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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jun, 2022
Submitted to Contest #260
Northern Africa, sometime in the sixth century A.D.St. George has defeated the dragon. He trusses the monster up in Princess Sabra’s girdle and all three start off for the village. On the way, the dragon strikes up a conversation to pass the time before his trial and execution.DRAGON: I apologize for choosing a lair so far out of town, but I found the view and quiet neighborhood irresistible.GEORGE: I had particularly noticed the fine vista. I congratulate you on your selection.DRAGON: Thank you, although I must credit an excellent estate ag...
Submitted to Contest #257
Act V: Scene 1A graveyard. Elsinore castle on the horizon. Music: Gyuto Monks Tantric Choir(Enter GRAVEDIGGER and ASSISTANT, carrying shovels. The music fades.)GRAVEDIGGERHere another as died of slings. Hark ye, that maketh three this se’nnight alone, far more than e’er arrows took ’count of.ASSISTANTAye, outrageous, as hast oft proclaim’d. Yet of sling control can good Claudius hear no word, without the National Sling Association stone the sayer to death.GRAVEDIGGERAnd so be the ill cured, for as none shall speak ill of the dead, so le...
Submitted to Contest #242
Editor’s note: The following story first appeared in the premier issue of Gundersen’s Christmas Annual, published in Kalamazoo, Michigan, in December 1894. One of the myriad general interest periodicals that flooded the market during that era, the magazine came out at irregular intervals through 1914, its producers apparently feeling themselves constrained neither by the “Christmas” nor by the “Annual” of its title.As for Gundersen, clearly the driving force in a provincial attempt to emulate Godey’s or The Delineator, only fragmentary ...
Submitted to Contest #151
Munch, munch, swish. I’ve done this one before, or one very like it, I think while nosing my way around a milkweed. An idle thought, like all of them, but vaguely comforting in an indifferent universe, especially when combined with a sunny day and grass just turning crispy, yet still holding a juicy touch of last week’s rains. Downright peaceful. “Moo,” said Millie, ever the alarmist. The rest of us ignore her, except for Amy, who spares a quick glance up at all the nothing that prompted the remark. Based on the smell of the air and the girt...
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