Nina Chyll

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jan, 2021

Stories (12)

12 Stories

2571 karma pts

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“The Imaginary Cabbage Stew” by Nina Chyll

C: ‘Are you asking about the impact the accidente had on the family? Well, there’s no family to speak of anymore, to start with. But I just want to scream: be yourself no matter what, you know. God, when I first came to this town, I had no idea, I had to reuse my lashes twenty times, that’s how poor I was, I reattached them until the residue glue was too heavy to keep my eyelids open. I had to ride to auditions on a bike, in the heat, can you imagine?‘And I saw him across the bar one night and boom, ten years later, some l...

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“The Advanced Guide to Autodefenestration” by Nina Chyll

1. Climb in.‘Come on, come on!’ he whispers to me with such urgency I can feel little droplets settle on my upturned face.‘Say it, don’t spray it,’ I reply and he chuckles under his breath. Our forearms interlock, yin and yang, as I launch myself off the neat lawn while he pulls me up into the ground-floor window. My efforts split between getting my feet up on the wall and not making a sound. I stick out my tongue and frown.‘You look like you’ve not had a shit for weeks, mate,’ he says and I shake my head, tr...

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“Final Products of Combustion” by Nina Chyll

CW: very strong language, sexual harassment Natasha is so plump her breasts are already filling an underwired bra her mother had picked out for her, it’s pink. She looks so tan in it that other girls think she’s dirty. She smells of chlorine and strawberries. She dives so well she’s the only one allowed at the deep side of the pool in swimming class. Ken is scrawny like a young tree with his skinny branches. He’s mere kindling, no obstacle to the hormonal w...

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“Head and Shoulders, Knees and Toes” by Nina Chyll

CW: terrorism and PTSDToesThere are mantras she’s supposed to chant, collections of sounds to be repeated often enough to extract all conscious meaning. Om: I’m, safe, and, sound. This one is assigned go-to status in its effortless simplicity, a string of monosyllabic words so oblique they’re meant to slide into the realm of subconscious, calming her down. But it’s all homeopathy, she knows, because the essence of the words gets diluted in the shit she has for brains.Her first time out in months an...

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“On the Origin of Shadows” by Nina Chyll

There are two things I have always wanted you to know about the house. Ever since you picked it out, in the middle of a recession, at a heavy discount, as you put it. As if it was a carton of milk about to go out of date. For us, you said, finally away from the hustle. And there are two things I have wanted to tell you. But I didn’t know how.1. I hate the glass door to the back garden. It’s like a wound barely held by shaggy stitches. One measly screwdriver stuck into the lock would suffice to split it open, exposing the...

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“Raw Sienna” by Nina Chyll

Different day, same nurse with a stump where her empathy should be. ‘And you’re absolutely sure you fell down the stairs again?’Sienna nodded and the nurse rolled her eyes. ‘You sure are a klutz,’ she commented and licked her finger to turn the page on the form she’d filled out last time. ‘Still no family history of inner ear disorders? Strokes? Brain tumours?’Some nurses at the emergency department tried to coax the truth out with words dripping like honey, but Sienna was allergic to honey. Some raised their eyebrows so hig...

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“The Tree Surgeon's Dictionary” by Nina Chyll

Content warning: terminal illness IMBIBITION: the absorption of water by a seed, stimulating the enzymes required for growth. They’re visiting the quiet grandparents when her father says, ‘One day, you’ll find me here, too. Nothing is forever.’ His voice sounds like it’s coming from under the ground, like he’s already training her for what’s to come. The girl is so small her feet dangle off the folding plastic bench. She stares at her grandparents’ names and oval phot...

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“Come Again” by Nina Chyll

CW: suicidal thoughtsMy mother dropped a thermometer once when I was little. I leaned over the mosaic of broken glass and mercury beads, and a hypnotised hand extended to pick up one of the perfect balls. The sight ripped a screech out of my mother, so shrill it sounded prehistoric, making the hand retreat immediately. She took me in her relieved arms. ‘You’re like a magpie, aren’t you? Can’t say no to shiny things.’It’s twenty-five degrees outside. I know because I’m looking at a thermometer similar to...

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“Poisson d'Avril” by Nina Chyll

“Some historians speculate that April Fools’ Day dates back to when France switched from the Julian calendar to the Gregorian calendar. In the Julian Calendar, the new year began around April 1.People who were slow to get the news or failed to recognize that the start of the new year had moved and continued to celebrate it during the last week of March through April 1 became the butt of jokes and hoaxes and were called ‘April fish.’ These pranks included having paper fish placed on their backs.”...

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“Wasp Season” by Nina Chyll

Mark had lived the perfect cul-de-sac life for almost three years until that one summer, when godly providence clearly abandoned the dead end for some greener pastures. Until then, birds would chirp at dawn without fail and sometimes, if the night was really silent, they’d stir up an anxious song even in the dark. They’d weave feeble nests between the branches of the old maple tree growing fifteen feet from his...

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“Osteoarthritis” by Nina Chyll

To get to the very blank and very ominous page, it took exactly four clicks. First, he’d need to lift the top and press any key. As the screen lit up, he’d have to point the mouse at his name and his profile picture, set to a photo of the front of his house for a reason he decided not to ask his Granddaughter the Giver of the Laptop. Then, he’d have wait a few seconds for everything to order itself, render itsel...

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“Kodak 35” by Nina Chyll

Somebody yells quick, snap the bloody picture already, but she can’t understand anything apart from the word Foto, a word which scares her. She’s brave, she keeps still, her lips pursed, huddled together, her eyes staring into the black abyss of the lens. That’s how her mother told her to be — a statue. She’s only four. Her father’s night-time stories have grown darker lately, he’s been saying the camera steals a chunk of a person’s soul every time the shutter clicks, and she shudders, expecting to hear it any moment now. The man who hold...

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Author bio

Honesty, even the brutal kind, always welcome - I love me a good cry. Ultimate fantasy: to be Colin Firth in that church in "Kingsman". Shortlisted ⭐ Contest #82: “Osteoarthritis”

Winning 2 stories 🏆

Contest #92

On the Origin of Shadows – read story

Contest #90

The Tree Surgeon's Dictionary – read story

Shortlisted 1 story ⭐️

Contest #82

Osteoarthritis – read story