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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Oct, 2022
Submitted to Contest #312
Marcy wore her favorite white t-shirt on the day she decided to kill her father.The conclusion, when she reached it, felt as if it had always been inevitable, like she’d made the decision many, many months ago and her mind had only decided today that it would connect the right synapses to bring forth the conclusion into her conscious mind. She would do it today, she decided. And no one must know.She made the decision shortly after her phone buzzed during calculus class, and she saw a message from him.Take out the trash when you get home from...
Submitted to Contest #223
Carl White, a particular man, noticed his fresh cup of coffee had grown cold in the hour that had passed since he began drafting his proposal. He perused his progress with a dissatisfied sniff–dissatisfied because he found most things these days dissatisfying, from conversations with his wife to student essays to his own, precious research. Perfectionism, the quality that had once propelled him so far in life, had since devolved into a general disdain for all that did not meet his standards. And since his standards had grown increasingly hig...
Submitted to Contest #171
I’m a Time Traveler. I don’t possess any particularly exceptional abilities and I’m not sent on an extraordinary mission to an end of saving the future or achieving a greater good. I started as a Time Traveler, like many others before me, because I have money–a lot of it. Money, and a keen interest in major historical battles that I have the privilege of witnessing first-hand. I started traveling years ago, and since then, I’ve seen it all. The Battles of the Bulge, Gettysburg, Stalingrad, the Somme. I could see other events–in fact, ...
Submitted to Contest #170
John Fitzgerald, the town funeral director, was a man that was easy to miss. This is not a consequence of a forgettable countenance–in fact, most who knew him agree that upon first meeting, he was rather unusual-looking. He had a broad, fleshy forehead and frame so thin, so skeletal, that it was almost remarkable his threadbare pants remained seated upon his bony hips even with his leather belt fitted to its tightest notch. In that way, he did not look so dissimilar from the corpses he regularly embalmed. Instead, Mr. Fitzgerald was e...
Submitted to Contest #169
Father Andrew sat in a small kitchen of the empty Assumption Church rectory as he scribbled last-minute notes into the edges of that week’s homily. The morning sun crept threateningly across the table as he worked, alerting him to the impending morning mass he must preside over shortly. His arthritic, wrinkled fingers moved shakily over his notepad, the freshly-inked words bleeding together as he placed the pen down to survey his newest additions. The clack of heels behind him. A figure behind him cut a shadow across his table, ...
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