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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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Because It Is My Name

Jethro Pili

A breeze brushed against Sandy’s skin as she stepped out of the rental car, the crisp autumn air carrying the scent of fallen leaves and damp earth. She pulled her scarf a little tighter around her neck and turned to Kevin, who was stretching after the long drive from Boston. “You ready for this?” she asked, glancing at the small welcome sign marking the entrance to Salem Village. Kevin smiled, running a hand through his short-cropped hair. “You know me, history nerd that I am—been ready since we booked the tour.” Sandy chu...

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The Comfort of Presence

Jethro Pili

The Piznarskis’ home was quiet, filled with the low murmurs of condolences, the unmistakable sound of sniffles and noses blowing, and the occasional clinking of a spoon against a tea cup. The scent of fresh-baked challah and slow-simmered kugel lingered in the air, mingling with the faint traces of the Havdalah spices from the night before. It was the very first day of shiva and the mirrors had been covered, the chairs had been lowered, and the weight of grief pressed upon the house like a heavy, oppressive, unshakable fog. Mourners sat...

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The Twenty-Seven Stab Wounds of Julius Caesar

Jethro Pili

Detective Albert Fernandez gripped the edge of his desk so hard that his knuckles turned white. The whole department could feel the heat radiating off him, a barely contained inferno of frustration. He had been staring at the evidence board for hours, the crime scene photos glaring back at him like a personal insult. There was Reginald Marston III, sprawled across his office floor, dressed like some ancient emperor. A crimson toga, a golden diadem resting askew on his bald head, and twenty-seven stab wounds painting his chest like some ...

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A Quiet Cup of Tea

Jethro Pili

Father Daniel Asher sat back in the rectory chair, a feeling of relief washing over him as the final confession of the day concluded. The church had been unusually quiet this evening, perhaps due to the sudden spring rain that fell in soft, rhythmic sheets against the windows. He never grew tired of the cadence of the confessional. Every so often, someone would come in, weighed down by sins great and small, seeking absolution. Some were eloquent, others nervous, but all of them were in search of peace. Tonight, Daniel felt at ease, knowing h...

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The Briar & The Rose

Jethro Pili

The Briar & The Rose was an unassuming café nestled in the corner of Brennan Street and Glen Lane, just behind St. Augustine’s campus, a hidden gem for faculty and staff. It was only walking distance. A canopy of climbing roses framed the entrance, their scent wafting softly into the open-air seating area shaded by an old oak tree. Inside, the atmosphere was cozy and eclectic—antique furniture, bookshelves crammed with well-loved titles, and a vintage gramophone quietly playing Mozart. It was a sanctuary from the daily chaos of school li...

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Mimosas And Confessions

Jethro Pili

Trigger/Content Warning:Character deathAbuse and control in a relationshipDeath threats The streets of Seabrook were blissfully quiet that Saturday morning, the kind of calm that descended when the world finally decided to stop spinning quite so fast. Sam Ihle savored the rarity as he and Jodie shared a corner table on the patio of a cozy brunch café. It was a rare luxury for two reporters who seemed to thrive on chaos, their fingers always on the pulse of world events. A pot of strong coffee, plates of scrambled eggs and pancakes, and tall ...

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A Very Die Hard Christmas

Jethro Pili

The snow crunched underfoot as Owen shivered on the porch of his family home in rural New Hampshire. The warm, yellow glow from the windows spilled onto the freshly shoveled driveway. Owen smiled as he glanced over his shoulder at his roommate, Andrew, whose face betrayed both awe and nervousness. "This is it," Owen said with a grin, clutching the doorknob. "Welcome to the chaos." Andrew shifted his bag to his other shoulder and adjusted his scarf. "This feels like a Norman Rockwell painting. Are you sure they’re okay with me cra...

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Pastor Hale’s Quiet Christmas

Jethro Pili

The parsonage was eerily still this Christmas Eve. Pastor David Hale sat at the small kitchen table, staring at the blank page of his open Bible. Outside, a gentle snow fell, frosting the already white landscape, and inside, the only sound was the faint hum of the refrigerator. A half-eaten baked potato sat on the plate before him, lukewarm now, alongside a lone mug of hot tea he hadn’t touched since he poured it. David sighed, resting his elbows on the table and rubbing his temples. Forty years of ministry had prepared him to offer comfort ...

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Dear Ms. Martin

Jethro Pili

Emma Martin clutched her teacup tightly, its warmth bleeding into her fingertips. Outside, a January wind howled, rattling the glass in her small studio apartment's window. She exhaled slowly, scanning the neatly arranged stack of rejection letters on her makeshift desk—a secondhand table barely holding the weight of her laptop and textbooks. The pile represented the silent but stinging failure of dreams she'd held onto for years. Each "Thank you for your application, but..." felt heavier than the last. Scholarship funds had dried up. ...

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Missing the Bus

Jethro Pili

Jules Tan tightened his grip on his notebook, the faint lines on the page trembling as the chaos around him unfolded. The streets of Chicago, his once-busy stomping grounds, were unrecognizable. Cars stood abandoned, their doors ajar and engines silent. Stores had been looted or hastily boarded up. Screams echoed in the distance, mingling with frantic prayers and bursts of sobbing. Jules knew better than to stand out in the open too long. The world had changed overnight—no, in the blink of an eye. He darted into an alley, ducking into t...

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Familiar Yet Unfamiliar

Jethro Pili

The first thing Sam Ihle noticed was the smell. It was faint, lingering in the air like smoke after a distant fire. There was nothing distinct about it, yet it pulled at the edges of his memory, unsettling him. The small, idyllic town of Seabrook sprawled out before him, framed by rolling hills and dotted with picket fences. He stood at the top of a familiar hill, the same one he’d stood on countless times before as a kid, staring down at a place that was both home and… not. The houses were mostly the same—mostly. But the O’Rourk...

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Winds of Change

Jethro Pili

Alex Barrett stared at the plate of cookies on the table in front of him like they were land mines. He’d grown up knowing that his family’s Christmas gatherings were practically synonymous with sugar overload—gingerbread men, snickerdoodles, sugar-dusted shortbread, chocolate crinkles, and those famous chocolate-covered marshmallow Santas, not to mention all the grease and red meat—Christmas feasts at the Barrett household could put Henry VIII and his court with their lavish banquets to shame. It was always mouth-watering and tantalizing—a f...

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Tarnished Silver

Jethro Pili

The air was crisp, a late autumn chill lingering as the group of friends gathered outside Catherine’s apartment. There had been a sense of anticipation building up for weeks—a night out to see Tarnished Silver, a modern retelling of the Sir Lancelot and Queen Guinevere legend. It wasn’t just any play. It had been the subject of many conversations, debates, and even playful arguments. They’d all agreed to go, though not without some amount of skepticism.Catherine was already in a good mood, grinning as she slid into Randy’s car, her arm drape...

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A Candle on the Window Sill (A Soldier’s Peace)

Jethro Pili

The snow fell in quiet waves outside the modest farmhouse near Winchester, Virginia. Its blanket muffled the sharpness of December, shrouding the land as if to obscure the memory of the war that had so recently swept across it. Inside, the warm glow of the fireplace softened the worn edges of the home, though the corners still bore the ghostly chill of loss. John Abernathy sat alone at the kitchen table, running his thumb along the rim of an empty coffee cup. He stared at the window, where a single candle burned on the sill, its wax po...

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It’s The Most Horrible Time Of The Year

Jethro Pili

Snow fell like whispers from a sky burning red, each flake darker than coal and softer than ash. Ethan pulled his jacket tighter, though he knew the cold was only in his head. It wasn’t the freezing air that made his breath hitch but the uneasy sense that none of this was right. It was Christmas Eve, after all—his favorite time of the year. His mother’s living room was aglow with fairy lights, and the faint scent of pine mixed with baked goods should have been comforting. But the snow was black—as black as the vilest sin. The sky was s...

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