Julie Frederick

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Oct, 2020

Stories (15)

15 Stories

383 karma pts

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“A Trifle” by Julie Frederick

“You will be back this afternoon, right James? For your birthday?” Rachel reminds her husband, placing two slices of Marmite-slathered toast in front of him.He lifts his head, smiles weakly. “Uh, I’ve just got to finish this chapter, Rach,” he says. “I’m so close…” He takes a reluctant bite, then another, more out of necessity than hunger. She can’t recall the last time he has requested a particular food, let alone helped himself to something. He’s become paler, smaller, his hair thinning.She h...

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“Orogenesis” by Julie Frederick

Days before my ailing elderly grandmother passes, she appears to me in a dream. I am visiting her in a nursing home, but instead of finding her in the usual bed, she lies in a baby’s crib. And the air, rather than thick with the stench of antiseptic and death, is sweet smelling and fresh. I inhale deeply: Andes chocolate mints, her favorite, and mine. The floor is covered with their discarded emerald green wrappers. Next to her cot is an octagonal tin – the same one I so often reached into as a child – brimming with Andes mints. I unwrap ...

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“The Cat God” by Julie Frederick

The boyAre you there, God? I mean the one in charge of cats, not people. It’s me, Arlo. Mummy took Charlie to the vet a few yesterdays ago ’cause he wouldn’t eat his breakfast and when I put down my cereal bowl he didn’t drink the milk. He didn’t purr when I cuddled him either. I don’t know when he’s coming back. Do you? The motherAre you there, God? It’s me, your long-lost, wayward daughter. Before you judge me (yes, I have broken my promises time and time again, making vows and ...

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“Papayas in Winter” by Julie Frederick

“Pardon me, do you have any papayas?” an unfamiliar voice asked.Lauren Miller was lost in a daze as she removed the checkout divider and numbly watched the conveyor belt ferry the next customer’s groceries her way. She looked up with a start. She glanced first at Coleslaw—her nickname for the sixty-something-year-old bachelor whose shopping basket lay in front of her with its predictable staples: white bread, milk, sardines, apples (always three!), and, of course, coleslaw. But Coleslaw’s face registered the sam...

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“The Last Word” by Julie Frederick

CW: death, road traffic accident“James always liked to be prepared,” my best friend Chris said, clutching a crinkled piece of paper as he stood in front of his mother’s full-length mirror. His voice had an unnatural chirpiness. “His bags were all packed for college. He was so excited to be going to Columbia. But it turns out he was embarking on a different journey…” He trailed off, his brow furrowed.Is he trying to be funny? I wondered, hovering just above the mirror. I shook my head frantically, as if he...

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“Bad Egg” by Julie Frederick

“Why did the checkout lady open up the egg box and stare at our eggs?” my daughter Zoe asked. “What was she looking for?” We had just finished our weekly food shop and were loading the bags into the car.“She was just checking to make sure there were no bad ones,” I replied, shoving the last of the carrier bags into the boot of the Fiat Punto—a car big enough for our little family of two, but which had a lot to answer for in terms of storage space, especially when you added our dog Max into the mix.

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“Rules of the Game” by Julie Frederick

“Where’s the crackers?” my grandfather gruffly asked the waitress. She had just placed a bowl of the soup of the day, cream of chicken, in front of him. Globules of oil beaded the surface of the yellowish gluey concoction.The sour-faced waitress disappeared for a moment and returned with a single crushed packet of saltines. She slapped it on the table in front of him.I winced, desperately wanting to start digging a hole out of there.His clear blue eyes, mesmerizing even in his old age,...

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“The Healing” by Julie Frederick

The glare of the rising sun through the dingy net curtains stung my eyes. Scrunched up on the couch, I tented my hand across my forehead, shielding myself from the worst of it. As I reconciled myself to the day ahead, I recalled the countless childhood photos of me squinting at the camera, my sister and brother chastising me for always grimacing. It’s too bright! I whined, even on cloudy days. I can’t see! My pale blue eyes were my defense; theirs were a deep brown, like my parents’, better equipped for brightness, but I...

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“A Bird Flying into the House is a Sign of Impending Death” by Julie Frederick

I woke that night to a rustling downstairs. It was late—too late for the kids to be up, unless Arthur had had another nightmare and retreated to his under-the-table den for safety. But the kids’ doors were closed, my three children immersed in their respective dream-worlds. In a few hours Cammy, the youngest, would bound into my bedroom bursting with tales of blue and red Teletubby-type creatures gamboling across lime-green pastures. There would be a carnival—“yes mommy, rides and everything!”—she’d exclaim, and she’d been on the Ferris W...

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“The Carousel” by Julie Frederick

As her father drifted in and out of consciousness, Louise watched the convoy of caravans and trucks spill out on to the recreation grounds opposite his hospice window. Food vans selling the usual greasy hotdogs and burgers, an array of try-your-luck side stalls, and the signature showstopper rides – the ‘Freak Out’, the ‘Twister’, the ‘Sizzler’ – all trundled in, towing trailers, like adolescents being dragged on a journ...

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“The Victor” by Julie Frederick

Pelisse, dolman, breeches: the three essential components of a real man’s wardrobe, according to Stewart Miller, for whom the idea of a second life as a Napoleonic hussar was not just a hobby, but a passion—more than that, a panacea. Ever since he’d stumbled upon a reenactment festival a few years back while on holiday with his long-time fiancée Mary, his eyes had been opened to a new reality—a world where ordinary men with expanding waistlines and stiffening arteries left their ordinary lives as FedEx warehouse managers at the gate, and ...

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“Community Service” by Julie Frederick

“You know,” Dorothy said, clutching a mug of milky tea in her papery, purpled hands, “my husband – Harold was his name – had this irritating habit of never quite finishing a cup of coffee. In our fifty-six years of marriage, I must have made him hundreds, even thousands of cups, and without fail he always left a tiny amount, no more than a mouthful, at the bottom. I learned quickly, after a few spills, never to whisk a forgotten mug off the table without checking it was empty. It never was.” She chuckled and sipped her tea, her cloudy blu...

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“Know Thy Partner” by Julie Frederick

“Let’s try another one, Cleo. True or false: I once bumped into Dwayne Johnson in a diner,” I said, trying to keep my expression inscrutable.“Who’s Dwayne Johnson?” Cleo asked, craning her neck toward me, shifting beneath the full-coverage cloak the hairdresser had ceremoniously held out for her, easing her in one arm at a time.I sighed heavily from my seat in the reception area, watching tufts of my friend’s thick blonde hair drift to the ground as the stylist maneuvered her head back into position and...

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“What Goes Unsaid” by Julie Frederick

April 10, 1944My Dear Friend Charles,How are you? I have not seen you for such a long time. Did you find the hat that I left on your desk? Mr. Watson said you’d be working away the next couple days so I hope you got it. You should have seen the looks the men gave me when I walked in with your hat. They didn’t believe me when I said you’d left it in my car after I’d fetched you home. Ralph Engel said, “I wonder how you got your hands on that?” I felt their eyes all on me.I tried to drop it by your...

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“In the Process of Dying” by Julie Frederick

“I couldn’t possibly die on a Tuesday,” Ruth announced, with the flourish of a seasoned stage actress. She raised her cannulated hand to her forehead in a mock swoon. With her other hand she clutched the Pumpkin Spice Latte that I’d bought for her, strictly against doctor’s orders.“It had better be a Friday,” she continued. “That way you can drop by the morgue after work if you need to identify the body, then go out and get drunk to celebrate. And still have the weekend to recuperate.” She released her hold on the still ...

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Shortlisted 1 story ⭐️

Contest #63
In the Process of Dying – read story