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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Oct, 2024
Submitted to Contest #309
The gallery's white walls held their breath in the amber glow of track lighting, waiting for Mara Locke's retrospective to unfold. She moved between the mounted photographs with the reverence of a curator handling sacred relics, each image a fragment of twenty years spent capturing moments that others had lived but never truly seen. Her fingers trembled slightly as she adjusted a frame—a street scene from Prague, where cobblestones caught rain like scattered diamonds. The photograph had won her the Crawford Prize early in her career, launch...
Winner of Contest #298 🏆
Reagan Theriault stepped back from her easel, paintbrush tucked between her lips, studying the swirl of blacks and greens on the canvas. To others, it was just another ode to mold—but to her, it was beauty. She leaned in, adding a hint of iridescence with a fine brush dipped in cobalt teal and titanium white. Her studio smelled of oil paint and damp earth, kept at 78% humidity for what she called “atmospheric authenticity”—awful for electronics, perfect for art.Reagan had always gravitated toward the overlooked. As a child, she collected dea...
Submitted to Contest #297
The wind tore at Ellis Roth's coat as he stood on the ledge, toes over the drop, thirty stories above Los Sueños. The city below pulsed soft and synthetic, like a machine pretending to breathe. Behind him, his Echo Unit lay scattered across the rooftop—shattered casing, exposed internals, little coils sparking like nerves still firing. A synthetic voice box—flattened. Its eye, a smooth black lens once lit with a soft amber glow, now cracked down the middle. The thing looked half a piece of advanced tech, and half like something that might've...
Submitted to Contest #274
The Quiet Spire rises from the mist at the edge of the world, where few tread and fewer return. It is a ruin—a jagged relic left behind by those who sought meaning in silence. The priests of the Mournwatch vowed to the Silent God, deity of patience, endings, and unanswered prayers. They guided others through grief, performing rites and carrying burdens of the living and dead. It is a belief that every burden must be laid down—by its bearer or by those left behind. The Mournwatch priests wander alone, traveling from battlefield to villa...
Submitted to Contest #273
Someone was following Isha Sava. She could feel the presence trailing behind her, steady and deliberate. The streets of Enreth were quiet at this hour, the market long closed, and only the occasional clink of distant bells broke the stillness. It wasn't just anyone following her—this was someone who knew her habits and knew where she liked to disappear. Isha had spent too long surviving to ignore such signs. She slipped through the narrow alleys with ease, her dark cloak blending with the shadows. The city had not changed since she left the ...
The rain fell lightly, pattering against the canopy of branches overhead. The forest beyond the garden was alive with whispers—the wind stirring through brittle leaves, roots shifting beneath the earth, the soft hum of distant creatures moving through the night. It should have brought Lira peace. But there was no peace to be found here, not anymore. She stood just beyond the stone wall, hidden among the vines and wildflowers that had grown unchecked along the courtyard's edges. The scent of damp earth clung to the air, and the cold mist kiss...
The forest hung heavy beneath a sky swollen with mist. The road wound like a scar through the brambles and wet stones, narrowing into a thin thread of mud that tangled among crooked trees. The light that drifted through the clouds was faint—more shadow than sky—turning the air into a dim haze that blurred the edges of the world. Orin’s boots pressed deep into the mud with every step, and still he walked. The rain clung to his cloak and skin, soaking through to the bone, dragging at him like an old regret. On his back, the bundle shifted, a f...
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