Natalie Brundle

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Apr, 2021

Stories (4)

4 Stories

80 karma pts

?

“A Magenta House” by Natalie Brundle

Submitted to Contest #95

Content warning: DeathIcarus – he with wings of wax and feathers, who flew too close to the sun, and came crashing down.My boy is wild.He is creative and hasty and brilliant. He has hands of sandpaper, rough and calloused from his years spent amongst the trees. He would swing from tendril branches, and I would hold my breath, enraptured as he landed with the ease of the squirrels beside him. There was little he did not attempt to climb as a child, nothing he believed he could not best. Our white stairwell quickly became pasted in chocol...

0 comments 0
Read story

“Wipe it away” by Natalie Brundle

Submitted to Contest #93

Excerpts from the journal of Ronald McFarthing.~ May 13th 2021The mess was rather a lot more than I expected it to be. More so than any other party I’d been to, which had recently been quite a lot. Shelly did not appear too pleased about it all. She kept pacing the length of her long kitchen, running her hands through her hair and muttering about how she was never going to be able to clean it up.“I’ll help you.” I had told her. She had glared at me. Shelly has a wicked glare. She has these big, almond-shaped ocean eyes that at...

0 comments 0
Read story

“My Perpetual Sunset” by Natalie Brundle

Submitted to Contest #92

Trigger Warning: Death. The sheets below me are soft. Your hand in mine is rough. It’s dark beneath the weight of my closed eyes. It’s been dark for so long now. My eyelids are heavy as they pull open to take in your face, so close to mine that it is all I can see. I’m thankful for that, for the encompassing you that obliterates all else. The steady rhythm of the monitor has faded, the echoes of voices of others evaporated to mist.  When you speak, I feel your words roll off your tongue and tumble from your lips like smoke in air...

0 comments 0
Read story

“The Fruits of Our Labour” by Natalie Brundle

Submitted to Contest #91

The walls are charred to pitch, burnt books crumbling on the stone floor as the last tendrils of smoke crawl upwards from the curling pages and wisp away.It happened again. Pietro remembers to hide this time, setting himself behind the mahogany desk with his blindfold bound tight around his head, hands pressed against his ears. It took him a few times to get used to the sight, the blaze so wild and blinding it felt akin to barrelling towards an eclipse. The sound came next, the pop and crackle and fizz drumming in his skull, ricocheting...

0 comments 0
Read story

Author bio

She/her. London-Durham. Aspiring author, perpetual procrastinator, excitable over-achiever. I spend my days pretending to know what to do, and somewhere within those confused spaces, I write.