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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Sep, 2019
Submitted to Contest #76
“Whitmores' Real Estate. Geoffrey Whitmore speaking.” “Hello Geoff. It's Daniel.” “Hi Danny. How are you?” “Not brilliant I'm afraid. I've been made redundant.” “Wow Danny. That's bad luck. What are the prospects?” “Not very good. That's the reason I'm ringing you, Geoff. We shall have to sell the house.” “Oh Danny I'm sorry. Of course there'll be no problem selling it. I can probably get you whatever you want for it.” “Do you want to come and look at it?” “Yes, better come and take some pictures and give you a valuation.” “Ca...
Submitted to Contest #32
One day Mr Tomkins discovered he could fly. It happened as he was taking his Sunday constitutional on Primrose Hill one glorious day, the first warm day of Spring with the sun shining and a mild breeze ruffling the daffodils. The famous landmarks of the City came and went in and out of view as clouds scudded across the sky. Mr Tomkins had that soaring feeling one gets when released from the prison of continuous rain into the first rays of sunshine. He stretched his arms to the sky and quite naturally, without effort or alarm, he rose i...
...as a bullet pinged off the brickwork behind them.“Come on Anita. Can you make it over the wall?” he croaked barely able to speak. A burst of gunfire rattled in the silence of the night. His chest was burning, his breath rasping...Lance clutched her around the waist and with the last of his strength hoisted her onto the rough stones of the wall. “Go, go” he tried to shout but his breath was all but gone.“Lance give me your hand.”“I'll be too heavy for you. You go. Tell them what's happened. Tell them I just couldn't make it.” He was about ...
Submitted to Contest #30
It looked like a station but there were no platforms. She could hear the rumble but not see any trains. There were dark stairways and sinister alleys. The signposts said peculiar, incomprehensible things. Faceless strangers passed by in the distance, no one close enough for her to speak to. Everything looked hard and dirty, cold and alien. Why didn't she recognize anything? She had been there many times before. It must be Waterloo. "Waterloo, Waterloo” The words ran senselessly through her head like an echo. She tried to run up a fligh...
Submitted to Contest #29
“Hello?” There was silence at the other end of the line, then a voice started hesitantly. “Hello, Mom. It’s Beryl.” Margery stood silently staring at the phone. “Beryl? … Beryl! … Oh, Beryl…” She wanted to say all the things she had imagined herself saying over the past ten years, but nothing sensible would come out. “Mom, I’m in Manchester. Would you like to meet?” “Oh Beryl, yes of course. Why don’t you come here?” “Will Dad be there?” “Well… yes, he will. He’s retired now you know.” “Gosh is he?” It had been ten years but it still c...
Submitted to Contest #27
Hello, I'm Marianne Renfrew, wife of Martin Renfrew. You must know him. He's the main presenter of cultural programmes on the Arts and Science Network. This new network has been such a success, I mean really serious television for educated people. Of course, we're a bit out of it when it comes to the science but there is very little Martin does not know about art, architecture, literature, music and of course film which is his speciality.The disadvantage of being the wife of a celebrity is that you have to share him with so many others...
Submitted to Contest #23
I was in Yorkshire visiting relatives one New Year and had taken mother with me. She must have been in her eighties by then. We lived in London and rarely saw snow for more than a day. The snowflakes usually melted as they touched the ground. There seems to be a big difference in many respects between the north and the south of England. One of the most obvious is the weather. Occasionally one would see a bin with sand or salt or gravel in it, by the side of the road. Occasionally the pavements sparkled and we would pull our scarves tig...
Submitted to Contest #7
Hello, I'm Angelo. Well I was, until a few weeks ago that is. I don't think we've met and of course we never will now, but I can see you're reading about me and that's kind of you to show an interest. I hope it doesn't make you sad. I find it all rather jolly but I'm sorry to see my family taking it so badly, my friends looking shifty, probably embarrassed, and my poor girlfriend, Yasmin, I hate to see her cry. From here I can notice things I just didn't see when I was down there among you all. I seem to have got more insight into my family ...
“Oh no. George prefers red wine.” “No, no, I'll try the white.” “You never drink white wine!” “Well I like to be able to change my mind.” George took the offered glass. “You never drink white wine.” Marjorie huffed. And it was true George never drank white wine, especially not the sweet white that the Abercrombies served. He disliked it intensely. He might be predictable, he might never change his habits but he wanted the freedom to do so if the fancy took him. “No thank you,” he would say, if asked directly. “I prefer red wine, dry ...
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