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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Mar, 2024
Submitted to Contest #298
"You want me to eat what part of the snail?" Marcus's voice carried across the outdoor Parisian café, causing several heads to turn. Cherry blossoms floated down around him like pink snowflakes.The waiter sighed with the practiced patience of someone who'd explained escargot to Americans a thousand times. "The entire body, monsieur. It is already removed from the shell and prepared with garlic butter. It is spring—the season for trying new delicacies.""Where I'm from, we spray those things with poison," Marcus muttered, poking the gastropod ...
Submitted to Contest #296
"He who dwells only on what’s gone blinds himself to what still shines." O.B. Kiev, autumn 1929. Rain tapped against the window of Ostap Bender's rented room, a melancholy rhythm that matched his mood. Two months since his miraculous escape from Lubyanka's cells—a tale involving a sympathetic guard, three gold watches, and a forged transfer order that even he could scarcely believe had worked. Two months of looking over his shoulder, sleeping with a knife under his pillow, and knowing that sooner or later, his luck would thin like winter ic...
"A man who counts only his losses has already lost everything worth counting." — O.B. Moscow, winter 1928. Four months had passed since Odessa's salt-tinged air had filled Ostap Bender's lungs. Now, the biting cold of Russia's capital snapped at his heels as he hurried down Tverskaya Street, collar pulled high against the wind. The Ottoman gold from the warehouse heist was long gone—some to Nadia, some to his crew, and the rest had slipped through his fingers like water, spent on train tickets, bribes, and enough vodka to briefly warm the ho...
"The sea whispers secrets to those who dare, but it keeps the cost for itself." — O.B.Ostap Bender squinted through the haze of cigarette smoke, the tang of salt and diesel thick in the humid air of Odessa's port. It was July 1927, and the Black Sea coast pulsed with life—dockworkers hauling crates, gulls screeching over the waves, and the murmur of illicit deals threading through the chaos.Ostap had drifted into town ten days ago, a lean figure in a threadbare jacket, chasing whispers of a Turkish gold shipment snared by Soviet customs. The...
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