Kai Easterbrook

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jul, 2020

Stories (4)

4 Stories

70 karma pts

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“Peyton” by Kai Easterbrook

Submitted to Contest #70

(Lydia, 9:05am) Apparently Mickey Bivanchi is coming to class today. (Bea, 9:05am) Bullshit. (Lydia, 9:05am) No fr he’s walking down the hall rn. (Bea, 9:06am) There’s no way. Cops wouldn’t let a murderer walk free (Lydia, 9:06am) Not enough evidence apparently. (Bea, 9:08am) Mickey just entered and ignored everybody??? Just sat at the back?? (Lydia, 9:11am) You’re in a classroom with a murderer. (Bea, 9:11am) He definitely murdered Peyton. <><><><> Mickey Bivanchi did not murder Peyton. Not th...

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“Honey Sweet Words” by Kai Easterbrook

Submitted to Contest #70

For the fourth time this week, the sound of the door unlocking wakes me up. I roll over in bed, pressing my nose into the cold pillow next to me, and blink my eyes open as light comes flooding into the room. Liam moves around, apparently trying to be quiet but failing miserably. I peer up at him from my spot on the bed, curled up like a cat by the window. He starts to unzip his pants, and this is when I finally roll over and face my back to him, which catches his attention. “Naomi?” Liam asks. “You awake?” I grumble in resp...

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“Cigarettes and Stars” by Kai Easterbrook

Submitted to Contest #51

Kiyoshi breathes in steadily, holding the smoke in his mouth for ten seconds before he releases it through his nose. A plume of grey crowds his vision, and for a moment, all he knows is the stinging of the smoke in his eyes and the nicotine in his veins. But then the smoke clears, and he can see the sky again. There are tiny pinpricks of light, barely making it through the strong cover the clouds have provided. Stars, he thinks, and reaches up his empty hand to touch them. His fingers close over nothing. The stars are beautiful, yet almost...

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“The Memories We Hold Onto” by Kai Easterbrook

Submitted to Contest #50

Louisa stands at the bottom of an old oak tree, looking up into the sky. Shadows are decorated across her face -- both that of dark silhouettes of branches and the shadows of memories from. She is standing at the place she spent most of her life. When Louisa was eight, her father built her a treehouse. Back then, it was her castle. A lovely little box made of cedar and nails, decorated with all sorts of things, all which hold nostalgic value. The more she looks, the more Louisa sees. She notices a grey feather, the very same that spa...

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Author bio

I am exhausted like 99% of the time. Let me live.