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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Oct, 2022
Submitted to Contest #306
RECIPE FOR BAKED ALASKA INGREDIENTS You’ll need two quarts vanilla Ice cream. There you have me. What’s a quart?Siri will know. I’m wondering if I haven’t become a bit too attached to Siri lately. Maybe it’s that “manly” voice. Firm but friendly with a trace of “If you try my patience too far, you never know what might happen.” Hey Siri. (In my breeziest voice, but really just practicing for R later).Uh huh.WHAT IS A QUART? (Clear enunciation to avoid misunderstanding).(Circling of what looks like an AI brain at the bottom of the phone scre...
Submitted to Contest #304
TW: Mentions physical gore.Any moment now Mike’s motley crew, which was how he thought of his art group, would be joining him. He turned the radiator up two notches in the attic room that currently served as both studio and workshop.With sheets spread over his most recent canvases, a faintly surreal air hung about the place. Regarded as a successful artist in his heyday even if that was some time ago, the only work on permanent display was the self-portrait painted in oils not long after leaving art school. It depicted a man with white-blond...
Submitted to Contest #302
It happened a month ago and it was an accident.It started off with my mum saying why didn’t I give being a volunteer at a charity shop a go as I might enjoy it. I’d been working part-time in a restaurant kitchen. It was ok at first but then they kept changing my shifts and everyone was running round all stressed.I don’t like stress!Anyway, the first charity shop I went into seemed ok. There was a big model of a dog outside with a slot to drop coins into to help raise money for dogs in trouble. I was surprised to see it as people don’t carry ...
Submitted to Contest #297
A bird must learn to spread its wings, or it will fall like a pebble. Unless it’s a puffin. In which case it might land in a comical heap on the ground or end up in a classic belly flop on the waves. Such antics, combined with a plumage designed for attracting a mate during the Spring months, may be why this colourful auk is sometimes called “the clown of the sea.”Just before midnight, a pair of red-ringed brown eyes peep from a burrow opening set high on an Atlantic clifftop. Belonging to a fledgling puffin named Puffle, they are mesmerised...
Submitted to Contest #295
Forty years after leaving Kevin’s seaside home, the decline is palpable along the winding streets. Many of the old places are boarded up, and some businesses have changed hands more than once. He passes the usual tawdry trinket shops designed to trap tourists into paying exorbitant prices. Less than five minutes from the sea, with the seagulls circling, he finds himself making a detour into one of the dilapidated side streets.That’s when he sees it.Set back a little and squeezed between two equally insalubrious establishments, a blue plaque ...
Submitted to Contest #291
Dipping and soaring, we fly through skies of rippled blue, eyes fixed upon the ocean. Constantly shifting shape and focus, waves churn up spume which land like snowflakes on the shore. To the distant eye, we appear like specks of grey in the sky.Playing at Peekaboo. Now you see us, now you don’t.Sometimes called “parrots of the sea,” we’re not all we seem. Flying at speeds of up to 55 miles, our wings beat extra hard as we wait for the sea to calm. Other times we avoid the tumult by ducking and swimming underwater. Using our wings and feet a...
Submitted to Contest #289
Half trueFalling in love is like being on the best ride.Falling out is what happens when you get off.As the bus drew close to the American airbase drop off point, nineteen-year-old Lottie applied another layer of Strawberry Potion to her lips. Earlier, she’d sneaked out of the home she shared with her strait-laced parents in a village a few miles away telling them she was staying over to watch tv with an old school friend. The staying over part was true but she wasn’t sure her mother believed the rest.“Just because you’re a grown woman doesn...
Submitted to Contest #286
The envelope joined the pile gathering dust on Mike’s table. He would read its contents, but only after his run. He dreaded a confirmation that would seal his fate almost as surely as if he’d thrown himself off the rocks and plunged into the oblivion of a churning sea. But no. In spite of everything, he wanted to live.Besides which, Jeff would have expected him to fight rather than cling onto a past long since gone.There was no point running away from problems.But running away was exactly what he’d been doing – for months, even years now. As...
Submitted to Contest #284
Nothing is more challenging than the start of a new year when people have been clearing out their unwanted items after Christmas and the donations are piling into the charity shop filling up every inch of spare space. It’s not unknown for this state of affairs to continue even after we’ve closed when you get donors literally banging on the window demanding to bring in boxes of goods they can barely lift themselves. You’re expected to receive all this with a smile of undying gratitude, even though you’re desperate to cash up so you can get ho...
Submitted to Contest #281
Christmas is round the corner and I’ve never felt less Christmassy.Here I am surrounded by all manner of festive gifts and must-have seasonal cuties. The boxes of crackers may look appealing but seeing the person I want to pull them with is no longer around, maybe not so much.However, even I have to admit the very reasonably priced snow globes with their miniature snowmen in funny hats and colourful scarves, have a certain charm. One of the store’s best sellers, only one remains waiting to be shaken and given a good home.These new goods are ...
Submitted to Contest #276
The Social WorkerNames and places have been changed. Some who played a part in this are not included, but in essence this is a true story.Whatever I was expecting, Mrs Lauren wasn’t it. An older woman, well spoken, with not a hair out of place, wearing heels and a power suit, she didn’t fit my image of a typical social worker, whatever that was. The first time I saw her; I didn’t think she’d be much help.***A voice called from the half-open door where my favourite teacher Mrs Swanson was conferring with the school secretary.“A quick word, He...
Submitted to Contest #275
The SmokeLondon, 1941As usual, Bill woke at dawn and was driven out to his aircraft. The order to scramble had been given and he felt the familiar tug of fear and excitement. He checked his jacket pocket for the doll his sister had knitted as a lucky charm. She told him she’d made two dolls but his was the best. He felt the rough cloth and bumpy stitches, complete with tiny bag and hat, beneath his fingers, and smiled. The thought of his little sister’s face gazing up at him the last time they met, brought a lump to his throat. It gave him t...
Submitted to Contest #274
Amber EyesFor thousands of years cats have been teaching humans a thing or two, including how to live in the moment and when to let go.It was just after dusk when the cat tiptoed its way across the garden. Fur ruffled by a breeze blown in from the desert, it regarded the woman through languorous amber-gold eyes. Carrying a lantern, she trod the path cautiously, anxious to avoid the sting of a passing scorpion. The animal already knew she was special, but this marked her out as wise. The woman whose name was Zara made h...
Submitted to Contest #272
Turn over your shoes to stop the pixies and ogres walking in them. Shut the drapes so the moonlight doesn’t drive you mad.Keep your ladies of the bedchamber close for tis now you need them most.Gold and silver thread shimmer in my candlelit chamber. The figures of three noblewomen standing beneath a garden tree in the tapestry opposite feel as much part of me as the veins in my still slender hands. One holds a bunch of flowers, one carries a basket of eggs, and the third stretches out her hand to a pelican. Symbol of motherhood, it is said t...
Submitted to Contest #268
TW: mentions of mental and physical abuse.Bill sat bolt upright in the hotel bed, heart pounding to a familiar refrain. The dream had reasserted itself with a vengeance.From the moment he’d seen the updated list of people attending the conference, one name had stood out: Dake Scratchard was the name of the boy who’d haunted Bill Brown’s life more years than he cared to remember. Dreams fuelled by past memories disturbed his nights when equal amounts of dread and fear surged through his veins, rendering him helpless.As always, the nightmare w...
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