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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jun, 2021
Submitted to Contest #304
Patience.That was what Pierrot desperately needed and was quickly running out of. Sitting in a dingy, damp basement that some fool dared call a tavern - the “Jewel of Viceport”, no less! - he listened to the meandering ramblings of yet another candidate who had responded to the notice he had posted earlier this week: “Crew Wanted for Voyage of Exploration on the Undaunted. Harsh Conditions, Perilous Trials, Safe Return Doubtful, Honor and Recognition on the Off-Chance of Success”. Well, that was what Pierrot believed he remembered to have po...
Submitted to Contest #222
“Oh heavens, please! Don’t cha have no heart? My little ones would starve! Have mercy on us!” The woman had wailed desperately for the last half-hour, feebly struggling in the dirt against a cordon of bored dragoons. Gods, what a foolish waste of time.“As per the Chancellery of the Great Empire of Kharz, sanctioned by the Revered Emperor himself, this year’s food tax on the rural populace has been increased by 20%. It is to be collected by any means necessary and with no exemption”, Kozminsky proclaimed in a loud and confident voice to an au...
Submitted to Contest #221
I hate it when people I know die.It’s enough of an issue to deal with the unreasonable demands and whims of those deadweights I already have on my hands, but every new bastard that kicks the can and gets to enjoy their eternal vacation is just another chore for me. My mother was right when she used to say I was a wimp, needed to learn to say no, and stop letting people walk all over me. Well, she still says it. All the damn time, in fact, and entirely too much to tolerate. Good thing the old hag had a bad imagination and is terrible at haunt...
Submitted to Contest #218
Has a melody ever compelled you to stop dead in your tracks, your very being gripped by an overwhelming sense of dread?This very phenomena happened to one Jeremiah Peabody, a retired military officer, during a leisurely stroll through Covent Garden on a bright September afternoon in 1922. The uncharacteristically crisp and invigorating air was filled with the unsettling sound of a frankly unremarkable busker and his trumpet, whose erratic notes, inconsistent tone, and amateur technique did more to vex rather than amuse the public on an other...
Submitted to Contest #215
At long last, the day he had awaited has arrived. Franz crawled around the dirty, unswept floor of his dimly-lit attic, hurriedly scribbling onto it a pentagram with chalk. His hands quivered under the burden of the horrors he committed, and Franz struggled in vain to convince himself that it was merely anticipation that shook him so. Amidst this inner turmoil, he committed foolish errors - errors he could ill afford, for the pentagram’s evil symbols, prescribed by the dark tome that guided Franz for the past decade, required absolute prec...
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