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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Aug, 2020
In June, we reached the horizon. Merry reined in her horse and blew out her cheeks, marveling at the dusky grey dome curving above us. It reached far into the sky, so tall that only by looking miles above you could you see its curvature. Already visibility was low, mist swirling around the liquidy wall like we were on a cobblestone street in London. Merry tilted her neck back, mouth agape, wonder in her sparky eye...
Trigger warning: Mentions of self-harm and abuse You’ve cried a lot, I bet.You can deny it if you’d like, but I’m sure you have. You’re human, after all. From big buff men whose job, they think, is to protect everybody, to train-wrecks of little girls who wail when they don’t get what they wanted for Christmas—everyone’s cried. And I’m no exception. Although I’m not exactly human. It’s 2142, and people call our planet old-fashioned. They say we’re behind the t...
New York is a strange place. I live there, on a multi-million dollar private estate, with my parents, who are celebrities, and my two brothers, Xaviar and Aiden. Xaviar’s moving out soon, hopefully. He’s going to Yale, and even though it’s the beginning of May, now is when he decides he needs his own apartment. Not, like, at the start of a semester or something. It’s not going to change anything....
There are some things that people never tell you about being a superhero, and there’s a reason for that.1. The term “superhero.” It’s ridiculous; I hate it. There doesn’t seem to be a better word lying around, though. But superhero? It sounds so childish and petty—who came up with it? Are our everyday heroes—nurses and firefighters and that nice Asian man on the street corner who gave you directions when you were lost in Chicago on a Tuesday afternoon—are they not enough to be “super,” and yet I—we—are? What k...
Topaz looked through the peephole. There was no one there, despite the door having been knocked on seconds earlier. He pushed open the door--and pushed something over. Down the steps of his front porch rolled a little wire cage with something small and green inside of it. It was cheeping. “Oh my God,” he muttered. “Andy! You did not!” “Mom doesn’t want it anymore!” screamed Andy’s voice from the driveway. “That’s not my problem! What the heck am I supposed to--” “I don’t know; it’s a green-cheek conure!”...
My mother’s always thought I was weird.She’s right. I’m weird. She’s not. Mom’s an A-list celebrity, and people consider her beautiful, I guess, although everyone knows everything they think they like about her is fake. Any part of her figure they admire is pure plastic fabrication, and any part of her personality that they think makes her kind is just show.I remember my brother Aiden telling me about someone named Ellen, once. I think he was seven or eight when the big scandal happened. Ellen had been revered for years as t...
Disclaimer: This piece is sort of a sequel to one I wrote a bit back titled "Tree Dream." It might help to read that story before this. This piece is very, very bad--as a matter of fact, I didn't even read over it once before I submitted it, because I wrote it all in a half hour and the deadline was (is) very soon and I need to get to bed. I might go back later and ed...
My family burns things. I used to be afraid of fire. I used to huddle in the corner of my room when my parents told me it was time to go. I would shriek and grasp at doorknobs as they carried me out, sobbing. I would cover my eyes and cower away from the flames, cling to my sister Jessie’s legs as she watched our mother and father go door to door. Recruit people to join them, or else die. They always burned...
June 23, 2017 “Hey, Harper?” “Yeah?” “I really, really love you.” Harper turns from where he’s watching the sky and smiles at me. God, he’s gorgeous. He just sits there, grinning, for a few moments before leaning into me and saying, “You too, Therly.” I look back out at the ocean. Waves lap lightly at the peaceful shore. Sunrise is just beginning, staining the horizon ...
“I hear Their whispers.” “What?” Rae sat cross-legged on the couch, avoiding the eyes of her best friend H.J. “What?” H.J. asked again. Rae sighed. She had to break the news sometime. “I hear whispers,” she admitted. “From Them.” “Rae, what are you--” “I’m serious, H.J.” H.J. frowned. “Uh, Rae—” “I do. I hear Them, and I hear Their whispers. They’re not just in the cavern....
I swear, the day Jenette died started out perfectly normal. It was three p.m. on a Friday, and we were in Teitra’s bedroom, waiting for her to come home from school. Sunlight filtered hesitantly into the room from the window above Teitra’s bed. Those tiny little specks you see in the light floated around. The world looked as if it had a filter over it, toning the colors down, making everything murmury and...
Sometimes I dream about winning. Early in the morning, when my brain is supposed to think of absolutely nothing at all, when my eyes are supposed to be closed and I’m supposed to be lying still on the padded table I rest on, my brain fantasizes. Upon the black canvas of nothingness they prompt our consciousness into, my brain draws shapes while I sleep. It creates colors and sounds and I can feel everythin...
“It doesn’t count if you’re already planning your defeat,” Maia says to her son, Reese. Maia is stuck in the sky. She stands on tiptoes on a pale white branch the size of her calf. Her left arm reaches above her to grasp another branch, this one quite a bit thinner, and her other hand goes higher, higher into the sky, the pale and delicate fingers stretching, the tiptoes rising farther, but she still cannot reach ...
Interviewer: Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Naswhit, for doing this interview with me. I really appreciate it. Harry: No problem. Bertha: It’s fine. Interviewer: ...All right then, let’s just get into it. Now Harry--do you mind if I call you Harry? Harry: Are you implying something by that? Interviewer: Not at all, Mr. Naswhit. H...
“Oh my god, Jaz!” I turn from where I’ve been craning my neck, goggling at one of the stone statues at the entrance to the driveway, and see Vera running towards me at an alarming pace. “Ver!” I drop the suitcases in either of my hands and wiggle out of my backpack just as Vera crashes into me. After a split-second hug, she pulls away from me, laughing scratchily. “Jaz! I’ve missed you so much!”...
"he was popularly supposed 'to write,' but it was understood among his friends that inquiries as to literary output were not encouraged."
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