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K. Preston

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jan, 2023

Stories (5)

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5 Followers

11 Following

5 Stories

57 karma pts

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Fame and Misfortune

K. Preston

Submitted to Contest #310

It was impossible to sleep in the sweltering apartment as he lay wide awake staring into the darkness. City lights illuminated the ceiling and cast shadows of his shabby furnishings on the walls. He could see cracked paint behind fluttering band posters, watched the ceiling fan swing in unbalanced rhythm, and hear the clunky hum of the refrigerator compressor struggle for life. Beads of sweat rolled down his naked chest and joined the damp pool on his mattress. Somewhere in the distance the incessant wail of a siren languished through his op...

8 likes

It's Here!

K. Preston

The sound echoed throughout the dimly lit cellar. A scraping, almost dragging shriek, similar to a metal chair being pulled over linoleum, followed with a heavy rhythmic thump that reverberated over the entire ceiling.He cursed and ran his hands through his sweat matted hair. They shook uncontrollably. He took another deep breath. The damp smell of mold, stagnant dust, and rusting metal filled his nostrils and lungs, and he coughed— however fear smothered his ability to notice or care.The presence had entered the building only moments ago, a...

1 like

A Day at the Cafe'

K. Preston

Simple, quaint, and engaging! That is how he often described this quiet little cafe to his family and friends. Their responses were the typical promises to “try it out... if they had time.” If they ever tried to make the time, more like it.Maybe that was why he liked it. You could lose all sense of time here. There was nothing like sitting here taking in the morning scenes of sunlight streaming across the cherry wood tables. Patterns of ivy leaves, flowers, and lattice work shadows dancing amongst the table decorations and patron clutter. He...

1 like

Enemies

K. Preston

Submitted to Contest #291

“Do you know what war is?” He asks.He is about to die. He knows it. I know it.Smoke and dust mix with the chilled air, while light from the setting sun stabs beams though it. My opponent is sitting half reclined and propped on his right elbow. He is covered head to foot in the equipment of soldiers. The gear men like me need to fight and kill. We call it our “kit”. Blood flows in smooth rivulets from shrapnel lacerations in his right leg. His left hand clutches at a wound to his abdomen. I can see the glove’s sandy hue is being taken over by...

8 likes

A Month at Grandma's

K. Preston

Submitted to Contest #273

1 October: We finally arrived at Grandma's late in the evening. The sun was already down, and the sky had become a thin pink line just above the trees at the edge of her farm. Dad’s dog was the first thing out the door and ran off barking into the fields. I secretly hoped it would never return. Dad bought it two years ago when I was six, and sometimes I think he spends more time with the stupid dog than with me. The farm smelled like rotten cabbage mixed with muddy feet and I almost gagged. It took three days of driving, and I already hate ...

10 likes