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Nichole Anderson

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Mar, 2021

Stories (7)

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11 Followers

9 Following

7 Stories

144 karma pts

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Noah's Mark

Nichole Anderson

Submitted to Contest #316

I slept in late that summer morning of 2006, not stirring until 10 a.m. But any other fifteen-year-old might consider that early. As usual, my first thought was of him. I reached for my phone that was tucked away safely under my pillow and typed: Good morning, my love. His reply was already waiting since 5 a.m.,: Good morning, love. That was Noah’s way—always up early, steady and reliable, while I drifted through lazy mornings. With my mom at work and my sister at her dad’s house I had the whole house to myself. The day felt wide open, thoug...

1 like

Study Break

Nichole Anderson

Submitted to Contest #198

I looked outside the window watching the wind blow the petals that had fallen from a tree nearby. They lifted gently and fell again as if the wind found them too heavy to carry and put them back on the ground, decorating the grass like polka dots. “Nichole”  My boyfriend woke me up from my trance with his deep voice. “Yes” I answered quickly as if I was pretending to be listening the whole time. “You know if you didn’t want to study, I know of something else that we can do to occupy our time.” He grinned, lifting his eyebrows for appr...

17 likes

Heedless Love

Nichole Anderson

Trigger Warning: Sexual Abuse TraumaI feel sick with myself now for ever having feelings for him. I think I am disgusting and abnormal. I block myself from feeling anything now. Numb is better. I don’t want the familiar feelings creeping inside so I distract myself with something that is the opposite. Something that won’t remind me of him. I avoid any music he likes…Fleetwood Mac and Tom Petty especially. I tell myself I can separate myself from him and what happened in the past. I can be a different person; I can be normal if I try.Anyone I...

3 likes

Rise Above

Nichole Anderson

Submitted to Contest #115

I stack the logs in the oven and make it real hot before I put my biscuits in. Mama says if you want to make a good biscuit, you have to cook them high and fast, no one wants a half bake biscuit. I’m only thirteen but I think I can make them just about as good as Mama’s. I watch them carefully as they bake; they rise into a nice golden brown but I’ll wait just a little longer. We all like them crispy in this house. “Ooh-wee, what’s that you got cookin’ girl?” Daddy asks cheerfully. He grins revealing a full set of teeth, which is rare for...

12 likes

Stupid

Nichole Anderson

Submitted to Contest #114

I can feel it inside of me. Its blanket of darkness covers me and holds me down until I can barely breathe. I push, kick and scream; I know I can’t win but I will never stop fighting it. I don’t know why. Others have the ability to see it too but I don’t want them to. If I am to survive, I must find a way to hide it from them. Sometimes it’s so loud and clings to every part of my body, melting into the crevasses of my skin. We become one and it defines me. Other times, I am able to push it deep within me and it becomes quiet and obed...

8 likes

A Loss

Nichole Anderson

Submitted to Contest #113

“This is my worst nightmare” I say, barely breathing the words out. I examine the folds of skin on my now deceased great grandfather while holding his cold, limp hand. I wonder what it looked like when he was younger and smoother. I picture him as a boy around ten playing baseball, and his mother afterwards wiping the dirt from his rosy cheeks. How easy it would be to pull out a handkerchief and wipe the dirt in one stroke and send him to bed where he’d sleep deeply. Do wrinkles make it more difficult to clean? Do they get in the way? I nev...

6 likes

The Window

Nichole Anderson

Submitted to Contest #110

John Paul had been at The Bee’s Knees Diner for two hours when he finally ordered his dinner. It was a sad plate of overdone meatloaf and lumpy mashed potatoes. He even had to ask for extra ketchup since there was barely any sauce on top of it, which is not a proper meatloaf.  He wasn’t really all that hungry anyway but couldn’t think of anything else to do to pass the time. Counting the cracks starting to form in seat cushions was getting old. The waitresses were starting whisper while looking in his direction; he assumed they were not...

7 likes