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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jun, 2022
Submitted to Contest #271
Latin wasn’t John’s bag, but the phrase annus horribilis had stuck like snot on the periphery of his mind. The Queen had had a bad year and had labelled it in this manner. John found this to be amusing. There were some words or phrases that weren’t expletives, but could be spat from the mouth in the very same way. He imagined The Queen firing annus horribilis out of her mouth with maximum disdain, sending courtiers, ambassadors and long-suffering servants this way and that in a blind panic at this hilarious expression of rage. Now as he suff...
Monday’s were an increasing struggle. They shouldn’t have been, and they hadn’t been for an age. Eons in fact. Time was of no consequence to him. The consequences of time were applied to those he encountered. In fact, he was surrounded by time. Even when he went home. Home. Since when had the space he occupied become home? He stroked his nicely named horse on the head as he led him from the stables. Binky snorted affectionate approval. I KNOW, said death to his steed, WE’RE BOTH GETTING A BIT OLD FOR THIS. Death missed the curious look...
Submitted to Contest #270
It’s the small things. Of course, it’s the little, seemingly insignificant things. Big things have a habit of being conspicuous. Big things are like grizzly bears. They don’t gradually insinuate themselves into your lives. They don’t delicately become a part of the very fabric of your life. They are either miles away in their usual habitat, or they are wrecking your home as they smash their way towards you, intent on eating you from the feet upwards, with no regard whatsoever for your pitiful screams. The neighbours may be banging on the wal...
Submitted to Contest #269
Two weeks before Halloween, and a display changed on the pedestrianised high street I walked through on the way to the office. Now, this was of interest to me for two reasons. Firstly, I am a bah and I am a humbug when it comes to Halloween. Bonfire night, yes. Halloween is just plain silly though. A fright night for children that has been ruined by the Americans. The whole trick or treat thing sickens me. Stylised begging, and for hyper-processed food stuffs that are killing entire generations now. That’s the true horror at play on the last...
Submitted to Contest #268
John gazed out of the kitchen window in a fantastical trance. The world outside this window was a carefully crafted fantasy. The garden was overgrown now, but still it described a form of order that he could not exert on the aspects of his life that really counted. Life was wayward and chaotic. It presented a pretence of order for a while, and then it would unravel however a person reacted to the undoing of all their efforts. This John knew, was a death of sorts. A harsh end that handed him an opportunity to begin again. The assault course t...
Submitted to Contest #267
The weather was a fickle beast in these parts. Wayward and cruel. At times, it would create a false sense of security. The sun would shine hard enough to warm the bones and clouds were a thing of distant past memories. But those cruel clouds could swoop in in a matter of minutes though. Carried on freezing winds. It were as though they lay in wait for unsuspecting walkers, intent on catching them unawares and mugging them of their lives. Soaking them, blinding them, draining them of their will to live. Only a fool would be out on the moors i...
Submitted to Contest #266
I’m not the only one, but it feels like I am. Writing is a supposedly lonely occupation but you’d think you’d get a bit of support from your own bloody wife! Sometimes I feel like a burden. A deadweight. A strange loner child whiling away my life in the pursuit of a stupid, childish fantasy. She makes me feel like that. She makes me feel bad and worthless. She’s crushing my dream, even as I try to realise it. I need someone to boost my belief. Mine alone is not enough. I’m only human after all. I am frail and have moments of weakness. I some...
It took Craig an age to get into The Zone. He’d read that writers needed a familiar and comfortable space within which to write, and so he had gone about building his writing nest. He’d begun gradually, but as he worked on his own, special space he built up a fervour and an excitement of anticipation, discovering hidden antique places and poring over knickknacks as though he were searching for his own personal grail. In a way, he was. He was searching for a space that did not exist in the world beyond him, but within him. He was acquiring sy...
Submitted to Contest #265
They all looked up attentively. Craning their necks to discern the truth of the situation. Facsimiles of strange meerkats. Vigilant. Impatient. The energy in the room was twisted out of kilter. Something was happening, but no one knew what shape it would take, let alone what it was. The uncertainty created a vile razor edge that would draw blood and poison its host. It wasn’t a question of if. Only when. When. All the flights in the small airport were delayed. The old and obsolete TV was the oracle of the delays, but between the lines was wo...
Submitted to Contest #264
At the grand old age of fifty five years old, I’m invited to a wedding. As a kid, weddings seemed to be a regular occurrence. I had a crowd of older cousins and marriage was an expectation sometime after they left school. Then, when I reached my cousins’ age, my friends got married. I think I was meant to follow suit, but the choices I made precluded that. One of those choices was my first ever serious girlfriend. I think at some point she was serious. I never spotted the point where she stopped being serious and turned her attentions to a s...
November has snuck its way into the landscape and Summer is a memory that still hurts in the telling. Deathly Winter stalks the unsuspecting days, just a little further along the path of life, and the idea of rebirth is just that. An abstraction that does not yet belong in the world. There is a chill in the air, but it is not yet cold. The old church is draughty and the gutless heating pipes fight a losing battle against the belligerent rock foundations. The modern world is of no interest to this ancient place. The old stone bones are about ...
Submitted to Contest #263
Life ain’t fair. I should know. My life was an involuntary homage to the unfairness of life. My life was a joke, and I was waiting for the punchline. Waiting in a limbo of anticipatory disappointment. The way the script always goes, I’d either not get the joke, or the end the punchline signalled would be mine. At least I’d be deaf to the laughter that was my funereal lament, but I heard its pre-emptory echoes all the same. The walking dead. The cruel laughter haunting every waking moment. Waking me from nightmares too gutless to make themsel...
We have history, but that’s all in the past. There’s a car crash at the end of that history and she was in the driving seat. Only she wasn’t driving at the time. She was somewhere else. I see that a lot these days. It’s the modern-day dog in a manger. They sit in that driving seat, but they have no intention of driving. Their attention is elsewhere.She was elsewhere when it ended, and I thought I’d forgiven her that betrayal, but now, as I force my head around an intransigent neck, I still can’t bring myself to look beyond what went wrong. W...
I saw a therapist once. It was more than once. The attraction was elemental. We both kidded ourselves that there was more there than there really was. Something beyond the sating of physical desire. Maybe there was, but neither of us explored that aspect of what was on offer. We liked the thought of each other and what was on display was intoxicating. The taste of her lingers on in my memory. Her words however…She didn’t exactly open up. We’d both been open in our own way. Had to be in order for what we had to be so dizzying and mind alterin...
They call me a hero. Do they really know what a hero is? Not conspicuous brave deeds, but what it takes. It takes a lot to be a hero. It consumes you. This is a young man’s game. A place of dreams. Better if you don’t have a clue. Stick your ideals on the situation and make it stick. There is something beyond hope in the young. There’s an unwarranted certainty. They know.Well, I now know and the dream that I was is a hollowed-out husk. They still believe. Of course they do. I’m a part of the fabric of their concocted reality and I keep on pl...
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