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Jethro Pili

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Aug, 2021

Stories (140)

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29 Followers

37 Following

140 Stories

286 karma pts

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The Lost Spectrum

Jethro Pili

The people of Charon 1A35 lived in a world without color. Once, long ago, there had been hues—reds that burned in the sky at dawn, greens that painted the vast forests, blues that filled the rivers and oceans. But that was before the radiation. Before the invisible poison in the air stripped their world bare, not by changing the environment, but by robbing their eyes of the ability to see it. Now, they saw only shades of gray. Light and dark, shadow and contrast. The stories of color, passed down from old generations, became myth...

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Wilting Flowers

Jethro Pili

Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! The alarm blared, a digital shriek against the pre-dawn stillness. John Nguyen rolled over, slapping the snooze button with practiced ease. Some days he wished he could hurl the accursed thing across the room and smash it against the wall to silence it for good. He couldn't afford to do that, though. In this economy, he needed the money. He needed to go to work. Five more minutes. He knew the routine by now, the rhythm of his day. Even in the dim pre-dawn light, the fami...

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A Wake Up Call

Jethro Pili

CONTENT WARNING: Contains mentions of abandonment, alcoholism, and abuse. Sarah adjusted her lanyard and took a deep breath, stepping into the grand conference hall, Bible in hand. She grabbed a program and took a seat. The Christian Renewal Conference in Miami, Florida was an event she had been looking forward to for months. The hotel was bustling with fellow believers, worship music filled the air, and the atmosphere was alive with anticipation. The first session was powerful. The guest speaker, Pastor Elias Carter, spoke on the necessity ...

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Ranger

Jethro Pili

The crackling fire cast flickering shadows against the trees as James settled into his camp chair, sipping the last of his coffee. The night air was cool but pleasant, the sky above a vast expanse of stars stretching endlessly beyond Mount Rainier. It had been a long week of hiking, fishing, and enjoying the solitude that the wilderness offered. This was exactly the kind of peace he’d been seeking. Then, he heard it—a rustling just beyond the firelight. At first, he dismissed it as the wind through the underbrush or maybe a deer passing thro...

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The Inkwell

Jethro Pili

The bell above the door chimed softly as Katherine stepped into The Inkwell, her favorite bookshop and café nestled on the corner of Elm Street. The air smelled of aged paper, hot chocolate, and fresh espresso, a combination she found intoxicating. It was her weekly ritual to browse the shelves before settling in with a book and a cup of coffee, but today, she wasn’t alone in her routine. Across the room, a man in a navy peacoat stood by the poetry section, his dark-rimmed glasses perched low on his nose as he flipped through a collection of...

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A Kiss For A Knight’s Ladye

Jethro Pili

Jason adjusted his tie, glancing around the crowded lobby of the Grand Regent Theatre. The scent of popcorn and perfume mingled in the air, the murmur of excited theatergoers buzzing around him. Beside him, Wendy skimmed the program for Tarnished Silver, her fingers tracing the embossed lettering on the cover. “I still can’t believe we got tickets,” she said, her voice tinged with excitement. “It’s been sold out for months.” Jason smiled. “It took some maneuvering, but I couldn’t let you miss this.” They had been best friends since col...

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A Quiet Darkness

Jethro Pili

Text Message Thread Eleanor Hastings & Sebastian Laurent Sunday, 12:03 AM Sebastian: How is Madeline? Eleanor: Better, I think. Still a little out of it. The doctor said it was exhaustion, but I don’t know… she’s never collapsed like that before. Sebastian: That must have been frightening for you. Eleanor: It was. Thank you for finding her. I don’t even want to think about what might’ve happened if you hadn’t. Sebastian: Of course. It was luck, really. Right place, right time. If I hadn’t go...

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A Quick Little Game of Chess

Jethro Pili

Pria Chopra entered the dimly lit bathroom of Le Papillon Rouge, a swanky restaurant nestled in the heart of Paris. She walked in as one person and would walk out as another. She locked the stall door behind her and took a deep breath. The sound of muffled jazz and clinking glasses from the dining room filtered in through the door. It was showtime. Reaching into her clutch, she pulled out a compact mirror, a tiny vial of solvent, and a small, flesh-toned patch. She pressed the patch against her cheek, counted to three, and peeled...

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Adonis

Jethro Pili

The rain pattered gently against the windowpane as I sat at the kitchen table, watching the gray clouds roll by. A steaming cup of coffee rested in my hands—black, no sugar, just the way he liked it. It was a small thing, a comforting routine, and one that tied me to the only person I had ever truly known. “Morning, son.” I turned to see my father—Arthur Greene—standing in the doorway, his graying hair still damp from his morning shower. He wore a faded navy bathrobe, tied loosely at the waist, and a warm, familiar smile. “...

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Higher Ground

Jethro Pili

The first tremor hit at 3:47 p.m. David Reyes had been staring at his computer screen, drowning in the monotony of editing a client’s marketing deck, when the building lurched beneath him. It was slow at first, like the city itself had sighed in exhaustion, but then came the violent shaking. His coffee mug slid off his desk and shattered. Monitors toppled. The walls groaned. Someone screamed. David dove under his desk as the ceiling lights flickered and the glass walls around the office creaked ominously. The 4th floor of t...

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Blood & Brick

Jethro Pili

The room is unfamiliar. I don’t know how I got here. The air is damp, thick with the scent of rust and mildew. Pipes run along the wooden ceiling and exposed beams, whispering with the steady flow of water. A hulking boiler crouches in the far corner, exhaling the occasional hiss of steam. The floor beneath me is cold stone. I sit up. The scrape of shifting metal echoes in the stillness, and I realize—I was inside something. My fingers trail over the edge of the ornate box, the cool surface unmistakably stone. It’s not just...

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The Man in the Rain

Jethro Pili

The heavy rain drummed steadily against the roof of the old farmhouse, a rhythmic patter that usually lulled the cousins to sleep. But not tonight. Lightning split the sky, illuminating the fields beyond the house in stark white brilliance. For the briefest of moments, everything was visible—the darkened trees, the sagging barn with its faded and peeling red paint exposing the rotting wood beneath, the crooked split-rail fence, and beyond it, a figure standing motionless in the storm. Joel was the first to see him. He had been ly...

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La Buldog de la Familia Báez

Jethro Pili

The courtroom was charged with an energy that only a trial like this could produce. It wasn’t just any case—it was a battle of justice, one that Assistant District Attorney Katrina Báez had been preparing for months. The defendant, a high-profile real estate mogul accused of fraud and bribery, sat at the defense table with a smug expression, flanked by his team of high-priced attorneys. He was used to winning. Katrina was determined to break that streak. Outside, the storm raged in tandem with her passion. Rain lashed against the court...

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The Wails of Cocytus

Jethro Pili

The wind never stopped on 52 Cocytus b. It howled through the frozen canyons, shrieked across the barren ice plains, and battered the weathered structures of Outpost Epsilon with a relentless, unceasing fury. The settlers had long since stopped calling it "wind"—it was the planet’s voice, an eternal wailing that sounded like the lamentations of the damned. Mason Holt stood by the reinforced observation window, watching the blizzard swirl outside. Beyond the perimeter floodlights, nothing existed but the white abyss. The ice, the snow, t...

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Night of Terror At St. Augustine’s

Jethro Pili

The rain had been relentless for three days. Heavy sheets of water lashed against the towering Gothic structures of St. Augustine’s Boarding School for Catholic Youngsters, drumming on windows and pooling in the stone-paved courtyards. The sky had been dark for so long that it seemed like night had stretched into infinity, and the rolling thunder was an ever-present companion. Father Tristan Greene had been expecting the power to go out. The generators were old, and storms like this tended to test their limits. When the lights flickere...

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