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Author on Reedsy Prompts since May, 2020
I . I can’t see the fires, but I can smell them. The smog has become a part of life, I put on my makeshift mask, it helps to filter out the constant presence of smoke. This one has a pentagram on it. I made it from a shirt I found inside a house that was not my own. I have been scavenging for months and have gone through countless masks. It’s the romantic in me that wants to find unusual prints in abandoned houses. Some scavengers collect photographs, some silverware, I don’t have the capacity to carry around useless crap, so ...
My feet won’t fit into my shoes, maybe a villain came and shrunk them with a shrink ray while I was sleeping. “Hurry up!” Mom says as she grabs her purse. Mom takes my hands and sticks them into the sleeves of the jacket, she turns and twists me, and out of nowhere a hat lands on my head like a space ship. Whoosh. I spread my arms out and wobble like I’m in space. “Put your shoes on, I’ve already asked twice!” It’s mom's angry voice. I try again. This time the feet fit, maybe the shoe...
One of my hands is sticky and the other one is hot. I want to put down the steaming mug of Jack Daniels and tea before it permanently injures me, but there is no good surface. I rush to the kitchen island and slam the mug down, I move my hand away just in time to miss the drops of the hot liquid bouncing out of the mug, grasping for their last chance to burn me. My other hand is clutching a Boston cream donut with such intensity that I put a hole through it and the cream oozes onto my fingers. I lick it off. I’m a woman of sim...
Tammy’s shift at the Mac counter was over.“I’ll see you on Monday, girl!” she yelled cheerfully before exiting the store. Fiona looked at her quickly and waved, then diverted her attention back to a slender woman debating between two shades of red lipstick. It might seem like shades of red are all the same, but Tammy understood the dilemma. There are cool undertones and warm undertones, date night shades, and work shades, high gloss and matte, the choices are endless. Tammy had the ...
I am 14 My mother doesn’t want help and it doesn’t matter what I want. We stay here, glued to the floor by bits of rotting food. We’re surrounded by filth. Things aren’t recognizable anymore, they morphed into piles that threaten to crush us. It wasn’t always like this, we didn’t have to turn sideways just to pass through a hallway. We had game nights, family trips, and Sunday dinners, then dad and John died in a car accident. Now we just have stuff. There are fast food bags, cereal boxes, and dirty...
Pat’s house always smelled of wet soil. She would get so excited when new seedlings popped up, even after twenty years of gardening. She could make anything grow, including lost boys. At first I resented her. I thought she collected us, like old, tattered books. I thought she wanted to make us over, to make something presentable, something of no substance for her guests to admire. I grew to know that she wasn’t in the business of restoration. Pat just wanted to preserve our stories, to make sure t...
I am getting back into writing. Would love some constructive criticism.
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