Mel Dingwall

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Aug, 2022

Stories (7)

7 Stories

175 karma pts

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“The Unseen.” by Mel Dingwall

Submitted to Contest #167

Paola’s cane danced lightly on the stairs.‘Two steps,’ her mother directed.The wood eased beneath Paola’s feet as she climbed. ‘They’re old,’ she said.‘Very.’A door squeaked open.‘Here we go. Home for the next week!’ Her mother’s voice echoed down a hallway. ‘Great!’ said Paola, a little too enthusiastically.Spending an entire week at a cottage in the middle of nowhere hadn’t sounded like fun to her, but she knew how much her mother had been looking forward to it.‘You’ll love it, kiddo.’ Her mother took her by the shoulders and gui...

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“Bad Timing.” by Mel Dingwall

Submitted to Contest #166

‘¡Lo dejo! I quit!’‘Please Rosa, you’re all I have!’ Claire begged the tornado of Latina fury as she whirled around the house gathering her things. ‘I’ll pay you double!’‘¡No!’ Rosa snatched up her bag and strode to the front door.‘I know my father can be difficult...’Rosa pointed a finger to her temple.‘¡Tu padre está loco!’With that she slammed the door behind her. Claire put her head in her hands. That was the second carer in as many months. At this rate the agency would stop sending anyone. She marched into her father’s bedroom...

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“Home Town” by Mel Dingwall

Submitted to Contest #164

A prison takes many forms.Some have bars made of steel so thick you can wrap your hand around it. Others have bars made of pointed wood, painted and stuck all in a row to make a white picket fence.As Dad’s prized ‘59 Cadillac Coupe de Ville glided into the driveway, I felt I had just gone from one to the other. We paused before getting out.’Your Ma.’ he started, searching for words. ‘She’s just…it’s been very hard on her.’I couldn’t stifle a laugh. Hard for her. Dad held up his hands.’I know, I know. No one’s had it worse than you.’‘Damn rig...

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“The Doll.” by Mel Dingwall

⭐️ Shortlisted for Contest #163

Contains a dead body, suggestions of murder and drug addiction.There was a plague of crickets the summer we found her body. They were everywhere. At the bus stop, hopping on the road, even sitting on the pump at the gas station. I remember the dead ones crunched under our sandals as we walked down to the creek.“My butt hurts.”“Then stop scratchin’ it.”“Candy, this grass won’t quit whippin’ me, it’s hurtin’ my legs.”“You didn’t have to come, Greg.”“Mom made me. Where are we goin’?“I’m goin’ to get tadpoles down at the creek.”“Why?”“For Billy....

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“Last meal.” by Mel Dingwall

Submitted to Contest #162

Trigger warning: Swearing. Descriptions of violence, death, mention of suicide and the end of the world.I hadn’t even finished my breakfast at the diner when my whole life, the whole world, changed. Sometimes I wonder if I did actually die that day and the past twelve months have been my own personal hell. Especially on days like this. When the screaming goes silent and there’s just that clicking. That incessant, aggravating clicking. I’m not gonna miss that.Man, I would give everything, every last thing I have, to relive one single moment o...

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“Wedding Speech.” by Mel Dingwall

Submitted to Contest #161

Contains some swearing and mild violence.Sarah tapped a fork against her champagne glass, toppling it over.“I’d like to say something.” She stood up, stumbled and caught herself on her mother’s shoulder. “Not now Sarah.” hissed her mother, Claire. “This is your sister’s special day.” “What? I’m…I’m great at making speeches.” Sarah slurred, adjusting the strap of her bridesmaid dress. She held up a now empty glass and looked down the head table at her sister.“I’d like to make a toast. To Fiona and Brad. What a beautiful co...

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“Tomorrow, when the rain comes.” by Mel Dingwall

Submitted to Contest #160

Trigger warning: Bush fire violence, young child in danger. By the time the fires came, their land had already suffered through three years of punishing drought. The grass turned from green to gold, cicadas sang through the longest summer ever, crops shriveled under a relentless sun, and then the sheep died. Grace had watched, pregnant and dry eyed, as their farm declined from a blithe, green paradise flecked with fat ewes and suckling lambs, to a parched wasteland capable of birthing only dry grass and thistle.  “Tomorrow, when the...

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Shortlisted 1 story ⭐️

Contest #163
The Doll. – read story