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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Nov, 2021
Submitted to Contest #186
Hey sibs,I’ve started organizing Mom and Dad’s house. Here’s the growing list of items we’re selling. I’ll keep track of what sells so we can divvy up the profits later. Let me know if you have any questions. I know it’s going to be hard to let go of some of these things, but we have to remember that it’s just stuff, and clinging onto it isn’t going to bring them back. We still have our memories.Love,Olivia1) Item: Dad’s 1975 Chevy Silverado (AKA Ol’ Rusty)Asking price: $1,000 $500Questions/Comments/Concerns from the fam:Enzo: Does this hunk...
Submitted to Contest #150
A loud crash jolted me awake. I was having a bad dream in which our five-year-old twin boys ran downstairs on Christmas morning only to have their excitement deflated like a punctured balloon when they discovered there wasn’t a single gift under the Christmas tree. “Jordan, wake up,” I said, nudging my husband beside me who continued snoring. I tried again, shoving him this time, “Jordan, I heard a loud noise downstairs.”“What? What time is it?” He said groggily, fumbling for his phone on the nightstand to check the time. “I don’t ...
Submitted to Contest #132
Brad walked the three blocks from his apartment to Strikes and Pints with nothing to keep him company besides the sound of his defeated footsteps landing on the sidewalk. He had discovered the bowling alley dive bar in college and, now that he’s practically a regular there, he couldn’t think of a better place to find solace tonight. He paused at the final crosswalk, waiting for the light to change, and glanced at the scrolling marquee on the bank sign across the street. Temperature: 15°FHe jammed his stiff hands into his coat pockets, s...
Submitted to Contest #129
[CW: Death] Harold trudged down the winding path that led to the inn from his cabin tucked in the woods. Rays from the late-winter sunrise filtered through the trees arousing the birds who had returned from the south recently and they greeted him with a serenade. Harold was a middle-aged man with a grizzly beard and the build of a lumberjack. He’d been running the Climber’s Haven Inn on the outskirts of Denali National Park for ten years after inheriting it from his father, making him the third generation of innkeepers in the...
Submitted to Contest #124
On the morning of my sixteenth birthday, I was jolted awake by the discordant sounds of a car horn blaring outside and my mom’s fists banging on my bedroom door. I rolled over in bed with the agility of a sloth. 5:53 am — my birth minute. Happy birthday to me, I thought grudgingly. Mom’s voice, teetering between stern and panicky tones, shouted at me through the door, “Sasha, are you awake? The taxi is here to take you to your HCTA. Sasha? C’mon, hurry up. You know what happens if you don’t show up for the HCTA.” I was all too fami...
Submitted to Contest #123
[CW: The death of a parent is mentioned.] I stood with my feet firmly planted on the small wooden platform twenty feet above the ring and the surrounding crowd. My sweaty, shaking hands gripped the railings beside me in an attempt to steady my trembling body. I looked down, but only with my eyes since I was too afraid to move my head. The ringmaster pranced to the center of the ring to introduce the next act, my act. This time yesterday I was trudging home from the coal mine, covered head to toe in soot, and praying that my days wo...
Submitted to Contest #122
I rearranged the padfolio, stack of papers, and water bottle on the podium for the umpteenth time as more people continued to meander in and take a seat in front of me. Whew, ok, take some deep breaths. You’ve got this. I tried to distract myself and calm my nerves by gazing out of the bookshop’s windows which lined the city street. It was a chilly, early spring evening and there was a drizzle outside being illuminated by the streetlights. I was snapped out of my trance by the bookshop owner approaching the podium to greet the crowd. ...
Submitted to Contest #121
[CW: kidnapping and domestic violence] It wasn’t the first time I had received someone else’s mail. Our mail carrier, Mr. Jacobs, was a friendly old soul but the neighborhood consensus was that it was time for him to ride his mail truck off into the sunset of retirement. It was a rainy Friday evening in mid-November. My students were getting antsy for Thanksgiving break and, let’s face it, so was I. By the time I left the building, my car was the only one sitting in the school parking lot. I tugged down on the hood of my raincoat, ...
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