Lisa Lange

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Mar, 2020

Stories (4)

4 Stories

985 karma pts

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“The Restoration of Evie” by Lisa Lange

Submitted to Contest #235

Evie pulled a strand of hair off the sweat on her forehead and drank from the water bottle. Her legs wobbled. Her feet burned. She felt ready to collapse in the fountain. She filled her mouth with M&M’s from the bag her dad handed her. “I did it!” she said, before swallowing. “I knew you would, Kiddo.” Her dad beamed. She was thirty-two. She’d be his kiddo at thirty-five, at forty. Or maybe, it was because she was single. They were all the family they had. Evie came up yesterday to run the 5k because her dad had gotten forty pledges, b...

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“A Fixer Upper” by Lisa Lange

⭐️ Shortlisted for Contest #217

Am I a Jonah or a James Bartley, I wonder? It’s my own fault. Too much wine, some pot, an allergy tablet. I fell my way into this old Victorian–my friend Emily’s house–during our lady’s book club sleepover. I thought I was headed for the bathroom at 3 a.m., but I stepped off the widow’s walk. Emily and her family moved out. I don’t belong to anyone in this house. I shouldn’t belong to this house. But when you die in a house, it has a way of holding onto you, or rather, you let it hold onto you. You get complacent, you find your niche, you s...

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“Apples and Trees” by Lisa Lange

🏆 Winner of Contest #172

Mom works. She never picks me up from school, and two miles is too close for a bus pickup, which is fine by me because I like cutting through the woods. Especially on autumn days, when the air is cool, and the flies and mosquitos are gone, and basketball practice hasn’t begun. I like the quiet. I like the wordlessness of the walk. A pretty sugar maple dressed in vivid orange frills beckons me off the path. I stand to look at her. I sound like a weirdo, I know. A sixteen-year-old boy calling a sugar maple pretty. It was Dad that taught me to ...

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“Amelia and the Beautiful Big Red Handbag” by Lisa Lange

⭐️ Shortlisted for Contest #126

Our first encounter was on New Year’s Eve. I was picking up a few last minute good-luck foods for the evening – black-eyed peas, cornbread, pickled herring, grapes – walking from my apartment to the grocer. It was cold. That’s what I remember first when I feel the memory in my senses, when I feel the depth of the memory. I feel how cold it was, how the sharp absence of smells in the air precipitated my noticing the details.I remember I noticed the last brown leaf hanging from ...

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Author bio

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Winning 1 story 🏆

Contest #172

Apples and Trees – read story

Shortlisted 2 stories ⭐️

Contest #217

A Fixer Upper – read story

Contest #126

Amelia and the Beautiful Big Red Handbag – read story