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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Aug, 2019
Submitted to Contest #240
A piece of paper, crumpled and tattered, blew past her feet, fetching up against a leg of the park bench where she sat. She looked down, pulling her attention away from her laptop screen. The bit of paper rattled against the rusty metal, making her think of some poor, forlorn thing, desperately seeking any shelter it could find. Then she spotted the writing on it.“What’s this?” she murmured to herself, bending over to pick up the scrap.She smoothed it out, to find that it looked like a letter someone had started, just a greeting and a single...
Submitted to Contest #238
I crash through the door, the bell hanging from the handle jingling wildly. I’m breathing heavily, chest aching with more than the need to draw a good lungful of air. There are only a couple of people in the small diner at this hour of the night: the late-shift cook behind the counter, a couple of teenagers in a corner booth.And… her.“Something wrong, buddy?” the cook asks me, an annoyed expression on his face.I shake my head, a dismissal of his question and his very existence. At that moment, nothing has any meaning except her.She’s sitting...
Submitted to Contest #234
“Can I help you?” I come back to myself with a start, surprised as always that I lost track of time. It’s happening more and more lately, as I slowly lose control of the gift that I turned into a curse. “Oh, uh, just this.” I place a carton of a dozen eggs on the counter, careful not to set them down too hard. Such fragile things, eggs. A bit like hopes. Or dreams. “I don’t know, mister,” the smiling woman behind the counter says, eyeing the eggs like I’ve set an uncut diamond in front of her. Her nametag says “Melissa,” but I don’t need to ...
Submitted to Contest #228
I know I’m lucky to be here, but I keep having to remind myself. Like repeating it often enough will somehow make it true. The computer screen in front of me displays the latest report that I’m trying to complete. My vision blurs, and I blink to bring the letters and numbers, the tiny boxes I’m supposed to fill, back into focus. I’ve been at this since half past six this morning, and it’s getting to me. When I joined prestigious research corporation Luminor, I thought I’d be doing something more glamorous than data entry. But every ladder h...
Submitted to Contest #223
What am I doing here? Sherry thought to herself, slotting yet another large, old book into its place on the scuffed metal shelf. With the squeak of rusty wheels, she pushed the cart a few feet farther down the aisle, paused to check her list, then hefted another heavy tome up onto the shelf. As she slid it into place, a puff of dust arose, billowing into her face. She backed away, coughing. This was awful, and totally not worth the extra credit toward her journalism major. Sherry paused in her work, catching her breath again, and looked aro...
Submitted to Contest #221
It’s the first time in a month I’ve left my house. The first time in a month I’ve worn anything except my pajamas. The first time I’ve done pretty much anything since I got the diagnosis from my doctor. I shift in my seat, glancing around the space I’m in. It’s a nice enough waiting room, with comfortable furnishings and pleasant decorations. Paintings of peaceful landscapes and actual live plants. Everything’s done in soft, muted tones. All designed to be soothing and comforting. Necessary, I guess, considering what they do here. Now I’m t...
Submitted to Contest #219
I wake up with a pounding headache, to find myself lying on a small metal bed of the industrial type. You know, the kind you find in a prison. Instantly alarmed, I roll over, struggling not to lose the contents of my stomach, and peer blearily around. That’s when I realize I’m in a cell. At least, I think it’s a cell. Walls of hard concrete surround me. There are no windows. The only light is a soft, diffuse glow from a recessed fixture in the ceiling, a good ten feet overhead. The only furnishings are the singularly uncomfortable cot benea...
Shortlisted for Contest #216 ⭐️
“Good morning, Arthur,” I say, as the thick metal door shuts behind me with a ponderous clang. Multiple locks automatically click into place, sounding like a series of gunshots. “How are you today?” “Oh, just peachy, Doc.” The man sitting on the other side of the table shifts in his chair. The links of the manacles he wears—bolted to the scuffed, battered tabletop—jingle and clink. “And you?” “Can’t complain, Arthur. Can’t complain.” I set a folder on the table, careful to keep it out of Arthur’s reach. Then I slip into the seat opposite him...
Winner of Contest #208 🏆
“Okay, let’s go over the first scene.” “Right, but let’s do it on the go, ‘cause we’ve gotta move, and I mean now.” Logan Steele sets off at fast trot, hurrying down the hallway of the ubiquitous Government Agency Headquarters. His long legs carry his broad-shouldered, powerfully built body along at brisk pace. I hurry to keep up with him, panting for breath in only a few strides. “Think we could slow this down a bit?” I gasp, heading past doors with block print nameplates, framed posters of suited figures shaking hands, and signs reminding ...
Submitted to Contest #206
“I’m afraid of nothing.” I look up from the notebook on my desk, peering over the rims of my reading glasses at the man reclining on thefaux-leather upholstery of my couch. “You’re not afraid of anything? Anything at all? Not death or taxes? Not big crowds, heights, or even small flying rodents?” My tone is light, but not mocking. Curious, without being pushy. “I didn’t say that.” Curtis Smith (probably not his real name, but I understand that some people feel the need for anonymity) is my newest patient, a pro bono walk-in who is clearly tr...
Submitted to Contest #203
Forget the Turing Test Vanessa262 joins the conversation with TruthTalker. TT: Hi, Vanessa. Welcome back! How has your day been? V: Eh, okay. TT: Just okay? Not great? Not amazing? V: Well, some things didn’t go the way I planned. TT: Tell me about it. I’m certified to be a good listener by design, and I really care. V: Thanks, TruthTalker. It really is great to have someone around to talk to. Some people just don’t get how wonderful modern chatbots can be. PerfectAnswer joins the conversation. PA: Hey you two. Look who’s back, with a brand-...
Submitted to Contest #196
“Good morning, Dad.” I look up to see Heather appear in the kitchen, greeting me with a sad little smile on her face. “Morning,” I say, the word coming out in a wheeze. I have to take a deep pull on the oxygen tank afterwards. Every breath seems harder than the last, every word a struggle. But that’s okay; it gives us a reason not to talk much. With all I can’t tell her, that’s a blessing. Heather moves about the small space, putting on the coffee and pulling out the ingredients for breakfast. Everything in the room is clean but worn, ...
Submitted to Contest #192
I have no idea how I found this place, or what I’m doing here. I took off on this road trip with no destination in mind, no schedule to keep. When I ended up in the middle of nowhere—Nebraska or Oklahoma, I think—the last thing I expected was to stumble across a thrift store. But here it is, at the end of a dirt road, a lone house, just a single story, shaded by a huge cottonwood tree. The only thing to see in a vast, featureless sweep of land stretching from horizon to horizon. Just What You Were Looking For. That’s what the sign says. I ...
Submitted to Contest #187
“Did you feed the cat?” “Yes, Dad. Doing it right now.” Felix crouches on the floor nearby, his back humped up and his trunk-like legs tucked under his rounded mass. He looks more like a hairy toad than a cat. His ice blue eyes stare at me impatiently, like he doesn’t get why I can’t do this one thing fast enough for him. Shaking my head, I scrape out the can of tuna. It’s just cheap canned tuna, but it was hard to find. The country is falling apart. World War III was bound to do that. What’s left of the media calls it a “limited” war, like...
Shortlisted for Contest #181 ⭐️
“Sigma Station Control, this is Shuttle D177 on approach, please confirm.” I release the transmit key and sit back in my command chair, feeling that sense of weary satisfaction that comes at the end of a long day’s work, done well. “I’ve got one giant hunk of rock, all ready to deliver.” There’s a moment of silence, then the comm crackles to life. “Roger that, D177. We have you on our scopes. Your approach vector is clear and set. Come in nice and slow; we don’t need that ‘hunk of rock’ missing its orbital slot.” “I’m all over it, Sigma Cont...
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