🎉 Our next novel writing master class starts in –! Claim your spot →
Advice, insights and news
Free 10-day publishing courses
Free publishing webinars
Free EPUB & PDF typesetting tool
Launch your book in style
Assemble a team of pros
A weekly short story contest
Author on Reedsy Prompts since Apr, 2022
The short end of the stick pointed out at me, waving innocently, as if I hadn’t rammed it through my paper cup just moments before. My coffee was going cold. I looked up and down the street. No one had seen my outburst - and if they had, no one had said anything. Typical. Everyone wrapped up in their own worlds. Who cared for my little world, a world that had just had the largest dent ripped from it? No one if not me. I grunted. Tipped the cold dregs onto the floor and flung my cup at the rubbish bin, but it clatter...
The shopkeeper examines the handful of flowers that I carefully place on the counter. “The usual?” he says, with a smile. Roses, lilies, daisies. I saw her at the corner of a bar, brightly dressed in a white dress and a pink hat, looking down at the floor. “What’s your name?” I slid my arm onto the counter, but the surface was slick with spilt drinks and I slipped forwar...
Running. Running. Running. Stop! Pounce! "Rory!" The dog snapped its head round to hail its owner, struggling five steps behind. Dave stumbled to keep up with his wayward hound, one he'd rescued years ago from ex-police service. Rory loved sniffing and chasing smells just as much as any other dog, but it was different when he found a few p...
-I'm proud to say that I and my family, like all the British people for all the generations since we lost the second world war and were made to realise the folly of inequality and oppression in any form, are a proud part of the working class. Because it turns out, actually doing humble, generous work for other people and each other is what makes a people classy. We once had a reason to call ourselves great and united, an...
Cold. The world around me comes into focus, into being, and I can see dark shapes moving. My face - yes, that’s what it is, a face - I can feel my own face, pressed very hard against cool surfaces all around. But the surface is getting warmer. Warmer. It’s like I’m looking through fogged up glass in the morning. But actually, you never see that happen anymore. Since I’ve grown up, they’ve found ways to keep glass transparent whatever the weather. Or they just change the weather entirely, if it...
It had been more than a month since Otto had last used remote controlled explosives to break into a building and he’d forgotten how bright the blast was. Bright, but nearly silent, with glass and debris drawn into the explosion without a sound. The wonders of new technology. Otto led the way in, ducking through his newly made entrance hole. His colleague, Kessie, followed behind, a hand on her rifle. Some of the colleagues he had since removed judged it strange that they still carried 21st century guns, antiques of ...
Ness Turner has not written a bio yet!
Oops, you need an account for that!
Log in with your social account:
Or enter your email: