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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Nov, 2019
Submitted to Contest #283
Mrs. Claus doesn’t bake cookies. She doesn’t prepare any dessert at all, for that matter. Her husband eats enough cookies to last him one year on his journey around the globe. Instead, she cracks five eggs (three for him, two for her), spreads butter on toast, tosses a bowl of fruit for them to share, and prepares her husband’s favorite: a mug of coffee with frothed reindeer milk and candy cane crumbles on top. It always gives him a nice boost before the annual Christmas Soirée, which is hosted by the elves—forever adorers (kiss-asses, anoth...
Submitted to Contest #215
The arteries of the house dripped, dripped, dripped. Maia’s steps were hesitant as she stepped further inside. She was distinctly aware that the floor was soft and almost flesh-like, but she was more focused on what she felt rather than the physical features of this dark place. It wasn’t comfortable, but familiar. She’d been here before.She patted the air, hoping to find something to grab and give her a sense of guidance. She felt like she was trapped in a coffin. Her hands finally slid against a wall but she squeaked and yanked them back. S...
Submitted to Contest #110
Nina’s eyes followed the clock’s hands. 3:03. Seven months ago they decided they would meet every Sunday at 3:00, but Ryan was always late. Nina twisted on the barstool and tapped her nails against the counter, pretending that Ryan was just that: late. Pretending she wasn’t afraid that this time, Ryan wouldn’t show up at all. Nina glanced at Beth, the restaurant owner, in the kitchen from the bar. She was cooking two burgers for her and Ryan, and Nina’s stomach flipped with guilt. Beth probably had more faith in her and Ryan than s...
Submitted to Contest #105
One, two, three gulps of coffee. One, two, three eye drops. Marco looked like a zombie. Only at least zombies, in spite of their lack of life and brains, still had a purpose: to kill humans. For the past few months, Marco flew like a dart with no intention of reaching any target. But he wouldn't tell me why. Every time I asked him what was wrong, he'd shrug and say he was okay. The bags under his eyes told me otherwise. Marco looked at me, probably having noticed I was staring. "What?" he said, but not unkindly. Curious. "That's ...
Shortlisted for Contest #65 ⭐️
My hands are clenched inside my robe’s pockets. Better, I think, bunched up and out of sight than to see them shaking. I’m breathing one, two, three, in, and one, two, three, out, but my heart’s still beating in my chest like an annoying neighbor who can’t take a hint. I want to call them—Paola, Saanvi, and Emma—and tell them I’m out. That I’ll join them next Halloween, but Emma’s words won’t stop playing in my head. They were the last words she said to me the first day I met her: “Witches don’t have a choice but to be brave. Fear be da...
Submitted to Contest #56
Sam knew she shouldn’t. On the one hand, it was rude. On the other, it was too late. To take it back, to regret it. What’s done was done. She took another bite of the banana. It was still slightly green. Her favorite. “Samantha,” Rosa groaned when she walked into her bedroom. She yanked the banana out of Sam’s hands. “Hey, I’m eating that,” Sam said, ignoring the use of her full name. Rosa didn’t call her Samantha when she was angry. She called her Samantha when she was exasperated. “You’re going on a date. You can’t eat before dinne...
Submitted to Contest #55
“Can I tell you a secret?” I say. I’m sitting on the floor, back against the wall. One leg extended, one folded in. “You’re the only one I can trust. No one listens as good as you.” I pause. “I need to tell someone that…”—I tap my knee. A steady rhythm that helps me breathe. “I need to tell you that I’m afraid. Terrified, even.” I sigh. “I know I’m okay, but sometimes, I feel like… like Chicken Little, you know? Of course you do. You’ve seen that movie, what? Ten times? I feel like Chicken Little when he yells, ‘The sky is falling, the s...
Submitted to Contest #52
In the corner of Mel’s Coffee Shop, beside the window where I can people-watch and think. This is where I sit every day. I take a big bite of my muffin—the type of bite you take when you’re alone—and sip my coffee. Chocolate chip muffin (it was—is—my daughter’s favorite breakfast) and black coffee. The same every day. I’d never been a routine type of woman. Not until last year. Since then, I’ve found that doing the same thing every day is grounding. Good for me. The best part—or is it the best part?—is that when you don’t have friends or f...
Submitted to Contest #51
The stars on my ceiling don’t glow anymore, but I don’t have the heart to remove them. Everything else—my clothes, the knick-knacks I’d collected over the years, my books—was packed in boxes around me. Stacked, labeled, ready to be transported to my new home. My own home. Only the grey shag carpet, which I’d decided not to keep, was rolled on the floor. That’s where I laid now, watching those green stars and the crescent moon still standing, or rather sticking, strong after all of these years. My room had changed and grown with me, b...
Submitted to Contest #45
The lawyer was talking. I looked at him, tried to pay attention, but I only caught a few words: video, dead, protests, fight this, stay inside. They went in through one ear and out through the other. There was only enough space for three words in my brain right now. They were loud and unforgiving. They played on a loop, in his voice. In Robin’s voice. They— “Amaia,” mamá said. I turned to her. Blinked away the thoughts and the video that I couldn’t pause.“Hmm?” I said. She was giving me that be respectful look: her eyes slightly widene...
Submitted to Contest #44
Isabella was sitting on her gravestone. She was waving goodbye to papá and moving her mouth. I couldn’t hear what she was saying—mostly because my heart was a drum in my ears—but I could read her lips: “I’ll see you next year.”Papá turned and started walking toward mamá and me, his eyes both happy and melancholy. I knew he’d longed to hug Isabella and pepper her cheeks with kisses the way he used to. He wanted her to laugh that big laugh of hers, the one that made it feel like the sun was rising in the room.I longed to hear that laugh, too.M...
Submitted to Contest #19
Lilah used to believe there were only two things that attracted people to a bookshop—the aesthetic, and the books. As long as the place looked pretty and there were great books, people would come in to buy. The day Lilah’s mom opened Read Like a Girl when Lilah was twelve, it was a snowy, December day—although, in her town, the snow wasn’t strong enough to keep people inside. It certainly wasn’t strong enough to keep them out of the shop on opening day.Lilah remembered standing behind the counter with her mom, watching all of these stra...
Submitted to Contest #18
Alejandra stepped into the hospital room where her dad was lying, barely alive. She held back a sob when she saw how his dark color had faded and could hear the wheeze of his breath. His eyes were closed, but he must’ve heard her footsteps because he opened them—half-opened was a more accurate term.“Alejandra,” he said. His voice sounded grated as if he’d walked through a desert for weeks without water.“Papi,” she said. She hadn’t meant for her voice to crack. She pulled a chair to move it beside his bed when she noticed a cross the size of ...
Shortlisted for Contest #17 ⭐️
I could hear the wind howl outside, warning us to stay inside. I stood by the window with a cup of hot coffee clenched in my hands and watched the six leaves of the lone tree beside our home barely hold on to its branches. I was sure that not only one but all of the leaves would be forced to let go, but the wind died, and the leaves settled down to rest against the skinny branch of the still-growing tree. I hummed in surprise. “Are you sure you want to go to Julian’s dinner?” Lluvia said from behind me. “After last time, Julian and Dian...
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