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Éan Bird

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Feb, 2023

Stories (9)

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85 Followers

7 Following

9 Stories

601 karma pts

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The Couriers of Magic

Éan Bird

Submitted to Contest #283

The disadvantage to delivering miracles is that the collection of gasps, the breathless wonder at apex, the brilliant convergence of tiny simultaneous serendipitous coincidences goes unwitnessed by the person who actually delivers the magic. I know this because I’ve borne witness to the delivery of miracles before. It's true. One year, my family gathered--for the first time--at Alan Number Two’s house to celebrate Christmas. He welcomed us through dual front doors of beveled glass and led us through rooms with soaring white ceilings and m...

6 likes

Divorcing Sky from Ocean

Éan Bird

Submitted to Contest #214

“You have five hours.”“That is all?” she blanched, squinting up from haunches, brushing her hands to remove clumps of wet sand. The broad figure above her stood in silhouette against August’s aggressive, equatorial sun.“Five.” The figure shifted to cast a relief of shadow across her shoulders, then turned and tromped toward the dotted line of pool beds and volleyball nets along the resort’s edge. The broad figure stumbled and pitched in various directions. She relished its clumsy feet struggling against the fluidity of dry sand.“Five,” ...

18 likes

Tonguing the Underpinnings Between Venial and Mortal Sin

Éan Bird

Shortlisted for Contest #203 ⭐️

Bless me, F. Scott Fitzgerald, for I have sinned.I fucked— oops. Sinned again.Seems I forgot to holler in advance of adult content. Please permiss my clumsiness. And my blunt diction. It's been a hot minute since mouthing confessionals into tight boxes. Take heed:Fore! Ho! in future progression.Allow me to begin again: Bless me, F. Scott Fitzgerald. I might have sinned. You see, I found myself involved in a little predicament--a "rhetorical" triangle, as you call it. Several years ago, I borrowed a book from a teacher's shelf. Wait, pau...

18 likes

Sharing Shakespeare's Birthday: A Five-Paragraph Essay

Éan Bird

Shortlisted for Contest #197 ⭐️

Have you ever tried to write on Shakespeare’s birthday? It sucks. Do not recommend it. I’ve tried for decades. If you're wondering how one becomes called to such a task (without ever asking for the assignment), here's what happens: The stars align by order of some complicated celestial coordinates. Dates are predetermined. Circumstances overlap, and suddenly I'm unable to escape the fate of having to write on William Shakespeare's birthday. In the beginning of this preordained kismet, I vowed to compose with religious ceremony. And for the f...

19 likes

In the Hardest Class Ever Taught, Flags Get Stuck

Éan Bird

Submitted to Contest #194

In the hardest class ever taught, we return to square one over and over, go back, top of the page, redo checkboxes, fill in the same blanks again. Communication deduces into physical gestures and emotive symbols, culminates in idiomatic explosions. In the hardest class ever taught, learning struggles.I taught the hardest class tough lessons about the life cycle of a chrysalis. After instructing students to highlight where they found proof butterflies come from cocoons, I read the text aloud, modeled the activity, but looked up to a student d...

15 likes

The Thrill of Chasing Memoirs

Éan Bird

Submitted to Contest #192

Let’s cut right to the chase. I buried treasure.But before we get into any of that, I must introduce Mr. Forrest Fenn.In barefoot youth, Forrest Fenn explored the Blackland Prairies of Texas. With fingers probing deep, fertile soil and toes squeegeeing creekside mud, he discovered an insatiable craving for arrowheads. After a day’s crusade, he’d lay among bluestems and fly his triangular treasure, pinched between fingertips, throughout the air. The wind, slipping through Indiangrasses, lisped, “Adventure.”I first met Forrest in a classroom. ...

16 likes

Dear Coldplay, I Love You. Wait. Scratch That.

Éan Bird

Winner of Contest #190 🏆

This letter isn’t to you, the band. This letter is for the band’s front man.My apologies. Let’s start over.Dear Chris Martin,I love you. But we need to break up.You don’t know me, Chris. We’ve never met. You grazed my hands at a concert once, but I’m told that doesn’t count. But you and I have history, my dear; decades of triumph, grief, adoration, frustration knotted and woven together in indecipherable patterns. I’ve discovered, in recent contemplations about our relations, it’s nearly impossible to unravel.This letter is a risk. I’m shari...

158 likes

A Drowning, Contained, In Bird's-Eye View

Éan Bird

Submitted to Contest #186

“What happens underneath the water’s surface?”“You mean beyond the reflective ribbons made by schools of fish?”“Yes.”"I’m not sure; I've never been down there.” "Have you always roosted way up here?""I have. For many, many years. In that time, I've grown ears that listen, a beak that glistens, and an apptitude for detecting rhythm. From this view point I collect astute observations and have accrued wisdom from time at post. What else would you like to know?""Wisdom?""Wisdom; understanding the classification of all living things, the pri...

13 likes

Slop for Fodder

Éan Bird

Submitted to Contest #186

On a Friday in March, my life detonated. To be honest, I still can't figure out what the hell happened. Yet, here, I'm being tasked to compose in relational snippets when nothing left exists from the whole. It's bullshit; I'm a science teacher, not a damn author of divisions. But someone once told me dates can carry symbolic weight, so I'll contest and deliver a chronology of the excrement. Served in verfabula fragments, as requested.April 19th, 2020:Most matter, upon ballistic impact, will shred and tear; remnants, like thread, visible...

14 likes