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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Mar, 2020
Submitted to Contest #47
Swallow Falls is a quiet, serene little island smack dab in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. You’ve always thought the island is too small for you. Your ideas are too big, too dreamy, too magnificent. There must be some other place in the world with people like you. Somewhere, laboratories that span miles long are filled with acidic tinctures and sparking machines. Somewhere, your inventions are accepted. The spray-on shoes were thick, hard as diamonds, and incredibly difficult to tear off. That was the first invention. You remembe...
The smoke billows up in black, peppery clouds of noxious stench. It’s a reminder of how bleak today is supposed to be. You don’t care. You feel like a weight has been lifted off your chest. An odd sense of relief washes over you. A father should feel guilt and regret when leaving his family. You don’t. Your small, brown suitcase is worn with overuse. Its small, black handle provides some form of comfort to your trembling hands. Being kicked out by her is the worst feeling in the world. “Marco, you horrible, useless, ...
You always make me feel like I’m the one who’s wrong. Every small annoyance with you turns into a full-blown argument. Like yesterday, when you didn’t meet me at the train station and left me there for hours, hours in the pouring rain. I felt humiliated. Ashamed that I thought you'd changed. Do you remember how you dealt with that? You told me I’ve made you wait before, and I deserved to know what it felt like. That’s not a valid reason. That’s not even close. If our relationship is simply about revenge, how can it be healthy...
Submitted to Contest #46
Names are pretty things. Mine is sharp and soft and a little hard for non-Desis to pronounce, but it’s mine. I’ve lived with it for almost two decades. I’ve hated it, cherished it, and felt indifferent about it. I always wondered. Who would I have been if I was not Neha? My father had told me I was going to be named after one of his grandmothers—either Kamal or Kusum. It had been a long-running joke between the two of us. I couldn’t imagine myself with such a… traditional Indian name. Neither could he. So whenever I questioned th...
Submitted to Contest #45
I’m going to tell you a story. And it’s not going to be pretty. It’s going to be real instead.We’re going to deconstruct every myth around black lives matter and replace them with the hard truth.Let’s start from the beginning.The police system in America was originally a slave patrol designed to capture runaway enslaved people. The institution itself is corrupt and used to target black people.And it still does. A video surfaced of a white cop pulling over a woman. She was afraid, and he said, “Don’t worry, ma’am. We only kill black peop...
Black lives matter. Black lives matter. Black lives matter. Black lives matter. Black lives matter. Black lives matter. Black lives matter. Black lives matter. Black lives matter. Black lives matter. Black lives matter. Black lives matter. Black lives matter. Black lives matter. Black lives matter. Black lives matter. Black lives matter. Black lives matter. Black lives matter. Black lives matter. Black lives matter. Black lives matter. Black lives matter. Black lives matter. Black lives matter. Black lives matter. Black lives matter. Black l...
I have names for different days. They used to come to me in dreams, wisps of words, or flashes of stories. Today is anticipation. Today is fear. Today is courage. I can’t decide on one. A fat, shining sun hangs in the deep, mysterious shades of cerulean sky. Its warmth winks and disappears, soon coming back with a dazzling Christmas-tree lights brightness. The sun is unsure of what mood it is today. Just like me. On days when I’m unsure, days like these, I close my eyes, let color wash over and into my head, and pick the first word that come...
Submitted to Contest #40
She found herself on a craggy cliff with dirt dark as ash. A lone cherry blossom tree grew its twisted and mahogany-colored trunk at the precipice. A pink tornado of petals had fallen below it in a perfect circle. The errant wind scattered them through the air, only for them to be replaced by a continuously falling stream of the blossoms. Terra made her way to the edge of the cliff and sat on the gnarled roots of the tree, their allure to beckoning to resist. There lay more cliffs down below, augmented to by running red rivers of molten...
Prologue Our friend group was always beautiful. Twisted, but beautiful. Ahmed, the serious, brooding type who could always be found with his nose in a book. Jaime, the new French intern who was eager to please everyone. Rosalia, a sweet, doe-eyed girl who modeled and had a successful career on YouTube as a beauty influencer. Leonard—whose zodiac sign was coincidentally a Leo—a software engineer who always worked late nights. Zara, a lovable medical student who was constantly telling the rest of us that Grey’s Anatomy was inaccurate to a...
Under the weeping Willow, where the moss meets the river and the stones dance in harmony, a boy sits. I’ve seen him in that spot for the past two weeks. The only reason I’m intrigued by him is because that's my spot. Everybody in the neighborhood knows that. Even the village bullies wouldn't ever dare step a foot into my little pocket of solitude. “The santre will curse you,” they say. Santre. Witch. “She’ll grind your bones into potion seasoning and gulp your blood down like summer lemonade.”I purse my lips tightly and dispel the soft, cloy...
Submitted to Contest #39
The rope chafed against Ezette’s hands as she slid down, leaving poppy-red and bone-white marks across her palms. She wasn’t holding the rough rope correctly, immersed in a particularly wonderful daydream involving lemoncream pastries and blackberry cider. The ground rushed up to meet her feet. She landed a bit sloppily, her knees buckling under her. Dark obsidian spires towered over them, holding the cavern aloft. A dim sconce sputtered to life. Ruelle’s face was surrounded by an orange glow. At the end of the cavern lay a dark mantle ...
There are two lovers in the wind: one whose hair shimmers like spun gold, and the other, whose beauty is less vibrant. The other has a more subtle type of beauty. Her skin sings with starlight promises, with a softer, more mysterious lilt than her lover. Her lover is more outgoing, more passionate. But she is more loyal. More kind. For the fiercest power lies in being gentle. The lovers leave the other for several hours. The vibrant girl smiles, saying her time away does not seem as long as it is. In fact, she enjoys her work as much as her ...
The sky was ripe with meaty, silver-speckled pinpoints of light and magic. Summer June heat flooded my roots, leaving my eight-year-old trunk sighing and whispering in warm rumbles. The grove was quiet tonight. Silence for the long-anticipated festival of the year—Dance of the Stars. The title was self-explanatory. Stars would put on a show for one night, and whoever saw it would go home blessed. Some called it superstition or a tourist attraction—most of the unbelievers being ones who’d waited for hours underneath the dusky sky, only to fal...
Submitted to Contest #38
Stella Nena was brought up in a dreamy cream cottage by the forest lake, living off elderberry juice, poinsettia jam, and eucalyptus bread. She dressed in silky soft robes of swan feathers—all given willingly, of course—and swept the soot from the fireplace while singing. The same fireplace that would squeal steaming embers when she came to the rocking chair every evening, prop her feet up on the cotton-wood cushion, and bury her face between the yellowing pages of a large tome. This was the fantasy she concocted. A pretty picture in her hea...
Submitted to Contest #37
The townspeople would call Lucia a child of the sea. Her bright, cerulean-blue eyes would shine with the promise of unrelenting waves, both powerful and magnificent. The smooth slope of her jaw looked like polished coral, innocent perfection. Her hair, silky long and raven-black grew long and abandoned, almost trailing to her calves. Those few assets alone would invite all the barely adult boys to her apartment, the small, grungy, white one, which, not surprisingly, was tucked away by the ocean. After talking with her, they’d quickly leave. ...
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