Marie White

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jul, 2022

Stories (38)

38 Stories

632 karma pts

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“Jailbreak” by Marie White

Submitted to Contest #163

          Shattering the awkward silence, the front door opened, and, seconds later, Graydon burst in with a face as pale as unbuttered popcorn. It told her that the source of the awkwardness—Alexandria’s punishment for having failed her last three social studies tests—would soon seem as insignificant as a single hair plucked from a full head. Graydon fulfilled those expectations, saying, “Nelson’s out.”            It hit her like a cemen...

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“The Chore at Home” by Marie White

Submitted to Contest #162

          Landon studied the restaurant menu, its photos of golden French fries and honey-roasted chicken and tres leches cake failing to whet his appetite. Around him, patrons munched, leaning over wagon wheel-sized glass tables and chattering in a way that made it obvious that they had much less on their minds than he and Arianna. She’d said only that she wanted to talk about Joshuah, but he could tell by the way her eyes flashed that this would involve her telling him something he didn’t w...

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“Last Meal” by Marie White

Submitted to Contest #162

        His favorite foods—roasted chicken, corn, mashed potatoes with gravy, and a chocolate milkshake—sit on a plastic tray on the scratched plywood table before him, but he knows he can’t enjoy them, or anything, for that matter, with the scythe dangling over his head. They’ve referred to this as his “last meal,” although he really considers his “last meal” the homemade pasta and garlic bread Erica served him before the argument, before his life turned into a nightmare. He didn’t kill her. The noti...

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“Looking for Trauma” by Marie White

Submitted to Contest #161

       As they sat on his stiff suede couch, a Survivor rerun he’d never intended to watch droning on his sixty-inch plasma screen TV, Anthony tried to slide an arm around her shoulders, but she flinched away—an act, by now, all too familiar to both of them. It reared its ugly head whenever he tried to do this, or embrace her, or kiss her, or put a hand on hers or caress her cheek or slide a palm up her thigh. She didn’t want to react this way—in fact, she’d tried very hard not to and felt horrible for show...

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“The Royal” by Marie White

Submitted to Contest #161

          I brace myself as we pull up to the banquet hall, a white stucco monstrosity flaunting French windows echoed by excessive arches. As expected, a crowd packs the sidewalk before it: reporters readying microphones and cameramen hoisting their equipment on their shoulders; photographers, bulky cameras clicking and flashing (they can’t see us through our limousine’s tinted windows, but, apparently, they see a public demand for pictures of the vehicle); others here simply because idolize...

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“Tea and Breakups” by Marie White

Submitted to Contest #160

        The rose-printed, gold-edged china tea kettle on which she’d blown a month’s salary whistled, and he jumped nearly to the ceiling. Had she seen it, she would’ve seized the opportunity to add some snide remark or other to her already-massive repertoire. Fortunately, however, she was in the kitchen, preparing for the tea that would end all teas.            Perhaps, he thought for what seemed the millionth time, this would prove a mistake. He ...

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“Sin and Drought” by Marie White

Submitted to Contest #160

           She slammed the electric bill onto the maple table. Missing a leg but too expensive to replace and, therefore, propped up by dog-eared paperbacks, it wobbled. Arden stopped fiddling with his glucose meter to turn toward her and scowl. She sighed. “We can’t let this keep going on.”            “What do you want me to do? I can’t make it rain.”            If only he, or a...

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“The Missing Funds” by Marie White

Submitted to Contest #159

He glared at the ATM as he would have one who’d suggested a hike in Death Valley. That couldn’t be right; the account had had five thousand dollars more a few days ago. Money didn’t just disappear.            He’d get to the bottom of this. Not caring that it would catch the attention of the couple in tank tops and cutoffs milling around, eyeing shelves full of Butterfingers and Milky Ways and Snickers and Reese’s peanut butter cups, and the spindly teen at the register who looked as if ...

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“A Crushing Profit” by Marie White

Submitted to Contest #159

        Watching Farrah’s glossy burgundy talons curl around the handle of the china cup holding her low-fat latte, Bridgette felt as if making a deal with the devil. Around them, patrons clad in designer duds lounged at chandelier-sized marble-topped tables, chatting and sipping, oblivious. In other circumstances, Bridgette would’ve enjoyed the chance to immerse herself in a world not at all like her own (“Of course I’ll be footing the bill,” Farrah had said on the phone. “I know you can’t afford to d...

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“An Unfair Move” by Marie White

Submitted to Contest #158

She lingered by the ice cream, not planning to buy anything other than the Klondike Bars for Mike that she’d already placed in her cart, but desperate not to go home. The whining glass and stainless steel freezers offered Chipwiches; cones drizzled in fudge and sprinkled with peanuts; sundae cups, strawberry stripes like wheel spokes on vanilla bean; Neapolitan sandwiches. Appetizing, in the best of times, or when a boyfriend dumped you, or when you’d fought with a friend, but, apparently, not when the weight of a life-changing decision squa...

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“One Angry Man” by Marie White

Submitted to Contest #158

As he pulled up to Juliette’s house, he mentally reviewed the techniques his instructor, a tall, spindly woman with inch-thick reading glasses and cotton candy hair who’d probably never struggled with the problem she tried to teach clients how to solve, had suggested. Breathe deeply. Tell yourself a calming message, over and over. Go to your “happy place.” At the time, he’d felt certain that none of these would stand a chance against their opposition. When provoked, it overtook him, cranking his thermostat up to two hundred. The heat billowe...

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“The Job Search” by Marie White

Submitted to Contest #157

Nannette answered the door with a smile Kathie wanted to slap off her face. She probably had good news, but not for Kathie; it never was. Rather, Nannette would tell her that she’d gotten a raise, that she’d planned another vacation at a posh resort in the Bahamas or Hawaii, that she’d managed to snag one of the now-sold-out new iPhones, or any of the other infinite number of perks of her unearned station. Kathie would have to sit there as she gushed, simmering with a heat all too familiar, and that became more caustic each time it struck. &...

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“Car Power” by Marie White

Submitted to Contest #157

She’d never felt prouder than when the salesman handed her the keys to the most wasteful purchase of her life. She thanked him. Smile revealing teeth like sugar cubes, he told her to enjoy the ride. She would. She’d never had much interest in cars. They got one from Point A to Point B. What more did one need? She still felt this way…except in this particular case. In this case, glitz and glamour meant everything. Her heart fluttered as she stepped into the sauna August had become and across steaming blacktop to her new vehicle. An Aventuri...

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“Different Memories” by Marie White

Submitted to Contest #156

           Her stomach curled as she entered Loretta’s house. She probably should’ve made up an excuse to bow out when she’d called to invite her over; lately, they’d done nothing but argue. She always felt horrible afterward—she didn’t want to upset her sister any more than she wanted a migraine headache—but, for reasons Dannielle couldn’t fathom, Loretta just couldn’t stop broaching the subject that ignited them, and Dannielle couldn’t condone abandoning her principles, not even to kee...

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“Importance of the Unimportant” by Marie White

Submitted to Contest #156

           Opposite me at her kitchen table cluttered with mail, opened and unopened; pink pens; dog-eared romance novels; and half-spent sugar cookie-scented candles, Kailyn glares at me like I’ve murdered her firstborn child. Her face is as red as paprika, bluish veins swollen and silhouetted in fluorescence leant by the light weeping clouds fling through her window’s gossamer curtains. What point does she see in having curtains if they let so much light in? I asked her when she got th...

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Author bio

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