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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jul, 2022
Submitted to Contest #293
(Note: There is mention of death here.)Suddenly, I looked up. Was I asleep? Had I forgotten my flight? Everyone around me seemed nervous. Or so it seemed to me. I immediately reached for my robotic purse. It’s always a good thing to carry on such a journey. Its fingerprint scanner still worked. I looked across the way at the panini shop, at which point there was a thunderous roar in my belly. Suddenly, the sound of a plane landing. “Attention customers. Flight bu, bu, bu to San Francisco, now boarding.”Ah ha! I’ve caught you!I immediately gr...
Submitted to Contest #288
(Note: this story features death.)A storm. Clouds were gathering overhead as buckets of rain sledged through the air. Droplets so thick that they could have been used as coke bottle lenses. The air was moist, but still breathable. As the light of the sun became subsumed, there was an issue of conscience. Miralda walked down the street, dodging puddles and the occasional taxi. The air was choking in its finality, each drop separating her from herself even more. As she walked, she noticed a sensation in her boot. “Hull breach. Hull integrity f...
Submitted to Contest #287
(Note: One of the characters in the story has previously died.)“I don’t know, Bob,” said Janet, looking down into her coffee. Tarne’s Coffee was the place to be at this time of day. All the aspiring writers and moguls left their day jobs to pontificate in private ubiquity. “What is it that you don’t understand?” said Bob. “I just…I don’t think this is going to work out.”Janet had just lost her job at a local real estate firm selling high-end condos on Chicago’s gold coast. She had been their best performer for years, breaking the record for ...
Submitted to Contest #242
(Note: There is mention of war in this story, and in the title.)It was a cold day in summer at Le Louvre and Bernardine had a problem. He'd lost his keys again. It was time to lock up for the night and he was at a loss for how he would accomplish his duty. In record time, he sprung into action. Was it in the African section? The Middle Easter tapestries? Was it in the bathroom? He knew he'd left his set of keys there before. All the while, time was ticking away. As he was looking around, something felt heavy in the palm of his hand, but...
Submitted to Contest #240
(Note: There is a mention of an AK-47 in the story, and a rocket launcher) It was a hot summer’s day at the Meringo Lighthouse in downtown Chicago. This had been hailed as the world’s first landlocked lighthouse. Built right in the center of State and Madison over the Red Line Subway station, this was an accomplishment that was both useless and vital simultaneously. Chicago’s mayor, Brandon Lightfoot, had hailed it as a new step forward in technological progress. “You can’t think of any reason to have a landlocked lighthouse? I can think of...
Submitted to Contest #238
"Are you going to eat that?" said dad, pointing at Fran's belly. "That's not funny, dad," said Fran."Humor an old man."It had been weeks since Fran had dropped out of high school. Then came the battle of a lifetime. Her parents fought over what they should do with her. Should she join a home economics course? Should she join Job Corps? Peace Corps? The military? Such things were rolling through their minds. Fran hadn't been the best student to begin with. She was a solid middle classwoman. After years of study and progress, th...
Submitted to Contest #236
I’m not nostalgic about my past. That would be too easy. I’ve been thinking recently. About everything. About how the Determiners came. Their swords of light tearing through the night sky. And while no one in the Frayed Districts can be said to have had it easy these past few years, I’m the last person to be nostalgic over spilled milk. I’ve been thinking a lot about Bena. She was the love of my life, my commanding officer. Colder than a salamander’s belly. But she understood things that no one else did. Things about duty, honor, Transpende...
Submitted to Contest #233
(note: The word "penis" is used once in this story.) Le Veintidos de enero, 2025 Dear diary. I have set it upon myself to be a virgin at 40. I got the idea a few years ago when I saw the Steve Carrell film 40 Year Old Virgin. In the film, Steve plays a man who has never had sex his entire life. His 40th birthday has just passed and he’s wondering what he’s going to have to do to achieve his maleficent goal of “getting laid.” I was like his character in that I was just never able to “seal the deal.” I want to make it to 40 without having sex....
Submitted to Contest #231
It was a day like no other. January first, 2038. New year, new me. At least until the Incinerators came. Let me organize this story in a way that will be the most gratifying. I don’t get to tell stories often, and I don’t want to bore anyone. Space. The beginning and ending of the trudge of life. Life, that ever-expanding, ever-fruitful bending of a straitened reality. Never showing anything. Always learning. The science of space travel had just turned 10 years old. In our short jaunt through space, we colonized all the planets of our solar...
Submitted to Contest #225
“No way, man,” said Shempert. “This isn’t working.” Shempert had been slaving for months, years almost, trying to finish his self-portrait. He’d tried and given up a dozen times, at least, never knowing how close he came to realizing his dream. “What’s blocking me?” said Shempert. “What’s missing? I’ve been doing this forever.” Shempert picked up a cup of what he assumed was water and began to drink. Paint thinner again. He spit it out. For a while, he just stood there and looked at the picture. “I can’t figure you out. What is it? What is...
Submitted to Contest #218
It was 1:31 pm when Jamison arrived there, at the Piazza Romanazza in the Pietro district of Italy. He was looking for someone, checking their faces. In each face, he saw only a trace of his quarry. Some fit in certain ways, it seemed. He almost settled on a few. But she’s with another man, that can’t be her, he’d say to himself. Suddenly, he looked across the Piazza Romanazza. Did he see her? The object of his fancy? The distance was far, over fifty meters. There was a busker playing in the street, satisfying his wares. Creating a flight o...
Submitted to Contest #215
[Note: Yes, this story contains references The Devil] “Hi, I’m Mr. Slaters,” said The Devil. “Want to make a deal?” “I don’t even know who you are,” said Timothy. “You just randomly walked up to me. You could’ve been a suicide bomber.” “I still could be. Deal’s on the table. Whenever you’re ready.” “Wait a minute. How did you…? Who told you I was…?” “Well, it wasn’t exactly a secret. You’ve been applying to that Amazon warehouse job for five years now. You’ve told everyone about it, even your ‘Bey’. It was only a matter of time before I foun...
Submitted to Contest #210
“Is the camera on?” said James Botson, a news reporter with the New York Times. He was then looking into a giant television camera, which was overlooking a field in Jasper, a suburb of New York City, in the United States. The level of anticipation was high. People had come from miles around to see what was happening. Further afield, there was a unique object standing in the grass. It looked like a rocket, but it wasn’t something that you could quite look at. The entire thing was covered with a surface that fumbled the eyes. One didn’t know...
It was 8:00 in the morning on a Friday, which meant only one thing: computer time. Marcus Weatherbly was ready. He had gone out to the local diner to have a quick meal and was now getting ready to sit down and get to work. The video game he’d been working on was now an intense beast, a thing of beauty. If only he could get it done. There were so many little things to add. So many methods of improvement. As the super-fast computer powered up, almost instantly, Marcus thought about his goal. This would be the game to end all games. The best g...
Submitted to Contest #205
With swift decorousness, the judges gavel slammed on the ledge, creating a vibration of fear that shook the courtroom into silence. No one could match the judge’s power, his influence. He was a man who could change the world by his decree alone. “Okay, okay, silence,” said the judge, looking down at those standing before him. There was an atmosphere of finality, almost of some relief, for both prosecution and defense. Both had fought a hard fight, had come through a metamorphosis and into a new being. Both had sacrificed for this moment. ...
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