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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Oct, 2022
Submitted to Contest #179
"Jesus Christ!" She seethed between fast ragged breaths. She ran as fast as she could down the busy street with minutes to spare. And, of course, it would be freaking raining, she thought as she ignored the pinching pain in her feet and continued to run in heels. If she had any sense of modesty, she would be holding her dress down instead of flashing all of SoHo her lace-covered ass, even if it was just a blur to onlookers."If I had any modesty… I wouldn't be running down the street… in my tiniest black dress…in heels…to a complete...
Submitted to Contest #178
**Trigger Warning - This story has themes that involve kidnapping, murder, and child death** “I can’t wait to meet her!” Jane said to her son with genuine excitement in her voice. She wasn’t one of those moms who thought no one was good enough for her son. In fact, she had prepared him his whole life to trust his gut in everything he did so that when he brought someone into the family, no questions or fears popped up. “Me too! I think she is too. A little nervous, of course.” Brian looked at his mom as they rolled the homemade past...
Submitted to Contest #174
She was going to throw up. She was going to stand on the corner between 42nd St and 5th Ave and spew the contents of her stomach into one of the green garbage cans on the corner in the middle of New York City. She'd be that crazy person that would make tourists look at each other with a smirk, shake their heads, and say, 'Only in New York.' They'd laugh and walk off as she puked her breakfast and held her hair back. She leaned against the stoplight next to the garbage, shaky and sweaty. She knew this meeting was necessary, but s...
Submitted to Contest #172
Her wicked eyes brimmed with angry tears as she put the final nail into the door, sealing it shut. The entrance of her home. Or at least what she called home for the last blissful two years. She was tired of running. Tired of creating another version of herself. Or at least a version of herself she wouldn't be able to touch for two hundred years or so. She usually had fifteen to twenty before people started staring at her too long. Holding their children a little tighter as she walked by. Something happened this time, She though...
Submitted to Contest #171
It was just a breakup, another mediocre relationship that had ended. It had nothing to do with her, her worth, or even his. It just wasn't the right fit. She knew that. Then why the fuck am I so damn pissed? She thought to herself as she stuffed all her hiking gear into her backpack. Whenever she went through a breakup, she did the same thing; she grabbed her things, a memento of the relationship, and went on a hike to bury it along with her feelings. She knew her therapist would read into this little ritual. She should work t...
Submitted to Contest #170
"Now," said the bright and cheery realtor, with her helmet of blonde hair and lavender pastel skirt suit, "This house has been on the market for some time, but don't let that discourage you." She said, smiling back at the pretty but ordinary woman in her late forties with her perfectly straight and whitened smile. "The family who owned this house were never sure they were ready to sell." Unlocking the lock with a flick, she opened the creaky front door peeling with white paint. Following the click of high heels and wading through the fog o...
Submitted to Contest #169
Feeling wildly pleased with herself, Sara walked back to her apartment from the flea market, prize in hand. On a crisp Saturday morning, she had no idea her coffee walk would lead her to this little market. Well, it was more like a few tables on the side of the street where the Sunday Farmer's market typically was. But still! It was New York City, and a sale was a sale! With an overly sweetened pumpkin spiced latte in her hand, her first of the season, she glanced at the painting on the sidewalk. She was instantly mesmerized by...
Submitted to Contest #168
For what felt like the hundredth time, she battered her hands on the door to the platform. Repeatedly, she heard the sound of an oncoming train but never saw one arrive. Nor had she seen a single passenger, conductor, or anyone at the ticket counter. Had it been hours? A day? The light never seemed to change outside of the train station. She didn’t even remember how she got there. All she could remember was riding her bike back from Mike’s after another mediocre date of pizza, wine, and a rerun of The Office, followed by underwhelm...
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