Emma Russell

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jan, 2025

Stories (4)

4 Stories

41 karma pts

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“A Letter on the Table” by Emma Russell

Submitted to Contest #287

The frigid breeze instantly subsided as I stepped into the café, the blasting heat hitting me like a slap in the face. The buzz of the outside world, fresh on a Monday morning was replaced by the soft hum of conversations, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and the barista yelling names while holding a small cup or brown paper bag with a pastry in it. ‘Morning, Arial. Can I get you your usual?’ Jane was my usual barista, with her sleek, dark hair swept into a messy bun behind her head, a red apron with dark, coffee-coloured stains tied over ...

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“A Life Unwritten” by Emma Russell

Submitted to Contest #286

I held the magazine in my hands like it was porcelain, cradling the frayed edges and the staples that barely clung the grubby paper together anymore. It was the last edition ever printed, and I was on the front cover, staring down the camera in bold colour. I sighed and placed it back on my bookshelf, the itching emptiness in my heart returning, discontentedness as soon as it left my fingertips. I placed it beside the newspaper that I slipped into an old, golden frame. The colour had faded in the paper after I had thumbed it so many times, b...

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“Beneath the Surface” by Emma Russell

Submitted to Contest #285

The sun hung low in the sky, shooting gleaming golden rays through gaps in the city’s array of skyscrapers. The evening air was alive with flies and mosquitoes, drawn to the humidity that hung like thick clouds over my head. The horizon was dark, on the brink of night, but pink clouds were strewn around the aurous glow of the sun. A man perched on the opposite edge of the bus stop seat coughed, and I flinched. Nicotine stains tainted his fingers and a trail of smoke expelled from his nostrils, a cigarette jammed between his lips. I shivered,...

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“The Unknown Home” by Emma Russell

Submitted to Contest #284

The baked dish was warm in my hands, the crinkled foil covering the tray glinting in the evening glow. It was the kind of night where mosquitoes claimed the warm, dusky air and the shrill croak of crickets emanated from the bushes. Shifting the dish into one hand, I jammed my thumb into the old doorbell, flakes of rust spiralling to the ground. No response, no sound that the doorbell had done anything at all. I lifted my hand and rapped my knuckles against the wooden door, and quickly, a shadow passed through the stained glass window on the ...

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Author bio

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