Menu

Menu

Prompts

Contests

Stories

Blog

Directory

Contests

Magazine

FAQ

Peter Bugarchich

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Sep, 2025

Stories (7)

Comments

Library

0 Followers

1 Following

7 Stories

17 karma pts

?

Ashes of the Wager

Peter Bugarchich

The room was not built for human comfort. It was a place of stone and shadow, its walls sweating with damp, its air thick with the smell of old ash. Two chairs sat facing one another in the center, illuminated only by the glow of a furnace mouth in the corner.Julian sat in the left chair. Marcus in the right.They had been here before.The woman who had arranged this—tall, robed, and faceless in the fire’s dim light—called it The Contest. The rules were never the same, but the stakes always were: the soul of the loser. They had both laughed at...

0 likes

The Ledger of Ambition

Peter Bugarchich

In the year 2147, the city of Calypsis no longer measured men by birth, bloodline, or fortune. Those currencies were relics of a world consumed by famine, war, and climate decay. The new currency was ambition, quantified and recorded in the Central Ledger. Every thought, every word, every action was scanned, analyzed, and weighed against the unyielding scale of one’s declared goals.A man’s worth was no greater than his ambition. That was the law, the creed, the only commandment that mattered.Dorian Kessler had learned this lesson the hard wa...

0 likes

The Forgotten Room

Peter Bugarchich

Marla had always hated the house.It wasn’t just the smell—the damp wood, the mildew that seemed to creep into her skin. It was the way the walls seemed to breathe, as though the whole structure had a pulse of its own. She’d told herself a hundred times that coming back was pointless, but here she was, suitcase in hand, the executor of her late father’s estate.She paused at the threshold, staring at the warped door frame, the dark windows that reflected nothing back. She could almost hear her father’s voice: Don’t wander upstairs. Don’t open ...

0 likes

The Hollow Peak

Peter Bugarchich

Ethan Kline had spent twenty-two years climbing toward a single peak. Not a mountain, not a summit with snow-brushed ridges and the kind of silence that silences you back, but the metaphorical kind—the one you can’t point to on a map, only in the corner of your own ambition.His peak was a book.For decades, he had balanced two lives: the dutiful one, which paid bills and maintained an appearance of normalcy, and the secret one, where nights stretched into mornings over scattered drafts, coffee cups stained with circles of failure, and endless...

0 likes

The Mirror of Intentions

Peter Bugarchich

Submitted to Contest #322

Nathaniel Crane liked to think of himself as a man of purpose. He had always carried himself with a kind of quiet assurance, convincing others—and more importantly, himself—that his pursuits were noble. A philanthropist, an innovator, a benefactor of the arts. At least, that’s what he told the papers when they came calling.But purpose has a way of growing shadows.It began with a project: the development of a sprawling community center in his hometown, something that would bear his family’s name for generations. On the surface, it was charita...

0 likes

The Listening Post

Peter Bugarchich

The Listening Post Characters: Commander Hale – veteran officer in charge of the outpostLieutenant Brooks – younger, sceptical communications officerDr. Kessler – civilian scientist, expert in xenolinguisticsUnknown Voice – the transmission[Scene: Deep-space monitoring station “Erebus Outpost,” orbiting the dead moon of Virella. 02:13 local time.]Brooks: Commander? You need to hear this.Hale: If this is another ghost signal, Lieutenant, I don’t want to be dragged out of bed.Brooks: It’s not a ghost. It’s—different. Just listen.[Static burs...

2 likes

The Archivist’s Confession

Peter Bugarchich

Submitted to Contest #321

You’ll forgive me if my memory drifts. The incident happened—or didn’t—many years ago, and memory is such a fragile instrument. I am, after all, an archivist, not a historian. Historians pursue truth. Archivists merely store whatever is given to us, and truth is someone else’s concern.But I’ll tell you what I recall, though you must promise not to believe it too much.The year was 2149—or 2150. I cannot be precise. The city of Novaterra had grown into the sky, a thousand glass towers like needles piercing the heavens. From my office on the 40...

6 likes