Logan Cross

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jul, 2022

Stories (4)

4 Stories

65 karma pts

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“Delaying the Storm ” by Logan Cross

Submitted to Contest #288

Lightning cracks across the midnight sky, illuminating Oliver’s profile against the window. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” he says, his voice so low it disappears against the din of the falling rain. “I don’t need you to say anything,” Nicola replies, sliding the thick, manila envelope to his side of the glass table. “I just need you to sign the papers.” The lights had gone out just a few minutes after the storm had started that afternoon, drowning their quaint, Upper West Side apartment in complete darkness. Once the cand...

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“REMEMBER” by Logan Cross

Submitted to Contest #286

Before she leaves for work, she remembers what she forgot–keys, jacket, the sound of exploding metal. The keys, underneath the unfolded pile of laundry; the jacket, hanging off the bathroom door; but it was the slam of the screen door that brought her back to the day they dunked themselves into the lake, the water cold despite the firestorm that surrounded them. When cheap steel jams against a door frame, apparently, it sounds like an exploding Honda Civic. The walk to her car is short, but the ringing is loud. The sidewalk that separa...

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“Soft Words, Hard Feelings ” by Logan Cross

Submitted to Contest #280

It was the way he sat down that tipped me off. Harry usually sat down with a flop. With his long limbs and his puppy-like curly blond hair, he landed in even the most proper environments with a full-bodied bounce. Every surface he came in contact with was made of clouds. But not this time. This time, Harry lowered himself onto my cheap, Ikea couch with a hesitance I’d never seen before, like a kid being sent to the principal’s office. Except the kid in question was thirty-two and sold insurance for a living. He flinched whe...

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“The Emissary” by Logan Cross

Submitted to Contest #250

SENSTIVE CONTENT: Stalking, Mental Illness It wasn’t her fault. The girl didn’t mean anything by it, really; she was just the messenger. “I swear on my life,” the girl chattered to her friends at the table. “She ran off with that newscaster, the tall one. With the teeth. The sexy one.” She didn’t realize that I was listening, or even who I was at all. She wasn’t even cognizant of the fact that her message was the nail in the coffin, a coffin I once thought had been a lifeboat. I stood and headed for the hallway the gi...

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Author bio

Logan Cross is a writer and dancer based in Los Angeles, California. She/her. Published in Welcome to Pluto's Zine, Lithium Magazine, Adolescent Content.