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A weekly short story contest
Author on Reedsy Prompts since Dec, 2021
Submitted to Contest #205
(In the late 1800's cowboys, real cowboys of the ol' West, were a dieing breed, 'til there was only one left; he had to be shot.) "Well, shoot, damn you! My piles is killin' me, an' my coffee's cold! Take much longer...I don't care how dead your aim is...I'm gonna come over an' beat what li'l lead you got outta your pencil! Hear me? Go on, shoot!" <...
Submitted to Contest #188
Scum is my cat. You must understand, the moniker given to her or him, (honestly, after thirteen years, I am still not sure and, after all this time, I really do not care. For storied sake, I'll refer to it as a she), I gave as a compliment.Scum is the first, and probably last, cat I will ever own. I saved her from sure death back in New England. I was moving my belongings into my new apartment through the back door while the old tenant, a soon to be deployed active-duty sailor, was moving his belongings out the front doo...
Submitted to Contest #141
I remember, seems from the day I was born, I remember my dad was short and black. Well, no, not quite. Let’s say not ‘short’ short, but vertically challenged. And not ‘black’ black, but how about he was, uh, colored? Yes. Better. He was colored. Yes. Vertically challenged and colored. Better. Much better. He was four colors, actually. Being I was, and still am at this writing, a certifiabl...
Submitted to Contest #137
At the age of seven, I batted .292 for my hometown Pee-Wee baseball team. I had a three year .327 Little League average, a four year .384 Babe Ruth stat. Fifty-eight homeruns, ninety-two triples, one hundred sixty-three doubles. A seven year .352 ERA. Seven years - no errors, no cup. All of little matter. What mattered? For eight years, I was first baseman! Spring of '65, m...
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