Elle Weaver

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Dec, 2020

Stories (6)

6 Stories

102 karma pts

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“Wednesday Market” by Elle Weaver

Submitted to Contest #101

TW: miscarriage “I don’t know that I will be a good mother,” I say to Matt as I sit on the porch, my legs splayed across his lap. He hums to himself and strokes a hand up my leg. It is hairy, but he doesn’t seem to mind. His hand comes to rest on my belly, heavy with possibility, swollen and speckled with stretch marks. He doesn’t seem to mind this either, and his fingertips, calloused and spider-webbed with scars from guitar strings, explore over my thin shirt. “Why do you say that?” he asks. “I’m nothing like the mothers you see in catalog...

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“A Death In The Family” by Elle Weaver

Submitted to Contest #79

I was halfway through junior year when I made the decision to drop out of high school. I was just at the cusp of my 17th birthday, so I kept my mouth closed, waited to get my plan together. I knew that if I came home and told them I was dropping out, I’d need to have another plan, even if that included leaving their lives forever. In fact, it would be easier to just leave town and not look back than it would be to tell them that I had given up on schooling. I planned to get my GED, but I knew that wouldn’t be enough. I surr...

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“April Showers” by Elle Weaver

Submitted to Contest #79

It was a drizzly day in April when I walked in on my sister, coincidentally also named April, having sex with my fiance. It was hard to say who looked the most surprised, her or Calvin, or even who looked the most guilty. Calvin, at least, had the decency to look away from me while covering his lower half up with a sheet I had gotten at our bridal shower. As if I was the intruder, the one who shouldn’t be seeing his private moment or private area. April just stared at me, a deer in headlights. Her large green eyes were one...

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“Wedding Invitations” by Elle Weaver

Submitted to Contest #78

If I close my eyes, I can still hear the scratching of my grandmother’s pen. I used to lay on the floor, sprawled out on the antique carpet, the rough wool fibers making my stomach itch where my shirt pulled up and exposed it, my sock feet in the air, waving back and forth gaily like a pirate’s flag. She used thick, heavy duty paper that she bought from a local artist, paper the likes of which I had never seen. Grainy and rough to the touch, flecks of old paper inside the new one. The remnants of a stranger's memori...

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“Matches” by Elle Weaver

Submitted to Contest #77

“Whose horrible idea was it to do this?” I asked the air, my voice catching and dying on the recycled hot air. I leaned my forehead and cheek against the cool glass of the window, looking out at the craggy rocks capped with snow. Phillip turned his head to look at me for a moment before turning back to the road. “Yours.” I grunted low in the back of my throat and had nearly gotten comfortable with my shoulder under the seat belt when the car began to shake and jump again as we h...

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“Forty-Six Years” by Elle Weaver

Submitted to Contest #75

I looked down at my mother’s obituary in my hand. This will be my year, I told myself. It wasn’t like it was a surprise she had finally died. Months of her deteriorating, her grip loosening on my hand, her clarity waning. My visits turned from conversations about my childhood, spoken of like they were just yesterday, to sitting in a straight backed floral nursing home chair, watching her watch birds outside of her 2 foot by 2 foot portal into the world she had once inhabited. My mother couldn’t help the way she was, any mo...

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Author bio

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