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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Sep, 2020
Submitted to Contest #85
Her friend spilled a Margarita on her. Mary was never fond of the smell of alcohol. Actually, she downright despised it. Perhaps it was the way it lingered on the breath like sweet spoiled nectar or the lack of coordination thereafter. Either way, the entire ride home she smelled like sour lime and southern Valencia, which now embedded itself in the car seats, no doubt. Why she even agreed to attend that party, she frankly forgot and was too exhausted to care. Tired blue eyes fluttered slightly closed and then open as she gripped the steerin...
Submitted to Contest #77
Author's note: This story contains disturbing themes.“There is no Goatman, Peter.”“But I saw it!” “Oh, what have I told you about trying to start a fright? Now please eat your supper. I will hear no more of this nonsense.” Peter’s freckled nose scrunched up at the smell of the porridge. The smell itself was rather bland and faint. Similar to smelling a field of corn about a few blocks away. It had been porridge for weeks now. Bland grits and spotted water from the well. Black particles floated to the top of the yellowish water and ...
Submitted to Contest #65
Like me, he was a predator.Holding the silver blade against her neck.Heavy breathing escaping her parted lips.I can see the fear in her eyes. Slash.Blood spilled from the opening in her throat like a red river.Flaps of inflamed skin parted like a toothless smile.I wonder what that was like.The few seconds before death creeps in. I will soon know.I could have saved her. Could even grant her restless spirit revenge if I am so pleased. What difference would it have made? By and by, like all things, her miserable brief life would come ...
Submitted to Contest #60
I remember the first moment I saw her…Her beautiful blonde hair glistening in the sunlight.Blue ocean eyes twinkling like diamonds.Well, her beautiful eye…I guess I probably should have mentioned she’s a zombie. Yup, with grey patchy skin, bloodied black nails, and large yellow fangs. Her human days were definitely something in the distant past. The really distant past, but she’s still my girl. Who cares if she has a missing arm and maggots in her eye socket? Love is blind, goddamn it. And if I want to date a zombie, I will do it. ...
Submitted to Contest #59
As a teenager, I realized growing up wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, cliche; I know. It wasn’t so much the work that bothered me but more so, the deep, overwhelming, bitter feeling of loneliness, it crept up on me when I least expected it, and that included the safest place a person can be, their own home. I still remember the moment it happened. Though, admittedly, it is a bit of a blur. Bits and pieces remain of the memory. I think the mind works that way; it chooses what it wants to remember. And often, what remains of painful experie...
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