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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Oct, 2020
Submitted to Contest #280
“I am looking for an exorcist,” Martha says to her friend Sandra, when they’re having their nightly phone call. “What?” “Someone who exorcises demons out of a human, you know? There was a book, popular as hell. Remember?” “I do. I do remember the book, and a movie, too,” Sandra says. “I am not sure though if they still do it.” “Why not?” “I guess, the demand is low,” Sandra suggests in a mild, comforting tone. “I haven’t heard of anyone who would need an exorcist.” Martha sighs: “But I do.” She twists the telephone wire around her finger. “...
Submitted to Contest #274
It came with the end of the winter, with the second, and last, peak of the nasty flu that kept me in bed for three straight weeks and, as puny as I was before the illness, I became translucent. My mother later said that the texture and color of my face resembled the chicken broth that I was fed.The second, and last, fever peak came hard on me. It was one of those events when the walls started to move, tilt and dance. When the ornament on the wallpaper turned into a gigantic hole that wanted to suck you in. Then, there is this mome...
Submitted to Contest #267
'Anything can happen now!' my aunt shouts on the phone, and her voice sounds hollow, distant.Well, she is distant from me. She lives far away, in the middle of the huge country. I don't know where she exactly lives, to say the truth, – we hardly met, maybe a couple of times at the family gatherings, in the deep past.Since recently she has kept calling me. She says she must take care of me. Even if from a distance. She and I are the only members of our extended family who remain alive.'Anything can happen these days!' she keeps yelling at me....
Submitted to Contest #177
“If you don't get dressed immediately, we will be late,” she says. “Dress, please. Take your top.” He is not listening, he is still wearing his pajamas. He is all over the house, because that is what he does when it's about time to leave. He is driving two cars, and he also is writing a letter. “With a red pen,” he says. “A letter to you!” She is supposed to feel touched, but she doesn't. Mornings used to be slow and enjoyable. Now she regularly locks herself in a bathroom and sits there on the floor. “Put on your clothes,” she says lou...
Submitted to Contest #118
Metamorphosis, Again It all happened because of that lunch when she ate pork. She knew she shouldn't have eaten that pork. She was a person with plans and intentions. She knew what in her life followed what. She thought she had a picture of her future in mind. She cared about her career and her private life in equal proportions. Both things were more or less under control. She slept enough, she traveled, she took care of her appearance. She was aware of what she was eating, too. Usually she was. And that pork was delicious, and the co...
Submitted to Contest #99
Don't Call It A Night I originate from St. Petersburg, the city where daylight and darkness chase each other in an eternal battle. When darkness takes the lead, people get gloomy November without any sunlight or hope for it. When the light breaks through and, eventually, replaces the night, this happens to be the season of the white nights. A short and therefore even more precious northern summer. This is a purely geographical event. I mean, St. Petersburg doesn't even have the whitest white nights. People who live near or above the Arctic...
The Summer Has Just Begun We stopped the car – Dad said there was something he had to look at through the binoculars. He looked at something that I couldn’t see without binoculars, and said: “Nah, we can’t swim there.” Then he restarted the engine – I was thrown back a little bit – and Mom said: “Hold on!” We drove further. This was a field of rye (Mom said it was a rye), dry-yellow on the edges, cocoa-milk in the middle, and simple green in the background. After the rye field we passed a sunflower field, and then Mom said: “We’ll stop ...
Submitted to Contest #79
Did She Say Yes? “So, you say she was surprised?” Albert asks Stephen. Albert sips wine and spills wine—someone's kid, not his, is crawling under his chair and accidentally hurts his head. “I am sorry,” Albert says to the mother, who is right there, ready to comfort and attack at the same time. “I didn't do anything.” The lady, without a word, takes the kid away. “Fathers are not welcome here,” Albert says. Then Albert looks around to make sure that his son, his Peter, is safely playing in the corner by the toy kitchen. Albert a...
Submitted to Contest #69
One Father, One Son It was late spring in the city – one of those days, when both sunshine and light rain are received with joy and, let’s say, with hope. It was an early afternoon – lunchtime in downtown: hugs and handshakes, half-buttoned shirts, a sip of lemonade from the decanter. Chair legs squeaking, silverware clattering, the humming of talk. Lunch specials on the table, pages rustling – people devouring pastas, meats, and soups so intently, as if the meal were altogether a detective novel. Lunchtime was booked for the dates that w...
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