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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Sep, 2022
Submitted to Contest #317
The ding of the front desk bell tolled ominously like a funeral dirge in the cramped antiques store. Andrew’s head swiveled in all direction, looking for signs of life in between the eclectic items scattered haphazardly about: grandfather clocks, cigarette trays, soda bottles, landscape paintings in ornate frames, etc. The store appeared to be empty in spite of the cheerful Open! sign in the front window. “Hello,” Andrew said into the vacant space. He tried to be patient, but his blood was buzzing like a hive of bees. It had taken him ages t...
Submitted to Contest #290
Author's Note: Contains strong language and dark themes. “You should plead guilty,” my lawyer says baldly. I blink rapidly, thinking I must have misheard. “What?” “You should plead guilty,” she says again, drawing out each word meticulously. Her coffee has gone cold but she takes a long draught of it anyway. I watch with envy. Even after six hours of interrogation the arresting officers still haven’t offered me any refreshment. No water. No donut. Not even motor oil flavored coffee. All they’ve given me is a bipedal reptile...
Submitted to Contest #289
“Michael?” My booted feet crunch over dry twigs and fallen leaves as I take short and deliberate steps, reluctant to leave the safe haven of our campsite. I need to stay put. Wait. That’s what the survival guides tell you to do when you’re lost. But I’m not the one that’s lost. I swallow, conscious of the panicked fluttering of my heart. You don’t know if he’s lost either, I remind myself. But why else would he be gone so long? He said he needed to take a leak ten minutes ago. Ten minutes with nothing but the oppressive sil...
Submitted to Contest #266
Dear Author, I suppose I should be grateful you didn't begin my story with waking up. Nor did birdsong factor in. You'd be surprised by the amount of creative pieces that slide across my desk beginning with birdsong. Then again, perhaps the ubiquitous birdsong I suffer at the hands of fledgling writers is your doing. Everything is your doing, isn't it? It wasn't that difficult to deduce, I must say. I've been a disciple of the written word for nearly fifteen years. I have poured over page after page since I discovered a weathered...
Submitted to Contest #161
CW: Contains mentions of dismemberment. The crush of bodies pressed in on Julia from all sides, threatening to sweep her down the city streets on and on forever like a leaf in a current. It could be worse she thought, negotiating around another puddle and nearly crashing into a man with a leather briefcase. The smell of wet pavement was better than the odor of sickness that infiltrated every nook of their flat. Likewise the light patter of rain was musical compared to her mother’s wet coughing. She rounded the corner and c...
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