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A weekly short story contest
Author on Reedsy Prompts since Mar, 2024
Submitted to Contest #272
I came to, stood on a beach. A man jogged towards me. "Where am I—?" He ran right through me. It was the strangest sensation, something cold yanking my insides. I patted myself down. Solid. There was blood on my collar. I brought my fingers to my neck; two pinpricks, just to the right of my throat. It all came back. Breaking into the decadent mansion, creeping into the candlelit room, walls adorned with golden-framed portraits. The burgundy coffin, the sleeping form within, arms crossed over a chest that rose and fell. Bringing down my woode...
Submitted to Contest #271
I saw him for the first time in twenty years during my last real date with Laurent, in Café Ambré. I stood, turned for my coat, and bumped into the man walking by. "Sorry," we said in unison, and our eyes locked. His were orange. He was already disappearing amongst the crowd. Laurent was calling my name. I ignored him, manoeuvered my way toward the stranger, reached out, grabbed his arm. He stopped, allowed me to turn him around. I knew those eyes. "Have we met before?" He smiled, slow and warm. My heart stopped. Fangs, grazing his lower lip...
Dear Diary, It all started in a crowded lift in the Empire State Building. I was on the way to the observation deck when a scuffed black loafer wedged itself between the lift doors. They jerked open to reveal a woman in a long, grey coat, her fingers clutched around the tattered handle of a brown briefcase. She squeezed in next to me, then gingerly slipped her arm through the gap between my body and the wall to press the button for floor sixty-six. The arm of her coat brushed against mine each time she glanced at her watch, something she did...
If I've done the math right, I've got a nineteen-in-ninety chance of being shoved in a closet, and a one-in-forty-five chance of being shoved in a closet with Lauren. Those are good odds. Alice, the host, holds up a top hat, reaching in to pull out a slip of paper. "Lauren!" Lauren's face pales. Alice reaches back into the hat. One-in-nine chance. Not as good. "Aaaand, Camille!" Fuck statistics. I'm about to throw up as the other players pull me to my feet, my protests falling on deaf ears as they open the door, shoving Lauren through first,...
"Past Cassiopeia..." Floriel zipped through the constellation. "Left at Andromeda, then keep flying straight— aha!" The Milky Way, a swirling speck growing larger as Floriel flapped her wings with a new sense of urgency. "ASTERIEL!" Floriel had searched all of Heaven, Asteriel's room, the roof of the armoury… Asteriel was nowhere to be found. There was only one place left to check. Floriel ducked into the Milky Way. "Keep flying till you find Alpha Centauri…" she muttered, remembering Asteriel's directions from 500 years ago, when she'd take...
Submitted to Contest #244
"Mabel, honey, come look at this." Mabel tossed aside an empty cardboard box, joining Celia on their brand new, second-hand couch. "What is it?" "I don't remember taking this one." Celia passed her a photograph from the previous day's moving in photoshoot that she'd insisted upon to test out her new film camera. The photo was blurry, like the camera had been shaking violently. "Maybe it took this when you knocked it off the counter?" "Yeah, but… look at this." Celia pointed to something at the top right-hand corner. Mabel brought it close to...
Submitted to Contest #243
The worst part about being built to last, is lasting when nothing else does. Through floods, droughts, and fires, reigns, conquests, and revolutions. Nothing remains, not the roses bordering my walls, nor the vines anchored to my stone. They wither and decay, giving way to quivering buds and tendrils to reign over the arches and notches that were once home to their ancestors. This is also a habit of the occupants within my walls. For a precious few decades, they call me home, then they grey and wither, leaving me to the fresher-faced, who gr...
Agent Regina Fell's temples throbbed as she opened her eyes, her lids so heavy she nearly gave up halfway. It was only when her vision stopped swimming that she noticed the ache in her shoulders and the burn in her wrists. "I don't believe this." "Good. You're awake." The blurry form of Agent Sasha Campbell stopped pacing to take a step closer. "What was that, chloroform? Classy." Sasha's voice was strained. "I'm doing you a favour." "You call breaking in, knocking me out, and cuffing me to a water pipe in my own home a favour?" Sasha crouch...
A breeze picked up in the heart of Mayfair. Powering through Berkeley Square, Alayna gripped the handle of her tartan umbrella so tight her knuckles turned white. It was her favourite; she was not about to lose it to the elements. But the breeze had shifted gears, turning decidedly into a rather strong wind. Fat raindrops pelted onto the umbrella, splashes of which buffeted straight into Alayna's face. She flinched, and as if on cue, the wind transformed into a gale, and THWAP! For a breathless moment, Alayna struggled with her upturned umbr...
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