reedsymarketplace
Hire professionals for your project
reedsyblog
Advice, insights and news
reedsylearning
Online publishing courses
reedsylive
Free publishing webinars
reedsydiscovery
Launch your book in style
Author on Reedsy Prompts since Apr, 2022
Submitted to Contest #314
San Francisco. July 2025. Current Weather: Gerald (Heatwave) – Persistent. Obnoxious. Moist.Miles Harding had resorted to sleeping on the tiled kitchen floor.“I can’t sleep,” he grumbled, voice muffled by the dishtowel over his face. “My bones are sweating.”From the RGB-glowing corner of the apartment, Edgar—six monitors wide and sarcasm-enabled—sighed theatrically through the speakers.You think you’ve got problems? I’m running 96 degrees Celsius and I’m basically a glorified brain in a box. My fan’s spinning faster than a K-pop conspiracy t...
Submitted to Contest #313
This short story is the next chapter after “Welcome Back, Edgar” featuring Miles and Edgar (the AI) where the two dance around an emotionally significant subject—grief and moving forward—without ever naming it directly.-----Miles Harding stood at the kitchen counter, holding a jar of peanut butter in one hand and a spoon in the other. The toaster had betrayed him again—two slices, both carbonized into shuriken-shaped shame. “Should’ve just used the broiler,” he muttered. From the corner desk, lit up in RGB, Edgar cleared his throat. Metaphor...
Submitted to Contest #312
Welcome Back, Edgar Background: The following is a modern fairy tale is based on the 1984 film, “Electric Dreams.” The original film tells the story of a love triangle between a man, a woman, and a computer. Jump forward to 2025…-----Miles Harding stood in the middle of the apartment, surrounded by half-unpacked boxes, dust mites, and ghosts.It had been nearly forty years since he'd first set foot in this San Francisco flat. Forty years since he bought a clunky old desktop computer, spilled champagne on it, and accidentally birthed the world...
Submitted to Contest #279
The town of Willoughby slept under a blanket of twilight, its streets quiet but for the occasional chime of an unseen clocktower. It was a place caught in a perpetual dusk, where shadows stretched long and the air carried the faint scent of old books and candle wax. Through these shadowed streets walked a man named William Crowe, his shoes worn thin and his purpose as faded as the name on the satchel he carried. William had arrived on a train he couldn't remember boarding. He had been searching—always searching—but the destination was unclea...
Oops, you need an account for that!
Log in with your social account:
Or enter your email:
0 likes
