reedsymarketplace
Hire professionals for your project
reedsyblog
Advice, insights and news
reedsylearning
Online publishing courses
reedsylive
Free publishing webinars
reedsydiscovery
Launch your book in style
Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jun, 2022
Submitted to Contest #285
I never believed my Dad until he died. Even then, I had to go back in time and verify his fairy tales. I loved him. Still do. But the stories he told me were irrelevant to the space I occupied. His outpourings were outlandish, and they just did not belong in my world. I could not comprehend the world of lack that he spoke so fondly of. My Dad was the best man I ever knew. But he had these oddball moments and in those moments he was a bizarre parody of himself. He’d have this wistful expression and I knew what was coming even before he looked...
Submitted to Contest #284
Every year, we invited Ben to our New Year’s get together. We’d invited him over for so many years that it was now part of the latticework of traditions that held the festive period together and held together all those who sailed in her for that matter. Every year, we asked Ben to join us. And every year he would provide a vague affirmation of his attendance. He might attend was what was said, but the vagueness was an uncrossable river that kept us separate for decades. I’d like to say that I knew what was coming, or that I at leas...
Submitted to Contest #283
I had to get away. But you don’t do you? I consoled myself with the ghosts I’d left behind in my empty house. A house that was once a home, but now only contained spirits lamenting a series of losses that wore barbs and blades and slithered around my life to punish my blind ignorance and awaken me to the new reality of my life.Not for the first time, I considered selling that place. It would help in some respects. Diminish the power of those ghosts. But I knew that wasn’t enough. I could run all I liked, but I couldn’t hide from myself. The ...
Wonderful. It should be wonderful. That’s how it’s supposed to be. And I guess, by inference, that’s how I’m supposed to be. I am supposed to be wonderful. No pressure there then. No pressure at all. Dance monkey! Dance! Perform. Put on a show. Delight your audience. Only, there is no audience. Not this year. And that feels wrong somehow. Wrong in a way that makes no sense to me as I awaken to a Christmas morning on my own.Christmas is steeped in all manner of emotional herbs, spices and vices. Year upon year, it ferments and becomes a stron...
Submitted to Contest #282
“Sorry, Dad.” He glances at his son and almost says what? His face a picture of puzzlement, more so as he sees the big grin on Gerrie’s face. A grin that has no business accompanying an apology. Then it hits him. And it hits him hard. “Oh!” he cries, “you smelly beggar! Oh wow! Where did that come from!?” He opens the car window beside him, and then decides it would be a good idea to open the window next to the stink-bomb boy beside him. A boy who is looking very pleased with himself as he offers an explanation or an excuse. His father ...
The sky is a pale grey as though it mourns for the passing of the sun. At this time of year, the two are estranged. When they meet there is a discordant chill of animosity. Occasionally, the sun will make a show of it, flirting with the clouds, or shining brightly as it slips away to pastures new. Going to a place it prefers to be. The abandoned sky collapses in on itself and deprives us of the sparkle of its children. Seldom do the stars come out to play when the sky is so saddened. I walk a well-trod path, observing the greys that bleed fr...
Submitted to Contest #281
People are strange. They really are. That’s why I’m drawn to them. What’s fascinating is that some of them are drawn to me too. It’s a match made in heaven. Only that’s a bit of a fib. Part of the strangeness of people is in the language they use. Half the time, they don’t really know what they mean. Sometimes they don’t mean anything at all. Sounds innocuous doesn’t it? But it’s a dangerous as hell. I like to visit during the Christmas holidays. Or the Holiday Season as it’s now called. A rebranding aimed at being inclusive, when all it rea...
Submitted to Contest #280
The grass waves to the breath-filled song of the wind. No, wait. That doesn’t sound quite right. Maybe just the voice of the wind. The luscious grass dances as the wind sings. Something like that anyway. I look around me. Casually, like I’m taking in the view and not at all looking for a sudden change in the landscape that would signal my end. Should I admit that I’m scared? I’d be mad not to. But then this is madness. I’m narrating my life because my life actually depends on it. The moment I go quiet, it’ll come for me. I know that much. Sn...
“At the end of the day,” I look out over the vibrant, green valley and I take it all in. I read the landscape and I listen to it. I feel it within me, and not for the first time I wonder whether it is real, or just something my unconscious projects before me in order to make this life bearable, “it’s a beautiful world.” I sit in the noisy silence of the hilltop and allow myself just to be. The rest of the words spill out of me with my next exhalation, “at the beginning of the day, it’s also a beautiful world. Trouble is, we busy ourselves to...
Submitted to Contest #279
Wilfred woke up one morning to a boiling sea of change. This was very disconcerting. He had recently entered the fifty second year of his life, and any damp feeling as he surfaced into the day left him feeling ashamed and inadequate. Even his night sweats disturbed him, perpetuating the anxiety from which they came. He lay there for a moment before he checked his watch, phone and wallet. For good measure, he gently and unobtrusively patted the mattress around him. The numeracy of his age was often a myth, but occasionally he had a nauseating...
Submitted to Contest #278
Belief is a weird and wonderful thing. It sees us through life. It also ends lives. So often, it breezes through borders without any checks, never having had its passport stamped. We don’t question belief because we rely upon it far too much, and we do not want it to desert us in our hour of need. That hour is long enough as it is. There will always be a reckoning though and life has its own ways of asking the questions that must be asked, even if it leaves it until very late in our day. It turns out that the substitute for belief is t...
It wasn’t the first time. Memory is a tricksy old thing. Rehearsed until they stick. Edited selectively. We seldom get the director’s cut, and yet we’re the director. So yeah, I feel short changed by memory. But then I’ve been cheated by far more than memory. And memories are all I have. Memories are all we will be one day. It wasn’t the first time, but it was the first time I began to see. Eventually, despite my unwillingness to acknowledge what I saw, let alone accept it, I discerned the patterns that had been there all along. C...
Submitted to Contest #277
No one likes a winner. It has always been, and always will be about the underdog. That and the happy ending. They all lived happily ever after! Cut! That’s a wrap! Well done everyone! Ever wonder what happens after that? No, of course you haven’t. Nobody ever does. Why? Because we just don’t care. We settle for less. We stop when the music stops. Sad statues of lost meaning with no prospect of the music ever starting again. In the end, which is not even our end, we settle for nothing and we walk away with the illusion of happ...
Submitted to Contest #276
It wasn’t her. That was the lesson. The obvious truth. But even once I was presented with the truth, in my apparent acceptance was a rejection. I mirrored her denial. I was drawn into that collusion with very little effort. Denial and naivety is where we reside. We climb into bed with a watered down reality that promises us an easy ride, but is never there when we wake up to the cold light of the truthful day. I loved her. Being with her hurt. Being without her hurt. I was never good enough. She pushed me away, even as I pulled i...
Submitted to Contest #275
The world is full of broken people, and I’m one of them. Right now, I’m as broken as it gets. Broken beyond repair. Some things creep up on you. Life has a habit of doing that. An inexorable movement that ceased to be noticeable via our ignorance of the very nature of our existence. An incessant flow that carries with it sticky flotsam and jetsam. All that crap accumulates and wears you down. Weighs you down. Until you sink without trace. Laying there on the riverbed of reality. If you bother opening your eyes, you’ll see life pass you...
Oops, you need an account for that!
Log in with your social account:
Or enter your email:
14 likes
