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Jarod Smith

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Oct, 2022

Stories (4)

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4 Stories

94 karma pts

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The Man in the Station, the Lump in the Box, and the Woman in the Pine Tree's Shade

Jarod Smith

Submitted to Contest #195

Lyle sat in the Thinker’s pose, brooding over the red lump before him.What brought you here? The question of who seemed less useful, really.The lump had yet to make a noise, eerily frozen in an expression that seemed to precipitate a sneeze. Yet the vitals were good, and any minute now the lump would be whisked away for professional care.In this strangest moment, Lyle was alone.*Outside, the day was warm for the snow on the ground. The weekend air was only occasionally disturbed by the slushy passage of cars. As the drip and trickle of iceme...

5 likes

Resetting Regrets

Jarod Smith

Submitted to Contest #184

“What do you regret?"“That’s a heck of an icebreaker.”“I promise it will make sense in a moment.”“Can we skip to that part?”The man in pinstripes looked down at his papers. Was that a file on me? Were they for show, the way newscasters shuffle notes as if to say, “Trust us, we’re in the know?”He cleared his throat. Definitely newscaster credibility papers.“What do you know about our project?” he asked, looking up with thoughtfully squinted eyes.“I thought you guys put bags over people’s heads and brought them here in vans.”“Ha, yes. We’re wo...

13 likes

Follow the Bird

Jarod Smith

Submitted to Contest #181

Follow the bird, the bird.Tomassi’s head snapped to the side. He knew the difference between the sounds that were there and those that weren’t. Didn’t keep him from looking for them, though.His mother wasn’t Italian like his father. She didn’t know his name was spelled wrong. Did his father know him?He shook his head vigorously to clear it. Clear like the air, altitude-clear. He breathed deeply the way his doctor taught him. The phantom noises subsided, and he exhaled uneasily. He could see the high peak blue and hazy, solid in the distance....

7 likes

The Gardener

Jarod Smith

Shortlisted for Contest #175 ⭐️

Her hands were the color of the earth around them, ungloved like roots.“We try too hard,” she had mumbled when I noted the bare skin. “Put too much work into keeping separate from anything alive.”It was the longest sentence I’d ever heard in that dry-leaf voice. She was an orator of actions, and she had small interest in philosophies she couldn’t touch. In the month since I met the gardener, I learned that she had no love of talk, no interest in convenience, and no respect for weakness. A tree-hugging Spartan. If I had to be here, though, th...

19 likes