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Author on Reedsy Prompts since May, 2021
Submitted to Contest #312
Trigger Warning: Contains themes of war, trauma, and brief references to violence and injury. 🔗 He woke first, in the dark and the cold of night, snapping awake from a fitful dream with a sound in his throat like a plea for help. In his dream there had been people in the streets, whispering and pointing, with arms raised high over their heads. People half-dressed and still softheaded with sleep. A red, red sky. Smoke on the horizon and the thunder of distant explosions. He stood among them in a silent wonder that grew slowly to fear, his eye...
THE SHAPE OF THINGS."There's nothing wrong with you, Jackie."We sat together, on old logs partly covered by moss and a few fungal growths that poked their pale spotted heads out between my legs. Roy held a thin metal rod with marshmallows speared on it over our campfire. In his other hand was a large paper plate with two blue serviettes folded neatly on top of it."You're overthinking things," he said, his voice low and gentle. "Really. I bet you're just as good as anyone else, if not better. You just haven't realized it yet.""How can you be ...
She was cold again. The wind rattled her bedside window, slipping frosty fingers through hairline cracks in the wall surrounding it. The thin pane of glass did little against the chilly January air; Margot could see her breath before her each time she exhaled, misting in a fine cloud that shimmered like dew on the cold glass.She drew the bedclothes tighter around her body. Through the window she could see the lights of the city below her, Christmas decorations still hanging in the shops and stalls lining the street, and people milling about ...
He woke from a fevered dream into the dull grey of morning. A cold drizzle falling. The window blinds rattled in the teeth of a cold December wind. He threw aside the bedclothes and got yawning to his feet. The alarm clock on the bedstand shrilled a piercing tune and he turned to switch it off. He glanced at the naked woman sprawled on the bed with the bedclothes bunched in a heap around her and felt a brief moment of loathing. He didn't know who she was, couldn't even remember her name. Last night had been a haze of smoke and drugs and whir...
It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark. Wilson Scott, his shoes slipping on the frosted pavements and his scarf blowing out behind him in the wind like a banner, made his way downtown on that cold winter evening. He had on an overcoat, thick as felt, and a cigar sitting dead between his lips. The wind had sucked out the smoke, sucked out the flame on his lighter too so that when he struck the wheel not even a spark flashed in the gloom, and now it pulled on his scarf and stung the bare skin of his nose and cheeks. ...
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