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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jun, 2024
Submitted to Contest #282
Ebeneezer spent every morning kicked back on the wood bench just outside the Tree House Café. He’d sit, cross his legs, smoke and watch people. And though his name was long and famous, we all called him Nee. Nee would light one Pall Mall with the next. His white beard was yellowed from the habit. His black scarf, wrapped tight at his neck, hid the scar on his throat, a lesson about smoking that he failed miserably to learn. His fingernails, always dirty, wore the day’s gardening tasks deep into their cracks. His muck boots flaked clay-like s...
Submitted to Contest #280
Jalen’s shoes are too tight. I can see his little toe pushing hard against the front of them as his legs dangle from the padded medical table. “Does that hurt?” I ask, pointing at the strained plastic. “Sometimes,” he whispers. “You know…sometimes we Mommies make our kids take our shoes off at the door and don’t see that your little piggies have grown. Does your Mommy know? I mean, have you told her?” I ask, as I put the Band-Aid on the cut on his arm. “Yeah. Momma said to ask Grandma for new ones, but I haven’t seen her in a while,” he s...
Submitted to Contest #279
Day 30The power went out on day 15. Laurel knew it was coming. It was the reason she had not left her father’s farmhouse. It had resources she would need to survive: The garden, the stove, the well, and the storage capacity for canned goods and necessities – all vital to her. Thirty days ago, she had woken in the living room to find Papa missing from his hospice bed. The cotton bedding held only the memory of her father’s fragile tiny frame. The house was empty. He had vanished. Her phone calls all went nowhere. Texts all returned as “und...
Submitted to Contest #277
It is not that I needed her voice. I have my own. Yes, hers might be brighter and full of hope, but mine tells my story. It is gruff, I’ll give you that, but that is because the sides of my voice box are torn, ripped from me clawing my way through the terror and grief of a thousand dark and lonely nights. Oh? Suddenly interested, are we? Well, I shall tell you everything, but… perhaps should I ask for a small fee? It is only fair. ***** Father Poseidon was particularly hard to live with. His father, Grandfather Cronus, set about putting hi...
Submitted to Contest #275
This wasn’t how I had planned on spending my day. I had a rather full schedule, but…sometimes fate takes your day and twists it. The extension cord that is your life, the one you so carefully roll and put away, somehow, always seems to be in knots each time you need it. The little critter had hopped in front of my car as I was leaving the house of my last grocery delivery. Lady Agnus had ordered her usual; Marie Calendar meals, cheese and whiskey. She certainly wasn’t the picture of health, but no one could argue that it seemed to be worki...
Submitted to Contest #274
The mudslide came down the river, crept over its edges and stretched its arms like octopus tendrils out into the neighborhoods. Singular streams, rolling mercury, traced the cracks in the center of the road, filling them with its precious collected items along the way. A vile of medication in a pothole, a contact lens case snuggled into the yellow reflector – Ode to the champions of sight! The orange construction cone upside down in the ditch – a mud ice cream cone for those who liked to press the sweet chocolate treat down with their tongue...
Submitted to Contest #270
((Content Warning: Death of a Child)) There is the ghost of an eight-year-old girl who lives in my attic. Not everyone who is haunted knows who haunts them and why. But I do. Dear reader - let me tell you. I know. And she is most certainly upset with me. My ghost has blond ponytails and wears a pink Hello Kitty shirt. She has little jean shorts that go up to her bellybutton. Her fingernail polish is neon colored and chipping away, and her skinny, broken matchstick legs – toes pointing in different directions – are period punctuated with ...
Submitted to Contest #269
New York TimesNEW YORK SUNDAY AUGUST 21, 2011A violin valued at over 3 million dollars was turned in to the authorities this week. The instrument, the Davidov-Stradivarius, was stolen 16 years ago from the home of Erica Morini. The authorities have never had any leads. 1926The music from her violin flittered from the stage like twinkling pink sunset light off a rippling pond. Tiny glossy notes followed each other from instrument to ear. I hadn’t planned to go to the symphony t...
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