Rebecca Hurst

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jul, 2024

Stories (19)

19 Stories

519 karma pts

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“The Private Hotel” by Rebecca Hurst

Submitted to Contest #262

On a high sedimentary cliff overlooking a small fishing town in north Devon, England, there stood a rather unique hotel. It was built in the 1880s, which made it something of a parvenue in comparison to its shoreline neighbours, some of which could remember, within their walls, witches dragged from their rooms, the hooves of Cromwell’s horses, and various and sundry drumbeats of early-modern history. The town church, and several buildings adjoining it, had been around since the Second Crusade. The town pub was built in the rei...

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“The Regenhardt Dilemma” by Rebecca Hurst

⭐️ Shortlisted for Contest #261

Nelly Regenhardt had been writing to prisoner B6732FH for nine hard years and had never received a reply. But she had seen The Shawshank Redemption, and came to understand that in the matter of correspondence, persistence always won the game. And win the game it did. Ten years after her husband had been shot in the head by the very man she had been writing to, she received a standard reply: Prisoner B6732FH will see you on (appointed date and time), at a venue very much decided upon: HMP Wingfield: Category A. But le...

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“Erwin the Reporter” by Rebecca Hurst

Submitted to Contest #260

Erwin enjoyed a walk in the country. As a man of tidy habits, he bethought the English countryside amongst the finest in the world. There were no grand canyons nor impertinent mountain ranges which outstayed their welcome long after the second international time zone had elapsed: no featureless steppes nor treeless tundras, but rather all was in perfect proportion and elegance. The temperature was affable, the mosquitos had left for the Edinburgh Fringe, and a faint, salty breeze lay on the air. The green pastures beyond the s...

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“The Maharaja, the Elephant and the Prime Minister” by Rebecca Hurst

Submitted to Contest #259

The Maharajah of Phutim, whose name was Dorji, surveyed his small kingdom from the east-facing balcony of his palace. He had been educated in the finest of England’s schools and spoke the language with the clarity and diction of a statesman whom people remember long after they are dead. His voice was deep and commanding, and his charisma was such that even the snow pigeons and the fulvour whistling-ducks dipped their heads in respect as they flew over his majesty’s dominions and balconies. He was the sixtieth son of the last M...

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Author bio

After a series of unsuccessful career paths, I find myself quite old and unemployable. My stories will often seek to highlight the absurdities and hypocrisies of modern life, the one human failing I find difficult to forgive.

Shortlisted 1 story ⭐️

Contest #261
The Regenhardt Dilemma – read story