Holly Fister

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Dec, 2020

Stories (16)

16 Stories

772 karma pts

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“Flowers for Rose ” by Holly Fister

Submitted to Contest #86

It’s eerie how time slows down during calamity, allowing your eyes to widen while your lungs forget their need for air, and then suddenly it spits you out in a new life, scarred and reeling. What do you hold on to?Friday, September 24, 2021 4:47p.m.The bus smelled stale and years of grime clung to the walls, but it could have been a prom night limo based on the way we were carrying on. Finally mask free, delirious from hormones and the intoxicating joy of skipping a whole day of school for a French play...

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“Life through Maizie's Eyes” by Holly Fister

Submitted to Contest #86

The silver minivan swung to the left, each tire bumping in quick succession over a gentle curb onto the driveway.“Home!” Maizie cheered from the backseat, clapping her hands in delight.Jenn glanced at her in the rearview mirror as she pulled up to the white picket fence that edged the parking pad and enclosed their backyard. She smiled at her wiggling daughter, who glowed in the clear spring light that beamed through the window.“I have something special to show you when we get out,” sh...

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“Sweet Dreams” by Holly Fister

Submitted to Contest #85

That's the thing about this city- the shifting landscapes and otherworldly visuals never cease to dazzle me, but it’s the feeling of bliss, sweet and potent, that brings me back for more. Well, that and the contract.I walk into the hills that surround the city (today), following the meandering path of a placid river. Spongy soft grass propels each footstep without a sound, but the river babbles merrily. Is it calling to me? I wade in to find out, and the crystal waters flow around my ankles, my knees, my waist, until I f...

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“The barrier is ME.” by Holly Fister

Submitted to Contest #84

TW: suicidal ideationWarning: This is not a tale for children or sweet old ladies from a bygone era. I don’t know if it’s even a story, more like a blip on the line of history. But for me, it was everything. I don’t want to waste your time, so I’ll cut to the heart of it.holy shitI’m in the pitThis was my first poem about my postpartum depression- pretty epic, right?! No, I’ll be the first to admit it was completely depressing, but you’ve gotta admire its brevi...

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“Ripped” by Holly Fister

Submitted to Contest #83

If there was an art to looking sexy at the beach, Heather hadn’t mastered it. She imagined emerging from a calm sea with slick hair and a glistening body, hips swaying as she strode to shore. Instead, she stepped on a sharp shell and screeched like a parrot. An incoming wave hit the back of her knees as she hopped in pain, and she buckled. The roiling water crashed over her body and sent her tumbling toward shore with the churning sand, depositing her on the beach in a tangled mess of limbs and hair.“WIPEOUT!” Beau screa...

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“Telephone” by Holly Fister

Submitted to Contest #82

“DEAR LORD,” Jude Coleman bellowed above the screaming three month old, who rose to the challenge. He cracked his eyes open and found the whole family wide eyed and snickering around the table. He nodded to his nine year old daughter, Birdie, and she jumped up to console the baby. At her touch, little Joseph arched his back and wailed louder, his face turning tomato red. Hopeless.           “Lord, we thank you for this-”Bang. Bang. Bang.

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“The End of the Hall” by Holly Fister

Submitted to Contest #81

My feet sink as I wiggle them side to side, deeper and deeper, the salty water and a myriad of quartz crystals sucking them under. I plop my bottom down with a splat on what feels like liquid concrete, but again it welcomes me, and I shift down into the sand until it molds around my whole body.The waves roar incessantly, massaging my waterlogged eardrums, stretching themselves thin to reach me, and swirling my hair in a giant arc as they loop back toward the sea. Something wiggles and pushes against my calf, tickling me ...

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“Appaloosa” by Holly Fister

Submitted to Contest #81

Silky blonde strands whipped around a gently freckled face, momentarily blocking dark blue eyes before leaping into another wild dance. Long, slender fingers reached for the door handle, alighted, then retreated.“Don’t rock the boat,” she said out loud, hand hovering midway between her body and the restaurant door. “No, you should jump out of the boat. Go swimming!”Someone sighed behind her. “You can do it, sweetie,” said an older woman.“Oh, right. Sorry.” She g...

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“Forward, And Sideways, Too” by Holly Fister

Submitted to Contest #79

Trigger Warning: War.Dear Casey,White and gray, this winter day, I’m beggin the sun to come out to play. Should I take up poetry? Okay, not one of my strengths. BUT, I have sewn enough scarves to stock my (ever stagnant) Etsy shop and also provide warmth for a third world country. Which is why I sent a whole box of them to a village in Afghanistan! I would have sent them to you and the guys, but I figured you wouldn’t appreciate the lovely shades of rose, violet, and turquoise. I read about the...

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“The Secrets of the Butterfly” by Holly Fister

Submitted to Contest #78

Ava knelt on her knees in the dirt and watched a giant swallowtail butterfly float past, bobbing on the breeze with each flutter of its black and blue wings. It gracefully drifted down to Quinn’s polka dot gloves and landed on his middle finger. She glanced up to his face, sure he couldn’t feel the touch of the butterfly, and discovered he had indeed noticed the visitor. He sat perfectly still, with a soft smile on his face.The butterfly took flight again in search of colors more tasty than the gloves, but Ava kept her e...

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“Permafrost” by Holly Fister

Submitted to Contest #77

The wind howled past the windows with a ferocity that made Agnes Murple grit her teeth and quake in her black Velcro walking shoes. She hadn’t moved from her post behind the grand mahogany desk in hours, despite the couple who perused the rows of European antiques with evident interest. They were forced to journey to her over and over with their questions about the different pieces of furniture, and it pleased Agnes to make them work for it. She found it disturbing that people so young could afford these luxury items that belonged in a ca...

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“Forward, Toward You” by Holly Fister

Submitted to Contest #77

Dear Casey,As I type this, the snow is stacking up the window pane in a vertical pile of white that threatens to block out my entire view of the outside world. I’d be happy for an ant colony to take up residence there and create little tunnels so I can watch them move and work against the glass. I know that’s not going to happen, but you can see the odd places my mind has already started wandering to. I’ve cooked several meals using my freezer stash, eating leftovers on the following days. Be warne...

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“The Awkward Cadence” by Holly Fister

Submitted to Contest #76

I wasn’t eager to leave my Honda haven, where Evan guessed what I was thinking before I said it and the Accord surrounded me with preventative safety features.“If I could whip up masterpieces on the laptop like you do in one sitting on the couch, we wouldn’t have to go to these get togethers. But networking is key for my job, babe.”I nodded and looked out the window at the house where his co-workers and clients had already begun “networking.” Music and laughter escaped as another couple slipped into the...

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“Window Mountain” by Holly Fister

Submitted to Contest #75

“It’s the final countdown!” The rock and roll ripped through the shredded speakers with a jagged, painful determination that the boy no longer noticed. It was not unlike Dad’s voice, damaged from years of smoking.He turned the key, and the music died. The only sound left was the soft ticking of the car’s engine as it cooled down, but eventually that stopped, too. The boy, small for eighteen, gripped the steering wheel as he stared into the distance. “Campout. The final campout.”Actually, it would be the...

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“Shortbread and Shotguns” by Holly Fister

Submitted to Contest #75

Jennifer bit her lip and knocked on the door, acutely aware of the probability that her article hinged on which direction this meeting swung. A lady with a bob of gray hair and a red apron opened the door, and a sweet, buttery smell escaped into the winter air.“Well, come on in, sweetie pie. Don’t want you freezin out there.” She waved her in with a white, flour covered hand.“Thank you, Ms. Brenda.” Jennifer stepped inside, although the fifty-five degree sunshine felt amazing compared to the icy blasts ...

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Author bio

Follow me on Instagram for poetry and inspiration: @hollyfister123 I’m currently working toward publishing a book in 2022!