Jasper Ashs

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jan, 2025

Stories (4)

4 Stories

35 karma pts

?

“Pastries” by Jasper Ashs

Submitted to Contest #290

The rain downpours, hitting my umbrella with thumps. Weaving my way around downtown in search of my car. The smell of pastries wafts from the brown bag by my side, forever at the perfect temperature, just waiting for me to devour them. I know the alley to my right has no shop there, just a little unused dead end, but I glance anyway, the movement instinctual. Despite the dark storm clouds above and the rain obscuring my vision, I see the furry lump hidden in the corner of the alley. It's an animal, but what kind? Slowly I creep forward, givi...

Read story

“Identities A Plenty ” by Jasper Ashs

The dress shimmies down, down, down, until it’s a pool at the girls feet. She has to be quick with this. Her first target is going to notice that he just gave her some very important information, and will have a goon go looking for her in the bathroom. A purple dress emerges from her red purse that once matched the tight dress she was wearing. It’s looser, meaning it slips right on with no problem at all. It shimmers slightly in the bad bathroom lighting. The red dress disappears into the bag, right as she emerges from the stall to a b...

Read story

“Spring Rain” by Jasper Ashs

Rain splatters on me, soaking my hair through. My umbrella is broken. A truth, technically, but also a fib. My umbrella is not newly broken, it’s been dilapidated for months now. I walk my walk of shame through the early morning rain. Despite the cold and wet, I love the rain. It washes away everything and brings new life. I can see it now, the little spring buds popping out like fireflies in the night. Spring is the season I’m alive, when my power can truly shine. But I need the help of the rain for a little push. Even though it...

Read story

“My Heart” by Jasper Ashs

Submitted to Contest #287

The lock clicks open with the turn of Saige’s key. My cafe, she thinks. Not anyone else's. Mine. Every single penny, every nickel and dime. She poured everything she had into creating this place. The door swings open silently, the secondhand hinges having just been cleaned so they would be silent as a mouse. She doesn’t care to slow the swing of the door, to enraptured with the entirety of the building she designed. She knows every nook and cranny. Where every secondhand book is, after all, half of them came from her own collection.&nb...

Read story

Author bio

If only people knew what hid behind a writers heart, what hides behind the writers eyes.