Imogen Bird

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Apr, 2020

Stories (12)

12 Stories

425 karma pts

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“The Dawn of time” by Imogen Bird

It's Friday night again and I can't find my way to choir practice. I rummage around in my beaten up backpack for my dogeared notebook and flip through until I see 'Choir' written in large purple embellished letters. Copying the address from the page into the map in my phone I follow the directions and end up outside an imposing red brick building somewhere in the city. I remember now, it's the black door on the south side to get in. I look up the 4 digit access code in my notebook and punch it in to the box on the wall. Once inside though...

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“Behind the Pane” by Imogen Bird

It would be so lovely to go to an art gallery again. To look into the oil and canvas windows framed in gold. My window is framed in plastic, off-white and not quite as clean as it should be for a hospital. At first glance you would think it was fine, but as you keep looking you see that thin trim of dust, slightly too far into the crevice for the hurried cleaners to properly wipe away. The sticky remnants of something that was peeled off years ago in the bottom right corner, attracting fibers, making me itch to rub it clean. That would be...

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“The Revolutions” by Imogen Bird

2663 Mr Dean knew that Kane was passing notes again, as he was purposefully trying not to hide it. Kane seemed to have decided to teach his own lesson within Mr Dean's class, one where Mr Dean was the sole pupil and was to be enlightened that even if he confiscated his xCube, Kane still wasn't going to pay attention. Mr Dean thought about how much he wanted to throw Kane out of the window.

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“What Darren Wrote” by Imogen Bird

Before today Miss Evans had never heard of a six year old who could spell 'Nihilism' or 'Simulation Hypothesis', let alone use them in a sentence. She sat, slumped over the desk, head in hands, re-reading Darren's work from today's English lesson. His usual purposeful hand, the bold lettering of a child still trying to master cursive had been replaced on this particular piece of work with a frantic scratchy scrawl that went on for pages and pages of his tatty workbook. Miss Evans was at a loss...

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“Leland's bar” by Imogen Bird

Oh boy did the government fire a blank when they hired me. The out of touch jackasses at the top never accounted for the wills and capabilities of a man taken advantage of. Mind you, it isn't just me. New York is thick with deception. You'd have to look for many miles to find a man who didn't want a drink, a man who wasn't chasing away his ghosts from the war with whisky or gin.I stalk the streets at night, playing the part, turning over a beer barrel here or there. The big boys don't pry if you are seen to be doing even...

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“Fifteens” by Imogen Bird

Everyone gets to speak for fifteen minutes, that's how our democracy works. Actually, I should say everyone must talk for fifteen minutes, that's how the law works.I'm queuing up outside this drab television building with too many other people, it's drizzling slightly, but we have to stay here, not enough space inside. It's like when I went to the embassy to get my US visa, all waiting, minimal talking, a quick look of suspicion and a stamp later, I walked out a bit more free than when I went in. I'd felt like t...

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“His Black Umbrella” by Imogen Bird

As was his normal Tuesday morning inner monologue, Gareth started wondering if he really could stretch his wage to allow himself a tiny crash pad in the city. Splashing his way down the narrow path between the railway tracks and the blocky warehouses he fantasied about how much he wouldn't miss this depressing fifteen minute walk to the station, or the condensation dripping down the windows on the packed commuter train he was heading towards. A man in a much more expensive suit than Gareth's barged past and stabbed him in the head with th...

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“Just find North” by Imogen Bird

In the end, what use is North when no matter what direction you go, there is no salvation to be reached? Flo stared up at the vast array of mocking lights, a map she could not read. Vaguely she recalled The North Star was the brightest in the sky, but was that true? Out here in the unpolluted desert every star seemed like the brightest, layered atop each other. The longer she fixed on a single point, the more stars revealed themselves, crammed in the gaps between others. A never ending tessellation that she diz...

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“Finders, keepers” by Imogen Bird

From what she had seen of lockdown so far, Lucy didn't think it was that bad really. She was getting to spend a lot more time with her mum and dad. Her mum worked in an insurance firm (very boring) and her dad was a CEO of something or other. Their jobs meant they worked often and late and dinner was usually absent of one of them. Because of these well paid jobs though, Lucy wanted for nothing. A comfortable life with a lovely big home and frankly too many toys. The weather for the last few weeks had been tantalisingly l...

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“Eleven years of Alice” by Imogen Bird

Alice's mum had never been a much of a talker. Thirteen years and Alice had become accustomed to the silence. She had leaned to be a quiet child and throw away the questions. There are no answers so don't bother asking.It all changed that Saturday. Instead of swimming through the hours of stillness, reading and thinking the weekend away, a tornado of disruption ripped apart the household. Alice was aware her mum had been unwell for a while, a terrible retching sickness in her throat, lungs or perhaps all the way into her...

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“The Wind and the Song” by Imogen Bird

When Tom walked into Aunt Elizabeth's house, he couldn't deny he was glad to see the painting was gone. The aged home was filled with dusty art and ornaments that would generally be regarded as unsettling, but the painting had always been the worst. Aunt Elizabeth was a retired archaeologist. The woman had once travelled the world and lived an explorers dream. Like many adventurers of her time she gathered queer and macabre objects from far away lands and filled every surface in her home with them, giving it the eerie, static ...

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“Figure me out” by Imogen Bird

Waking up from a coma. What a cliché way to begin. Of course it isn't like movies would have you believe, that one day you will flutter your eyes open and take a few panicked breaths through your nose. A loved one tells you everything is okay and ten seconds later you pull your IV's out with vigor and topple off the gurney despite the nurse feebly trying to stop you. Wobbly-legged, like a newborn lamb, you'll take a few uneasy steps before you gather your resolve, muster strength from nowhere and burst out the hospital doors t...

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Author bio

Retail buyer, embroidery fan, festival nut, procrastination pro. Published at 16. Living in Oxford, wishing I had a dog.

Shortlisted 1 story ⭐️

Contest #106
Behind the Pane – read story