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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Aug, 2019
Submitted to Contest #59
There are few calmer ways to start a day than by watering flowers. From their window-ledge, my carnations relish the dawn, and I fawn over them. I’ve found a simple pleasure in waking every morning to nurture a petalled piece of unassuming beauty. It’s only a little thing, a tiny part of each day, but I’ve found it to be something purely gentle. Work beckoning, though, I leave my house, here in Downtown. The cobblestone path takes me from my door, under a creeper-clad arch, and onto the pavement where the hum and scent of Mr Wick’s l...
Submitted to Contest #57
My great uncle walked this earth for ninety-five years. Well … he walked this earth for a couple of years. He sat around for the rest. And that’s my point exactly. That’s how we remember him, my siblings and I. If he’d known we’d remember him like that, maybe he’d have done things a little differently. It seems to me that no matter where you go when you clock off, memories are what you leave behind. They’re your physical legacy—your this-world immortality. They’re what linger, for better or worse—for walking or sitting, in my great uncle’s ...
Submitted to Contest #54
Benjamin killed the car engine in the middle of the motel parking lot. It was deserted.He trod the weathered tarmac toward the motel’s grey reception door but paused a moment later. He glanced back toward the car, toward the back door. His son had been standing near there the last time he saw him.A security light cast yellow into the night but only made the night’s damp haze and pathetic rain all the more hazy and pathetic. Benjamin could feel the wetness on his cheeks just as he could feel the nip of cold. Yet sniffing the fading scent of e...
Shortlisted for Contest #3 ⭐️
“And even you might be surprised just how tasty they are.” Father closes the storybook and kisses his son, Harry, on the forehead. He lingers on the edge of the bed until his son’s eyelids fall shut. Silence is the loudest sound, the moon is the brightest light, and the rhythmic rise and fall of his son’s chest are the sharpest movements. Harry slips closer and closer to slumber until a soft squeak drifts across the airwaves and tickles his ears. Not the squeak of a door or a window, nor the squeak of new shoes. The squeak of a mouse.....
Submitted to Contest #2
First, Vicar, let me take you to the flower bed because, when I first saw her, she was sitting in the garden out the back of a café, and she had a daisy in her hair—a daisy just like the ones in this flower bed. I had ordered a cup of camomile tea and a piece of carrot cake, and I was planning to work on my novel. I’d already been at it for two years, and now I had my eighth draft and my red pen ready to pick away at it some more. At around page ten, I placed the salt and pepper on top of my pile of pages, and I went to use the washroom. Whe...
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