Michael Jefferson

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Feb, 2022

Stories (140)

140 Stories

2695 karma pts

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“Kyrie Kicks Back” by Michael Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #168

“Did you bring my medication? It’s time for my pills.” “Yes, mother,” Marshall Destry answers wearily. “…As if you even know what you’re taking…” “What? Speak up. You mumble all the time these days.” Lifting her head from her cushioned seat, Rosamond Destry looks out of the window. The scenery blends into a blur as the train speeds along, its whistle blaring loudly. “Where are we?” “We’re on a train, mother. We’re going to your new home.” “Where’s Inka?” “Inka’s not your nurse anymore. You’re going to have a new one.” Rosamond’s tir...

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“We’ll Meet Again” by Michael Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #167

“You bushwhackin’ sidewinder!” Tristan Calendar shouts. He quickly surveys the grubby saloon, realizing he’s surrounded by half a dozen of Cody Dillinger’s men. “This is between you and me, not your hired shooters,” Tristan says to his foe. “Let’s settle this like gentlemen.” Dillinger reaches for his pistol. “No one’s ever accused me of bein’ one.” Tristan draws first, pointing his gun at Dillinger’s head. “All right let’s be civilized then,” Dillinger says, holding up his oversized hands. “I’m unstrappin’ my gun. You do the same, and ...

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“Hoping For a Blessing” by Michael Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #166

The silver armor of the approaching order of knights gleams with menace as they advance toward King Quentin Kaloric’s castle. Four knights detach themselves from the order, their metal shoes clanking loudly as they cross the drawbridge. Still standing at attention outside of the castle, their battle flags flying, the figures of the other hundred knights appear to fade into the moonlit night. Despite the warmth of his oversized robe, King Quentin shivers as he watches the four knights get closer, their metal shoes leaving a trail of blood...

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“Your Mouth is Cashin’ Checks Your Gun Hand Can’t Deliver” by Michael Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #165

White Oaks, New Mexico 1887 Clancy Cooper spits a long stream of tobacco juice into a nearby spittoon, cocking his eye at a dark-skinned man at the end of the bar. The man in the black suit and wide-brimmed hat glares back at the scruffy farmer with greasy, shoulder-length hair. Clancy runs his finger across his bushy mustache, nodding knowingly at the man. “I tell you, Trey, that’s him.” Hoping to avoid drawing attention to himself, Trey Akin, a baby-faced, thirty-two-year-old farmer, quickly glances at the man. “Maybe it ain’t…” “Wh...

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“The Cement Mixer” by Michael Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #164

There were thirty-foot oak trees in my hometown of Mount Kisco, manicured lawns, parks that spanned for miles, and the air smelled fresh and sweet. Where I was going to work in the Bronx, the scrawny trees were two feet high and were marginally protected by sharpened barbed wire fences. There weren’t any lawns, the parks had more broken glass than grass, and the air smelled of dog crap and urine. As Senator Carmen Marini’s communications director, I was duty-bound to spend forty hours a week in a claustrophobic, crime-ridden dump. My frie...

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“First Volk” by Michael Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #163

“It’s inoperable, Adam.” Adam Volk fights to digest the news, pushing his thick glasses up off the end of his nose. “I can make you comfortable, but that’s about it,” Dr. Karl Ambros says, his furrowed brow registering his concern. The fifty-seven-year-old doctor has been treating his close friend for the past two years. During that time, he’s watched fifty-two-year-old Adam disintegrate from a robust 220 pounds to a scant 160 and seen his friend’s dark hair turn silver from worry. Experiencing sympathy pains, Karl has developed ulcers an...

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“Angel Maker” by Michael Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #162

King Richard Rainsbury licks his lips as he scans the menu. “I think I’ll start with the oysters on the half shell with tequila mignonette.” His son, Prince Quentin Rainsbury, a younger version of his father with thick, chestnut brown hair, large, inquisitive black eyes, and a devilish grin, replies, “You always get that. I’ll have the escargot en brioche .” “I like oysters. Why change?” “Change can enlighten, father. So, I’m told.” “More liberal gobbledygook drummed into your head by the Queen.” “She’s just a mother looking out for h...

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“Come and Get Your Love” by Michael Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #161

Arvin Wurlie watches with idle curiosity as the man brooding at the end of the bar downs his third scotch in as many minutes. Arvin knows he’s a fellow warrior because Grumman’s Tavern only attracts servicemen. Grabbing his beer, the sturdy sixty-six-year-old navy veteran decides he has to know what destroyed the man. “You’re really accomplished at being a sponge, friend. Don’t you ever ease up?” The dark-haired, thirty-ish man looks up at him. The black circles under his puffy eyes and his dark stubble make him look utterly defeated. “I...

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“Butterscotch” by Michael Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #160

Mayor Ross Reddick squints behind his thick oval glasses as he reads aloud. “…We the people of the town of Exeter, Nebraska do willfully enter into this contract with Jinks Mandel…” “That’s Professor Jenkins Mandel.” “…On June 24, 1926. Professor Mandel guarantees four inches of rain within seven days for the price of ten thousand dollars.” Professor Mandel takes the pen in his hand, taking time to balance his top hat. At sixty-four, he knows his latest chosen profession is his last, and he must continue to be successful, no matter how di...

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“No Chips Without Sparkle” by Michael Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #159

Maurice “Mossy” Graves belches loudly, sitting back in his chair. The couple at the next table glances at Mossy disparagingly, then look away when they realize who he is. Tall, with hard, vulpine features, snow white hair, and unblinking ice blue eyes, Mossy intimidate others through appearance, as well as his financial clout. With a pockmarked, porky face and slits for eyes, big-bellied henchman Mario Grimaldi is uneducated and crude, but transparent and loyal. The third man at the table, handsome, dark-haired Simon “Skeeter” McSherry, is...

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“Fix it Fred” by Michael Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #158

Fred Farkas enters Captain Nigel Swift’s quarters, muttering to himself, “This isn’t fair. Why do I get all the gross and dangerous jobs?” Wall-eyed, skinny, with stringy, greasy hair, and adult acne, Fred is unimpressive and unassuming. No one even notices that he wears a hammer on his hip instead of a laser pistol. Captain Swift is speaking to his first officer, Boseman Thames. Eternally youthful looking, dark-haired, and model handsome, forty-two-year-old Captain Swift has the confident, undaunted aura of a natural-born leader. He has ...

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“Klaatu Barada Nikto” by Michael Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #157

To the casual observer, Veronica Rennie and I were opposites – she was the beauty, and I was the beast. But Veronica was one of the few women I dated in the 1980s (or any other time) who was a friend, not just a girlfriend. She said one reason she loved me was because I was the only person who could make her forget she suffered from manic depression. Veronica was a distant relative of actor Michael Rennie, who’d starred as Klaatu in the classic science fiction movie, “The Day the Earth Stood Still.” Whenever a situation went sideways, Veron...

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“Did He Jump or Was He Pushed?” by Michael Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #156

Cyril Cassidy and Tripp Killian cross themselves as Hunter “The King” Kingsley’s casket is lowered into the ground. Much like his reckless spendthrift life, baseball’s most exalted player, Kingsley, the Los Angeles Angels All-Star centerfielder, has been afforded an extravagant sendoff in death. His casket has a plush velvet interior, and the outside is made of solid bronze with “The King” written in script in 14 karat gold. Hunter’s body looks bronzed, brawny, and beautiful as if he could step out of the casket and smash the winning hit. ...

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“The Battle for Rosewood” by Michael Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #155

The good news for Hector Bestwick was he was in line to inherit Rosewood. The sad news was his father would have to die for him to get it. Rosewood was his grandparent’s cozy two-story colonial home, so called because of the prodigious rose bushes that grew on both sides of the house. His grandfather, Priam (known as Billy), had planted the rose bushes. A former shipyard welder, Billy was a little under five and a half feet tall, but he was James Cagney tough - quiet, and hard, with a talent for keeping his emotions in check.  Matti...

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“Stuck” by Michael Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #154

Edison Gates tries to remember what he does for a living, where he lives, and who he loves, but his memory is a scrambled haze. He only knows that wherever he is going is better than wherever he had been. Edison looks at himself in the rear-view mirror. North of forty, he’s hollow-eyed, his skin is blotchy, his dark hair is thinning, and his lean physique lacks muscle. “…Must have a desk job…,” he mutters. The radio blasts Golden Earring’s “Radar Love.” He steps on the gas, trying to ignore the darkening sky ahead. The first crack of th...

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