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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Feb, 2021
Submitted to Contest #119
TW: mentions of death, death scene The waves gently crashed over the jagged rocks, making that crushing, crashing sound I could no longer hear. I was a bit like a wave, I thought, slowly rising to my full height before crashing painfully on the shore. “You and me, wave,” I thought, “we’re not so different. We both give our all, only to end up destroyed. We’re both lonely. We’re both killers.” “My little philosopher,” she teased, running her slim finger down the length of my cheekbone, her dark eyes sparkling in the night. It was c...
Submitted to Contest #86
"Look, Mum. The birds are back, and the flowers are peeking just above the snow. It's spring. Everything comes alive during spring." Her wrinkled hand was cold in mine, her eyelids firmly shut, the blue veins protruding cruelly from her paper pale skin. Her chest didn't rise and fall anymore- she was silent, still, her lips blue. The only indication she was alive was the beep of the machine, piercing the cool air with cruel insistence. "We can't keep her here forever," my wife had said. "I'm sorry, darling, but forever is an awfull...
Submitted to Contest #83
She vomited up salty water as she pulled herself out of the freezing ocean and onto a rock, the sharp edges tearing at her bare skin as she gripped on with numb fingers. She took a shuddering breath, the cold air rattling through her burning lungs. The stars looked coldly down upon her, their brightness as fragile and weak as her failing body. “It’s bad luck,” the captain said. “Bad luck sailing at night with a woman on board.” She used her feet to leverage herself further onto the rock, her chest scraping painfully, causing ...
Winner of Contest #81 🏆
I open my eyes. I am readying myself for the morning. A golden cheekbone lined by the rising sun, beautiful in its simplicity. I touch it, once, her skin warm under my fingers, a reminder of how alive we are. How young we are. We are teenagers. Our hands are clumsy, too big for our skinny limbs, not sure where to go or what to think. These hands hold pens, and books, and dreams. We discuss the future in vivid colours, full of blossoming hope of what it could hold. Neither of us say it, our lips tied by the thin string of fear, but our ...
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