Jessica Goss

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jul, 2024

Stories (3)

3 Stories

39 karma pts

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“A Blank Canvas” by Jessica Goss

Submitted to Contest #266

What is art? I mean, what truly is it? It means nothing to me. It but a simple fragment of what is all but meaningless to me now. A canvas with a vague colour, is all but a blank canvas to me. A stroke of nothingness--ironic really--reflective almost, like a mirror into the window of myself and what I have become. Perhaps what I always have been. How long have I been staring at this canvas? Could it have been minutes? Hours? If canvases were to age in the way we do, I am sure it would be well seasoned with age, wrinkled lines fabricating the...

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“Memories” by Jessica Goss

Submitted to Contest #265

It's almost as if I have a memory of my own, of the daffodils that prosper and bloom in the spring, the apricot jam drenched in over-ripeness in the dark back corner of the fridge, the incessant, proud oaks that seems to only grow taller even after they had been trimmed, the whispers of the wind carried by the saltiness of the river just down past the wild pansies that occupied the forgotten gardens. It is odd because I had never stepped foot here, at least not a set of my own. It was my mother who had, though. She had even lived here for qu...

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“The Blanket of Autumn ” by Jessica Goss

Submitted to Contest #264

Autumn had surely laced its rolling hills with the finest of oranges and maroons and had doused its blue canvas above with patches of lilac. There was even an aroma of spiced cardamom and a subtle note of cinnamon and overripe apricots well mixed within the seasoned air.  What a splendid time for a wedding, Lily thought. As if amidst the bitterness of winter and the harsh nature of summer, there is room for the gentle hand of warmth; a blanket that which cocooned this wedding in a delightful comfort. There is something for all individua...

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Author bio

I can’t remember a time where I wasn’t writing. Even when I was a child too small to understand what I was writing, it was said I would write nonsensical sentences with no purpose. But perhaps looking back, I always had a purpose. Just to write. Writing has always given me a purpose and vice for me to express myself and romanticise the monotony of life. I don’t think I will ever stop, much like little me who was said to have never stopped writing. I can only hope to be just as great as her.