Hosea Guy

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Mar, 2021

Stories (16)

16 Stories

389 karma pts

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“The Mystery of the Adventure” by Hosea Guy

Submitted to Contest #222

Feeling stressed? reads the black and yellow sticker on the door of the bathroom stall. Below the two-worded question is a list of campus-provided resources: a phone number to call, a separate number to text, the email addresses of six counselors, another email address, this one belonging to the whole of the Campus Health and Wellness department, and then a four-step breathing exercise.  “Oh,” I say, smirking. “Well, thank God for that—suicide averted.” I lean over from where I’m sitting on the toilet and open the blue duffel bag I br...

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“Waiting in an Echo” by Hosea Guy

Submitted to Contest #219

I can’t narrow it down to a particular day, minute, or hour; no, I do not remember the day you began to fade from my memory, but I know this: you are no longer a part of me. My heart once gave wind to rivers of blood that flowed only for you, but now… now the petals of your flowers lay withered and crisp on the sill of the frosted window, and I don’t even miss you. I’m holding a Polaroid of you in my two fingers. It’s of the night I told you goodbye for the last time and your hair is wet in the frame, your cheeks dotted with rain, and you d...

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“Asphyxiation” by Hosea Guy

Submitted to Contest #217

I would love to be skinnier, I really would, but the ponds here are so shallow and the creeks are so narrow; the sidewalks are clogged and the shoes on my feet feel heavy because of the care I see in everyone’s eyes.  Currently, I am behind a boy in a letterman jacket and faded blue jeans. We are shambling along in the midst of thousands, inching our way past the plazas of coffee shops and convenience stores and soaring apartment buildings, and I think we’re going to be late for our eight o’clock lecture.  I also think this boy’s...

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“That's it: the night is lustrous, the cake is styrofoam, and the child is finally still. ” by Hosea Guy

Submitted to Contest #216

“Good,” the professor says, his deep voice echoing across the vast lecture hall, carried and emphasized by the microphone clipped to his collar. “Now, once you’ve written five ‘I am’ statements, we’ll take a look at the average responses from the population and see if they correlate with yours.” I examine the immaculate sheet of white before me, five proclamations of individuality scrawled in pencil between the blue lines:  I am a writer.  I am a son.  I am a brother.  I am confused.  I am scared.  The third s...

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“Despondent Vanity” by Hosea Guy

Submitted to Contest #215

I remember you, still, even though you were different the first time you came here. I remember how the earth trembled as you settled among the burning trees, your wings like the sails of a ship as they bore your magnificent presence. You instilled a conviction in the hearts of all who witnessed you that day, a faithful confidence that such majesty would never be seen again, not until the heavens are opened and glory descends like a dove. And then you stripped it all away, for you would not allow them to remember you. But I remember you, st...

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“God's two Fingers” by Hosea Guy

Submitted to Contest #214

A place to be alone; that is what he values most. He has found it here in the woods, deep and far away from home, and he will stay in this lonely place until the sun burns away and the sky is left blank. They will come then, the only ones he wants to see, and they will be together here in the concrete fortress that overlooks the cold, shimmering pool of impersonality that is Callander Bay. He loves the darkness because it is his; it belongs to him on the nights when everyone else in the world has fallen asleep, and those nights have become ...

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“Allurement” by Hosea Guy

Submitted to Contest #214

I am watching through the grimy panes of glass as he stands with his arms crossed before him on the counter. The sun is bright and hot on my back as it sinks toward the horizon, but it sheds light on the churning sea of filth upon these dark windows and my attention is lost in this sea that is incongruent with the rest of the world and does, in fact, appear to churn before my very eyes. There is a young girl delivering a slim white box to the counter, and then Sebastian is beaming as he carries our pepperoni pizza to the door, which is ...

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“Tulips in December” by Hosea Guy

Submitted to Contest #209

I can hear the engine turn over in the parking lot as the bell on the glass door rings, and this is all so familiar. I let the door swing shut behind me and I am remembering how we used to do this all the time, a hundred years ago—you waiting in the truck with the air conditioning on to relieve you from the mid-July heat, me paying for our gas and slushies.  “Hey there!” I try not to feel too annoyed as the kid at the counter comes around to ask me how I’m doing, but we are in a hurry and it’s like he’s never even heard the words “per...

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“Waiting.” by Hosea Guy

Submitted to Contest #208

“It’s a shame they don’t have a bench on this side, huh?”` The Hispanic man lifts his bushy eyebrows and removes the black baseball cap from his bald, shiny head, which is shimmering in the sun like a plain of hot, melting ice. We stare together at the bus stop on the other side of the four-lane boulevard. The stop features a bench, which has been designed to fit three people; or two people and one bag of luggage; or one person and a few bags of groceries; or— In any case, there are two armrests guarding the middle seat, so that on either ...

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“And then, everything shattered.” by Hosea Guy

Submitted to Contest #206

     The wind, on the bitter morning of the last day—Day six thousand and two hundred, approximately—was as cold as the snow was fresh, and the songs of the trees were mournful. The sun was a muted lamp amid the thick, violet clouds, the sort of clouds you find in daydreams; they were a swirling river, alive with thunder and driven by the wind, and they flowed among the tops of those sad trees and the top of the water tower, gleaming in the distance.         The raw, early worl...

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“Dance Flyers” by Hosea Guy

Submitted to Contest #181

Sensitive Content: mild language and substance use There is a staircase in the church, just down a short hall from what we used to call the haunted room. The perfect red carpet on the winding flight’s first landing is often bathed in pale, pinkish rays that shine through a stained-glass window, tall and narrow, set high in the wall so you have to tilt your head to properly admire it. One of the amber streetlamps outside reflects itself in the magenta glass; if you stand on the landing after night has fallen, a beautiful, rose golden aura...

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“Freedom” by Hosea Guy

Submitted to Contest #110

       Just when I was preparing to face the fact that no one in their right mind would be stopping for a hitchhiker on the shoulder of Highway 63 at a quarter past two on a December morning, a weary looking GMC Sierra, rusty and deteriorating, veered onto the road’s shoulder, its tires crunching through the deep snow as it rolled to a stop.  A snowplow was fastened to its front bumper.  I held a hand across my eyes, shielding them from the headlights’ blinding beams and from the wind th...

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“The Silent Watcher” by Hosea Guy

Submitted to Contest #108

My grandmother was driving me home from church when I first saw him.  He was waiting at a bus stop downtown, eyes fixed on the asphalt so I couldn’t get a good look at his face; strands of blue hair hung past his eyes, anyway. He wore big, clunky white shoes on his feet, black athletic shorts, and a pink T-shirt.             “Woah, would you look at that character?” said my grandmother, dipping her head at him.           &n...

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“The Forbidden Fruit” by Hosea Guy

Submitted to Contest #86

      “You know, this is my favorite flower,” says Chris Roberts to his son, Alex. “Of all the flowers I’ve grown and nurtured in my lifetime, this one is my favorite.” He strokes the pink petals of a radiant tulip he has growing in a vase of cloudy water. The scant evening light shines through the basement window and touches Alex’s face like a ghost’s finger. It shows Chris the blood on his son’s face, a dry line of scarlet running to his chin from the wound on his forehead. Alex whimpers, shifting anxiously on...

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“The City of Lies” by Hosea Guy

Submitted to Contest #85

      That’s the thing about this city: it’s built on lies. I didn’t realize that for a long time, but I know it now. Actually, no, that’s not right. I knew a degree of its falsehood at a young age; the success promised to me by my parents and teachers was never meant to be. I saw the real me back then, and I see him now in the broken mirror. This person was never destined for success. This person was born to send a message to the city that wronged him.           ...

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Author bio

“There should be a swing set in every parking lot; every bus station, every train station. There should be more things for people who are waiting in the world."