Laura Pamenter

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Feb, 2021

Stories (14)

14 Stories

404 karma pts

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“The Viper in the Emerald Gown” by Laura Pamenter

Submitted to Contest #254

The Viper in the Emerald Gown “So, you were sent to kill me, right?” he asked, moments after his hand caught her waist and the tips of his fingers met hers. “Is it that obvious?” She blinked at him with big brown eyes, delicately swaying to the music. Her golden hair fell over bare shoulders as the prince spun her with an outstretched arm. The satin of her dark green dress swirled and slithered around the pristine ballroom floors, snake-like. And above, the chandelier put the whole room into a dazzling haze. “Mm, deliciously so,” h...

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“Guys and Dollz” by Laura Pamenter

Submitted to Contest #250

Guys and Dollz The azure sky is fading into a dusty orange by the time the delivery van pulls up. My eyes have become so comfortable with the static scene of Mr. Monty’s empty driveway, that the glow of the yellow truck blinds me. A momentary light flare blurs my vision, and I must make myself blink three times to reset my artificial retinas. When my sight is clear again, the van has come to a halt. A large man in a black jumpsuit with obnoxiously orange sneakers jumps out, and begins unloading a crate from the back. He wheels it over the dr...

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“The Copper-Haired Girl” by Laura Pamenter

Submitted to Contest #192

My sea-green eyes marvel at the azure sky, as the sun bronzes my freckled skin. Hot and translucent blue; it is like I am standing at the core of a flame. Seagulls waft and squawk above, jousting for the product of last night’s rain; wiggling pink worms—I must remember to collect some on my way back for bait. “Do you smell that?” Burgess is leaning on the weathered signpost at the top of the steps. He tilts up his bulbous nose and takes two audible sniffs. “Fish, brine, and despair—the copper-haired girl must be here...” His scrawny-limbed ...

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“Kill Bill” by Laura Pamenter

Submitted to Contest #187

I’m jarred awake by the sound of glass shattering; the backdoor window pane, to be specific. I remember the same noise from last month, when Dummy accidentally threw a football into the house. The chatter of shards bursting onto the kitchen floor was that of a busted dam; the pressure released itself in a violent rush of backdoor hail. He got it fixed quickly, of course, to prohibit me from going outside. So, I haven’t really forgiven him. “Shhhh!” Someone says, as if hushing works retrospectively. “What the hell, Rachel, I thought you said ...

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“2 AM” by Laura Pamenter

Submitted to Contest #186

2 AM by Laura Pamenter “Hello?” “What’s up, kid?” “Don’t call me that.” “Kid?” “Yes.” “Why?” “It’s patronizing, condescending…” “…endearing?” “No. It makes me feel like a child.” “I don’t think that’s my fault.” “Fuck off.” “I was joking, chill.” “Okay……whatever.” “Oh my god; typical.” “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” “You never could take a joke, could you?” “I can take a joke… but only when they’re actually funny.” “Good one!” “Shut up.” “Two strikes! I’m almost out, haha.” “…” “Fine, it’s typical ...

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“The Plutocratic Affair” by Laura Pamenter

Submitted to Contest #184

The Plutocratic Affair By Laura Pamenter “Date of birth?” asks Tim—according to the nametag on his crimson shirt. “February 22, 2042.” “Oh! Happy birthday to you both. Are you two twins?” “Twins?” I laugh uncomfortably. My eyes wander over James’ tall athletic build, golden bronze skin, and caramel curls. In comparison to my short, curvy stature, and emerald hair, James looks like a Greek goddess. “Not twins, just friends since birth,” James says. “Our mothers shared a hospital room.” I nod along. James and I used to tell people we w...

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“Getaway Car” by Laura Pamenter

Submitted to Contest #158

Getaway Car Unfortunately, love makes you do crazy things. Those were the words in the back of my head that day. “We’d be kinda like Bonnie and Clyde,” Marcus said, shaking my arms. He wiggled them so they jiggled like worms, and I shrugged and sighed. “I don’t know,” I groaned, leaning on the steering wheel. “Well maybe you don’t have a goddamn choice Jesse, jeez!” He slammed his fists onto the dashboard. I shuttered. “Sorry baby,” he gruffed. I froze. “Just please, please won’t you fucking just do it… for me?” I shook my head violent...

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“The Shivering Skeleton” by Laura Pamenter

Submitted to Contest #137

The Shivering Skeleton “So, how are you today, Stephen?” “I’m alright.” My voice is as stiff as my posture. I sit upright in the wine-red velvet chair, careful not to wrinkle my freshly pressed suit. “You Von Walshes are always impeccably dressed,” she used to say, poking fun at me. She was always dressed in modern attire, silly things like flared jeans and washed-out t-shirts with faded pictures of tongues sticking out and skulls and fire. I hated how the youth of that decade dressed; unrefined and overtly nonchalant. But somehow, she mad...

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“The Milky Bar” by Laura Pamenter

Submitted to Contest #133

The Milky Bar “Huh, I just realized it’s February fourteenth,” he said, looking down at his phone. “So?” she asked.  “Happy Valentine’s Day!” He lifted his paper cup towards her to cheer, but she looked back blankly. “It’s an old commercial holiday from my home planet. It’s a celebration of romance.” “Oh.” She smiled, nervously. “Where is that?”   “Terre. It’s actually in this solar system.” “That explains your odd physique,” she teased.  He smiled, then, revealing perfectly straight teeth. “I hope you don’t find it too...

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“The Children of Nine” by Laura Pamenter

Submitted to Contest #131

The Children of Nine Thick curtains weighed heavily against the high windows of the drawing-room. They narrowed the tunnel of light to a sliver between burgundy velvet. I had never been in the mayor’s house before, but this is exactly how I’d imagined it, dark and grand with an air of mystery, like the lair of a rich villain. All the houses on Nine street looked like they had been through a washing machine on a quick spin cycle. They were rotting, falling apart like decaying corpses. All of them, except for this grand estate, which sat ne...

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“Oh, Leane” by Laura Pamenter

Submitted to Contest #128

Oh, Leane The ceiling lamp flickered like a cliché horror film, casting an eerie light of uncertainty across the small kitchen. The walls were lined with shelves of pots and containers with suctioned lids, overflowing with lavender, mint, and ground tea leaves. Above is where my teacups neatly hung on hooks, on display like tiny trophies. Having collected them since I was about ten years old, the cups had earned a certain sentimental value that caused my heart to ache at the thought of losing them. Of all the cups, I had one favourite. On...

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“Mother Nature” by Laura Pamenter

Submitted to Contest #126

*TW MISCARRIAGE* Mother Nature By Laura Pamenter I caught Andrew watching me from the kitchen window. His eyes tracked down to the pile of china plates drowning in the bubbly sink when our eyes met, terrified, as he often was now, to face me. I suppose it was my bark—hoarse like a heavy smoker—that always trailed after he said anything to me. ‘How are you feeling?’ ‘Fine,’ I’d snap. ‘Do you want to eat something?’ ‘No.’ I was aware of how bitter I’d become, turning cold like the season, crisp like the fallen leaves, and chilling like the...

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“1-800-Spiritual-Specialists” by Laura Pamenter

⭐️ Shortlisted for Contest #117

1-800-Spiritual-Specialists Laura Pamenter There is no weather in the phantom realm. Just a gust of wind of every time a new ghost transports to our world, leaving behind their first home.  The banshee-like howl of the wind woke me today. It tore through my bedroom window like a hurricane, sharp and ferocious. They say sleep isn’t necessary for us anymore, but I still like to keep my schedule intact. What else is there to do for the hours between my work shifts, other than stare out my window into an...

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“The "M" in FOMO stands for Mars” by Laura Pamenter

⭐️ Shortlisted for Contest #115

The “M” in FOMO stands for Mars By Laura Pamenter I roll over in my cot and look out my oval window to the dusty red horizon. My bedsheets are rough on my bare arms, as they’re made from scratchy canvas, locally grown on our cotton-field where I earn my barely liveable salary.            “Be a part of the new world!” they said. “Be the future!”            This doesn’t feel like the future; creaky wooden beds, cloth tunics, and cha...

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Author bio

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Shortlisted 2 stories ⭐️

Contest #117
1-800-Spiritual-Specialists – read story
Contest #115
The "M" in FOMO stands for Mars – read story