wine in one hand and an old harlequin novel in the other. Her blond hair was frizzy in the humid night, and she was sweating through her clothes. “But mum-” “Listen to your mother,” said her father lazily. He was likewise pouring sweat in the heat, and didn’t even bother to look up from his TV program. John Rolston was a sad sight - overweight, red-faced, and losing the last bit of hair from the top of his head. His thick round spectacles dug into his pudgy face, and his...
Submitted to Contest #110
Most nights, Eleanor Robin manned the counter of Lazy Night Diner with a cigarette in one hand and a flask full of vodka and orange juice by her hip. Of course, it was strictly against protocol for any employee of the diner to be drinking on the job, but her own boss Clyde Wilkins was such a boozer that she could smell the whiskey on his breath the moment he’d hired her. He was rarely in - always with some excuse about his car, his home, or his wife, and he was never in during the night. Since Eleanor exclusively worked the night shift, she ...
Submitted to Contest #108
Why were bar tops always made of some deep, dark wood with so much polish on it that one could see their sad face in crystal clear high definition as they ordered another drink? And why was the wood always so slippery? Just for barkeeps to fling drinks around like they’re in some sort of low-brow curling match? And the music… songs just played again and again. In the three hours that Ted had been at McCarson’s Corner, he had heard the same crappy pop song play at least seven times. As the high snares started up to signal the beginning of the...
Submitted to Contest #107
Sunlight streamed through the orange and red forest canopy, dappling the ground with warm light while a brisk wind rustled through the forest. Waves and drifts of leaves moved around like an ocean - the graveyard of autumn’s past. Henry Wallman walked through these woods in a good fitting pair of dark blue jeans, a faded orange shirt, and a black bomber jacket. On his wrist he wore a watch worth more than the phone in his pocket, and around his neck he wore a necklace with a ring on it. Fall was always a bittersweet time for him - on one han...
Submitted to Contest #104
Trigger warning: domestic violence There was a delicate clink as Marty Strathmore placed his wine glass back on the sleek wooden table, pursing his lips and turning the page of his novel. A soft white light shone behind him, casting strict, long shadows on the modern architecture of his living room. A vinyl player was broadcasting some soft jazz around the room which touched lightly on his ears, never too bold yet still confident enough for a little crescendo or piano riff to catch his intrigue. Yes, he was indeed aware of his own cliche. He...
Submitted to Contest #103
Wet soil crunched beneath his feet as he made his way through the woody underbrush of the forest. Small sticks and moss covered rocks slipped and cracked under his heavy brown boots, and his walking stick left little imprints in the soft ground before he was about to step, warning the unseen critters in front of him where his heavy feet would land next. The steely gray day was damp, and had the warmth of a late spring morning in the north, just clinging to winter’s last breath. It had rained the night before, and that meant the conifers abov...
Submitted to Contest #100
“Ah, Donna… welcome… please, come in.” The older woman’s voice was warm, but her face was sharp and curt, and her blue eyes held more chill than the piles of snow outside her massive home. She stepped away from her mahogany double doors and allowed Donna, a large woman with a hostile face, to walk in. “How was your drive?” “Fine,” said Donna shortly, taking off her shoes and speeding past the old woman. She walked down a spacious hallway filled with pictures, recognizing her own smiling face in a few of them. Her feet carried her mech...
Submitted to Contest #98
The only waitress at Marvin & Friend’s diner was accustomed to spending the late hours of her shift smoking a cigarette and listening to Hall & Oates on the old, crackly speakers. She didn’t know who Marvin was, or why he’d opened the diner, nor did she care. There was no cook behind the small window into the kitchen - on the rare occasion that a trucker or drug addict came into the diner late at night, the food was packaged and ready to be heated up. She just went back into the kitchen, threw it in the microwave, and played with her...
Submitted to Contest #97
A gentle rain splattered against the cool glass window of his room. The sky was an inky black, with the clouds so thick the full moon behind them was hidden in their velvety folds. Somewhere in his heart, he knew it was midnight, even before the little beeping on his watch chimed at the hour. Outside, a street light stood amongst its kin as sentinels against the obtrusive darkness, though even it was blurred when the rain decided to spit hard at the Earth. Its light highlighted Danny’s face in stark, pale relief, with the crossed metal bars ...
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