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Elizabeth Greenwoods

Author on Reedsy Prompts since May, 2021

Stories (8)
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6 Followers
7 Following

8 Stories

84 karma pts

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Sacrifice

History can happen in a single moment, but writing it can last decades.  Maybe that is why I didn't understand at first the meaning of the revolution. I couldn´t. I was young, and maybe that is not that good of an excuse nowadays, but it sure was then. Nevertheless, I do remember when it happened. I remember the fear, the uncertainty and over all, the fire. Every new beginning must start with the ashes of the old world, but everybody always seems to forget what it takes to build a new one. How destructive fire can be. And how it can war...

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What makes a villain?

Submitted to Contest #105

What makes a villain? First there is perspective. Humans are unable to see things from the same point of view, we are doomed to live a life where everything is relative. Ambiguous. Then how is it possible that we still figure out a way of communicating, of understanding each other, even if it is in the most shallow way possible? We are not perfect, not even close, so why is it that we still end up loving each other, more than we should be able to? Caring is something strange, because there is nothing more selfish than caring, but we see...

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Step by step

Submitted to Contest #104

Winter was her favorite season. Well, not really. Autumn, maybe. She loved the colors, the cool breeze and cloudy days. But people thought winter was her favorite season, perhaps because she once said that snow was magical. She believed it, but winter wasn’t really her thing. People tend to assume things, even when you don’t really mean them. So she stopped talking. It was the most intelligent thing to do. Easier said than done. Words had always been her thing; they were reliable, something she thought couldn’t be misunderstood. Well, she wa...

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It's Okay

Submitted to Contest #102

I am sorry if my english isn't the best, I really tried :) Trigger warning: suicide The bathroom was the only place we shared. I realised this many years ago, the night after his funeral. Between those four walls, he and I had our best memories of each other, which was actually quite strange, because we lived together as long as life was able to keep death from breaking us apart. The little house in the middle of nowhere was for a long time our home, our everything, but home is nothing without the people you love. That is why the only image ...

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El Caleuche

Submitted to Contest #98

Esta historia está basada en la leyenda chilote del Caleuche, un barco fantasma que navega por los mares de Chiloé. Cuentan los lugareños que quienes han logrado ver a la tripulación, han sido hechizados, atraídos a bordo y alejados de la costa, sin que nunca se volviera a saber de ellos.Tenía diez años. La edad puede parecer irrelevante, y lo es, pero siempre insisto en mencionar esos diez años de experiencia que había almacenado cuidadosamente, pero que de nada me sirvieron al final. Porque diez años no pueden acumular leyendas más antigua...

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Para siempre

Submitted to Contest #97

Imperturbable, Becca dejó pasear sus vivaces ojos grises sobre la escena que se llevaba a cabo en la habitación. Su menuda figura delgada se aferraba a la puerta, la silueta recortada en el umbral de la vieja puerta de madera con las bisagras gastadas. La señora Blythe, una mujer joven de brazos fuertes y pulso firme, caminaba apresuradamente, su largo vestido verde ondeando a medida que recorría la sala en busca de vendas y otros utensilios. Algunos mechones de cabello pajoso le caían del apretado rodete que llevaba sobre la cabeza, el sudo...

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La noche interminable

Submitted to Contest #93

Masika deseaba desesperadamente que lloviera. Sabía que las posibilidades de que eso pasara eran casi nulas, pues el otoño recién había dado indicios de su presencia hace algunos días, levantando hojas teñidas de los árboles con su suave brisa escalofriante. La lluvia no vendría hasta en unos meses más. Aún así, esa mañana había tenido esperanzas al ver grandes nubarrones acumularse sobre la ciudad. Pero como siempre, la esperanza es algo no fidedigno, una ilusión que aún en el último segundo se las ingenia para hacerte creer en lo imposible...

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La polaroid

Me desperté de golpe, temblaba. El frío se clavaba como finas agujas en mi piel, atravesaba la mohosa manta que me cubría y formaba una capa de hielo invisible que alejaba el calor corporal de mi cuerpo, cosa que creía imposible. Mi tenue aliento formaba acuarelas de niebla blanca frente a mis ojos, aterrizando de forma abstracta sobre el plástico transparente de la parada de autobús, el cual se veía interrumpido por intentos de grafitis hechos con rotulador rojo. Respiré el gélido aire callejero, que mezclaba el lejano olor a tortas fritas ...

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