Matt Strempel

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Sep, 2019

Stories (20)

20 Stories

537 karma pts

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“What is life, then, but a waiting game?” by Matt Strempel

Submitted to Contest #49

No sooner had Miss Hartigan turned to write the lesson on the chalkboard, than the boy dashed through the open door. He hid in the ragged hawthorn bush—prickles and all—panting, waiting, listening. The teacher continued the lesson and he knew he was free.He‘d never been in town during school hours but he’d imagined it as a veritable showground of adult activity: men and women leaning on railings, drinking and laughing, enjoying the freedom that having their kids in school afforded them. So, when he rounded the bend of the track that led from...

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“The Conscience Assignment” by Matt Strempel

Submitted to Contest #48

Jeremy sat in the vast white room lined with benches sat upon by a multitude of people with no recollection of how he came to be there. As he observed his surroundings and the individuals within it, he was uncertain of whether or not he was dreaming or perhaps at a casting call for national stereotypes.While phosphorus-bright lighting illuminated crisp white walls, white geometric furniture, and white flowers in glass vases, those seated within the room were of every conceivable colour and creed. A woman of Indian-appearance, wrapped in a ma...

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“We Are Exercising an Abundance of Caution” by Matt Strempel

Submitted to Contest #47

Phone in hand, you walk through the peak-hour pedestrian throng, reading the confession you spent the morning typing and retyping. You’ve stopped yourself sending it three times so far–once at the last second for using the wrong ‘past’, and the other two times because you’re petrified of the repercussions. Dams breaking, avalanches, an atomic bomb whistling as it plummets to earth—these are the scenes playing before your addled brain.You have no appetite but have ingested three strong coffees. The effect is one of agitation built on a gelati...

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“The P-Word” by Matt Strempel

Submitted to Contest #46

Though it wounded him to have his work considered unoriginal in any way, Martin tried to take the comparisons to another writer as a compliment. That was at the start of his book tour. By the middle of it, venues were cancelling appearances and the tour was cut short in disgrace.‘Derivative,’ the first online magazine review said.‘Derivative is being kind!’ a man commented to a swarm of ‘likes’. ‘I believe the word you’re looking for is plagiarism.’ The P-word. It churned the writer’s stomach and loosened his bowels. It was a pang of gu...

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“Barnyarn” by Matt Strempel

Submitted to Contest #41

The crowd erupts with whistles and gasps as the live band punches out a feverish, stabbing brass sting. The host strides to the centre of the stage, waving as the crowd claps to the beat.While the band continues, the unseen voiceover man announces, ‘Live from London to the world, it’s Barnyarn! The show where we can walk with the animals, talk to the animals, grunt and squeak and squawk with the animals. And here’s your host, Bob ‘Doolittle’ Daniels!’‘Thank you, everyone. Thank you,’ says Doolittle Daniels, his voice as bright as his signatu...

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“And the Roots Grow Deeper Still” by Matt Strempel

⭐️ Shortlisted for Contest #39

She is barely two feet tall but has already witnessed the destruction of her entire family. If the farmer had noticed her, she would have been torn down just like the rest of the forest. She survived the winter massacre and now stands alone, exposed, in the dank, still earth. Waiting for something. But what she can not tell. All she knows is that the hushed song of her kind as they swayed to the music of the wind is gone.Remnants of her ancestors can be seen here and there; mangled limbs of once-mighty aunts, uncles, grandparents. Older...

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“A Bud Light at the End of the Tunnel” by Matt Strempel

Submitted to Contest #38

The letter—crisp white paper with officious black text, apart from the jarring red ‘PENALTY’ on the top right corner of the page—sat in stark contrast to Chuck’s weathered, wrinkled hands.“Staring at it isn’t going to help,” said Chuck’s wife, Rosemary.Chuck humphed. Typical of cantankerous old men, Chuck Habberfield humphed a lot. Even more since the nation-wide lockdown. Now he barely uttered a word as the weeks in isolation dragged on.Before, his weekly routine had been a repetitive, yet satisfying schedule of activities. When he was...

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“The Last Haircut” by Matt Strempel

Submitted to Contest #33

I took my seat in the red leather barber’s chair and waited for the cape to be draped around my throat.For two hours I’d been standing in line with every man in the city, or so it had seemed. All of us in varying states of scruffiness, respectfully standing, chatting about what was coming while we waited for our turn at Carlos’s Cuts. Now, finally reclined in the chair, the feeling of weightlessness in my feet was euphoric. Jimmy was in today. I closed my eyes and listened to his breezy banter while he tidied a man’s head in the chair n...

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“El Gato” by Matt Strempel

Submitted to Contest #32

Three kills tonight. Three vermin neutralised. Three fewer mouths raiding our stores. It was a successful hunt by anyone’s standard but, as always, I will receive no credit for my work.I am El Burro—the donkey—because I didn’t know how to say mule in Spanish. Even though I am in Indonesia's most infamous prison, most of us are learning Spanish because of Ramos ‘Reymos’ Hernández. Reymos is a fellow inmate but he is king. ‘Rey’.That’s Spanish for king.I am El Burro, the donkey. The drug mule.Despite my proficiency, I am not el Cazador, t...

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“The Stain” by Matt Strempel

Submitted to Contest #31

The stain is a black smudge on my white pillowcase. Depending on my mood, it reminds me of a horse or a pineapple or the Green Dragon character on a mahjong tile. It’s an inkblot test I take every Wednesday night at Tumbles Laundromat on Park Street. The stain is one year, three months and fifteen days old.There’s hardly anyone here on a Wednesday. I used to come on a Sunday evening when it’s busy with a pocket full of coins, a book, and the expectancy of finding a girl or two to talk to.Back then, when I met Harriet, I was one of those...

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“Tainted Chocolate” by Matt Strempel

Submitted to Contest #29

“I’m calling the police,” Harry’s mum said on the afternoon he’d accepted chocolate from Homeless Jeff. Even for Harry’s mother, it seemed overzealous. Harry had never even heard of mums calling the police on their kids. What was the big deal about a couple of pieces of chocolate? It’s not like he’d stolen them. “Let’s not overreact,” said Harry’s dad, assuming his role of crisis de-escalator, mediator, fence-sitter. “Overreact?” Harry’s mum replied, incensed. “He’s a f–,” she hushed her voice to a volume, Harry supposed, he wasn’t intended ...

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“Say Uncle” by Matt Strempel

Submitted to Contest #28

In my mid-twenties, I dated a girl who nearly cost me my life. She came from a Filipino family that included her mum and two uncles that had stepped in when her dad left when she was little. They were fiercely protective of their niece and harboured an open resentment toward the local boys of their adopted suburb who lusted after the cute Asian girl at the Main Street café. Charlie could be confident, aggressive, impulsive, defiant, and downright manipulative but even at 22, she was still at the mercy of her mother and uncles when it came to...

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“The Small Murder” by Matt Strempel

Submitted to Contest #27

“My client wishes to enter a plea of not guilty, Your Honor,” said Brian Henry, the court-appointed attorney for Gavin Small. The lawyer unbuttoned his ill-fitting suit and sat down beside his client.“Are you sure?” replied Judge Milton.Unperturbed, Henry stood, buttoned his jacket, and said, “We are, Your Honour.” He unbuttoned his jacket and took his seat once more.The judge raised his considerable eyebrows, sighed, and announced that the state’s number one prosecutor, Carlton Lancaster may proceed.“Thank you, Your Honor,” the dashing lawy...

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“New Year’s Restitutions ” by Matt Strempel

⭐️ Shortlisted for Contest #25

She’s late but Christina remains in the Uber. Salim wishes her a happy New Year while he taps away on the phone for his next job. Christina asks if she can just stay a minute longer to hear the end of the song even though it’s the new Ed Sheeran song she can’t stand. She just needs another minute to compose herself. “I’ll give you five stars and the maximum tip if you let me sit here til this song finishes,” she says. Salim squints in frustration but, perhaps sensing her unease, replies, “No problem.” Christina can see the silhouettes of Jes...

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“Little Red Balloons” by Matt Strempel

⭐️ Shortlisted for Contest #24

I can’t put my finger on why I murdered Jerry, because I lost my fingers in an accident. Accident. That is to say, Jerry hit the go button on the waste disposal unit while I was fixing it, and it munched my right hand off at the wrist. To be fair, the robotic prosthetic is about a thousand times better than my real hand was, but it hurt like hell at the time. He maintains I said, “Hit it,” but what I said was, “Quit it.” I was always telling Jerry to quit it. He was the most infuriating guy in the entire universe, I’m telling you. I should k...

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Author bio

My debut novel, War of the Sparrows, is now available at all major online retailers, or for local purchase in Australia at my website, mattstrempel.com

Shortlisted 4 stories ⭐️

Contest #39
And the Roots Grow Deeper Still – read story
Contest #25
New Year’s Restitutions – read story
Contest #24
Little Red Balloons – read story
Contest #11
Sent to a Farm. – read story