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Mark Shoe

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Sep, 2019

Stories (7)

Comments

Library

18 Followers

3 Following

7 Stories

221 karma pts

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Broken Toes

Mark Shoe

Submitted to Contest #123

On a silent stage, she stood. She felt a trickle of sweat slither down her spine, pooling between her shoulder blades. Her posture upright, and her chin slightly elevated. Raven black hair wound tight in a taut bun. She wore a short dress with a weaved pattern of lavender silk, garnished with an ornate cobalt blue bow on her left hip. Black stockings were held in place by not only a garter belt, but tape and glue. Hundreds of hungry eyes devoured her. She needed to be perfect. In this world, only those who are perfect deserve to be something...

12 likes

Some Things Never Change

Mark Shoe

Submitted to Contest #120

“I’ll take this.” Tanner slid a worn parchment on the long counter top. A spindly bald man in a greasy apron eyed him. “That there is a bounty for a night-terror.” he trailed off. Tanner followed the man’s eyes to his dented artificial leg. Metal bones fused to his left leg’s stump. Tanner swung his cloak over it. “Never seen a cripple in your tavern before?” “Not one who could walk.” He scoffed. “Ten gold now, and the remaining ninety pieces when I bring back its head.” Tanner said. “By the prophet, I ain’t los...

32 likes

Bloody Steel

Mark Shoe

Submitted to Contest #119

More blood.“Wake up you little shit!” A fat fist pounded on Aaron’s rickety door.Aaron’s eyes sprung open, sticky with exhaustion. The first trickling of morning light leaked through threadbare curtains. Aaron had overslept again. He jolted from slumber, and scrambled for a rag of a shirt. Panicked heartbeats mixed with Mr. Hubbard’s meaty knocking. When the door finally opened, a furious swollen red face stared down a thick nose at Aaron, standing two heads above him.“I’m sorry Mr. Hubbard. I was….” Aaron felt his hair tighten in an iron gr...

38 likes

Slumbering Horror

Mark Shoe

Submitted to Contest #117

Everything was ready for the Ritual of Slumber. A stone pillar sprouted from the center of a dome circle of a room. Flickering candle light hummed a warm glow of light, but warmth was scarce. On the pillar, canal grooves spiraled into a single path which fed into a black hole. Stood around this single feature were a dozen human silhouettes with silver masks and white robes. One man wearing a golden mask stepped into the crowd. “Come, Lily.” his bellowing voice echoed. Barefoot, she stepped forward, and removed her mask. Light fli...

20 likes

Perfect Girl.

Mark Shoe

Submitted to Contest #114

My mother always told me: behind every strong man is an even stronger woman. Sarah’s alarm always went off at six am. She particularly struggled with Mondays, and this one was no exception. Dragging her feet across the carpeted floor, her memory of her home was proficient enough to navigate with her eyes closed, only opening them when she felt cold smooth tiles. Cracking her eyes open, she was greeted by a familiar mess of thick brown hair. Lovey knots bunched in several directions, courtesy of tossing and turning in bed. She set...

21 likes

A Memory Best Left Alone

Mark Shoe

Submitted to Contest #90

In the front garden of my childhood home, there grew a tall cherry blossom tree. In spring, it blossomed a deep rosy pink, and in only a few weeks, it sprinkled the lawn with light pink petals. I spent many summer days climbing it, and lying in its shade while I read. Fall and winter were occupied with holidays, and winter in particular had wires and lights intertwined about its branches, as if it were blooming in the snow. Although fickle, my memory of that cherry blossom which sat on a soft mound of dirt and wood chips in the front ga...

7 likes

The Forgotten Path

Mark Shoe

Submitted to Contest #6

When I was a boy, my mother told me how men would soar through the skies, and sail across the seas. But these unnatural acts angered god, who sought to punish man’s arrogance. He brought the seas to boil, melting men’s ships, and threw the skies into violent storms, to tear off men’s wings. Pen scratching interweaved with a crackling fire, as Elroy wrote in his leather bound journal. “What are you writing?”&nbs...

10 likes