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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Aug, 2025
Submitted to Contest #316
The air is a poem of ozone and wet asphalt. Thick, bitter, alive. It tastes like a promise made good on, or maybe like the breath of a god after a long weep. On the bluff above the water, a man watches the Salt Creek River shrink back into itself, ashamed, exhausted. An hour ago, it had been furious and brown, clawing at the throat of the town called Emberton Falls. Now, the anger is gone. Now, there is only aftermath. He stands there—still as a myth, silent as an apology. The Tempest. A name whispered in newsrooms and emergency bunkers. He ...
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