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Rebecca Lewis

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Oct, 2023

Stories (310)

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22 Followers

21 Following

310 Stories

509 karma pts

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The Waking Hive

The Silence Below The last time the radio crackled was sixteen hours ago. Now it's just the sound of her breath and the ocean above her.Aimee adjusted the straps on her deep-sea diving rig and glanced at the pressure gauge again. Still holding. Barely. She tapped it, not because that would help, but because it felt like something she could control.Thirty meters below the surface, inside the cramped remains of the K-49 substation, oxygen was thinning, lights flickered, and she was alone.Correction- she hoped she was alone.The K-49 had been...

1 like

Unspoken Rules

Fine Print TJ Evarts was a data analyst by trade and a truth-teller by instinct. He read every user agreement. He corrected street signs when the punctuation was off. When he was eight, he told his friend’s mom that her spaghetti was “undercooked and gummy,” and he hadn’t understood why his friend never invited him over again.At thirty-two, TJ lived alone in a clean, white apartment. He wore the same five button-down shirts in rotation and had an Excel sheet that tracked their wash cycles. He liked predictability. Rules. Clarity.What he ...

2 likes

What Remains in the Fire

Ashes to Ashes The forge was dying.It hadn't been obvious at first — just a crack in the chimney, soot collecting faster than usual, the old bellows taking more effort to squeeze. But Chris knew how things ended. He’d spent his life making things from fire and iron. Everything breaks, given enough time and heat.Still, he didn’t think she would break.The forge wasn’t just a workshop. It was her. Her voice in the hiss of quenched metal. Her breath in the smoke. Her strength in the anvil’s song.He sat on the stone bench outside the forge, th...

1 like

A Life for a Life

Steve Sashen sat in the back of his car outside the downtown bank, hands tight on the wheel, eyes locked on the front door. From this angle, the building looked harmless — glass and steel like everything else. It could’ve been an office or a cafe. But inside, four men in ski masks were making the same mistake he had warned them not to make.It wasn’t supposed to go like this.He had mapped it out clean. Quick in, quick out. No one gets hurt. No cowboy moves. And under no circumstances do you touch the manager.Steve checked the time — 2:38 p.m....

2 likes

The Other One Forgets

Every morning, David Jackson woke up wondering which parts of his life were real. The bed was always the same — creased grey sheets, the faint hum of a dying refrigerator beyond his cracked bedroom door, the smell of damp wood and expired milk. But sometimes, he would wake up in a desert. Or a glass house. Or once, underwater, breathing fine as if he'd grown gills.At first, he thought it was just vivid dreaming. He kept a journal beside his bed, a blue Moleskine he filled with shaky handwriting before the images faded. Then came the bleed-th...

2 likes

Third Row, Seat 12

It started with a missed train. Doug wasn’t supposed to be in Chicago. He had a job interview in Minneapolis. He had planned it all- fly in, stay with his cousin, interview at 10 a.m., fly back out by dinner. But a late alarm, an Uber cancellation, and a security line from hell turned the whole thing upside down. He missed his flight, then scrambled to book a train to get at least close to Minnesota. That landed him in Chicago overnight, stuck and irritated, with a carry-on bag, no hotel, and no clue. At 3 p.m., he wandered into Union Stat...

4 likes

Scent of Death

The stench hit Detective Scott Martin the moment he crossed the threshold of the small apartment. It wasn’t just decay. It was something worse — a blend of rot, sweat, and something sickly sweet that clung to the walls. “Christ,” his partner, Detective Juliet Boydstun, muttered, pulling her scarf over her nose. “How long has he been in here?” The coroner, a squat man with a permanent grimace, glanced up from where he knelt beside the body. “Judging by the decomposition? At least a week. Probably more.” Scott scanned the room. The victi...

4 likes

The Last Train Out Part 1

The train pulled into the station, its brakes hissing as it came to a slow, final stop.Robert stepped off, adjusting the strap of his worn leather bag. The air smelled of rain-soaked concrete and cold iron, and the platform stretched before him in dim yellow light. This place was smaller than he’d remembered. Or maybe he was just larger now, weighed down by years of absence. He had told himself he wouldn’t come back. That was ten years ago, and yet here he was, standing in the place he had fled from at eighteen. It wasn’t nostalgia that br...

3 likes

Strangers in 14A and 14B

David checked his boarding pass again — seat 14A, window. He slung his bag into the overhead bin and slid into his seat, fastening his belt out of habit. The cabin buzzed with the usual pre-flight chaos — families settling in, flight attendants directing traffic, the distant hum of the engines waiting to roar to life. The seat next to him remained empty. Good. A quiet flight. David exhaled, shifting in his seat. He wasn’t unfriendly, exactly. Just… uninterested. Flights were a time to unplug, to exist in the nowhere between departure and...

3 likes

The Self She Left Behind

The moment the subway doors slid shut, Ginelle felt it. That cold, sickening certainty that something was missing. She reached into her coat pockets — phone, keys, wallet. Good. But her hands kept moving, searching. Her pulse ticked up. She checked her tote bag — book, notebook, water bottle, makeup pouch. All there. And yet, something wasn’t. The train lurched forward, pulling her deeper into the city’s underground veins, away from whatever she had left behind. The sensation gnawed at her, clawing its way up from her gut to the base...

4 likes

Knock Knock

The seatbelt light flickered on with a ding as the plane rumbled through an unexpected pocket of turbulence. Meg's fingers clenched the armrests, knuckles white against the tan leather. The low hum of the engines, steady and reassuring only moments ago, felt suddenly ominous. She glanced at the man in the aisle seat beside her. He looked unbothered, scrolling idly through his phone as if the world couldn’t touch him. She envied that. “Not a fan of flying?” he asked without looking up. Meg exhaled sharply, willing herself to relax. “Not...

2 likes

The Ocean’s Lost Daughter

The sea had always been there, stretching beyond the horizon in an endless shade of azure, blending seamlessly with the sky. To Tania, it was more than water — it was a story, a whisper, a mystery waiting to be unraveled. She lived in a small coastal town where salt clung to the air, seagulls cried over the waves, and blue was more than a color — it was a way of life. Cobalt rooftops, turquoise boats, sapphire-streaked docks. But none of it compared to Azure’s eyes. Azure wasn’t her real name — no one remembered that anymore. The town ca...

1 like

The Unfinished Stroke

In the heart of the old city, nestled between cobblestone streets and the scent of rain-soaked stone, stood a tiny art shop named Echoes & Ink. Few people noticed it, though it had been there for as long as anyone could remember. The artist who owned it, Roger Sullivan, was a recluse — his wiry frame often seen bent over canvases, his hands perpetually stained with paint. But those who ventured inside spoke in hushed tones of something peculiar about his art. They said the paintings whispered. Not in words, not in anything a sane man...

1 like

The Eyes That Follow

The painting arrived on a gray, rain-drenched afternoon, wrapped in brown paper and twine, with no return address. Liz Holtz had not ordered any artwork, nor had she expressed interest in acquiring one. Yet, there it was, leaning against the front door of her quiet New England cottage. She hesitated before bringing it inside, staring at the damp paper clinging to the contours of the canvas. A faint unease prickled her spine, but curiosity won out. She pulled the package inside and sliced through the twine. The paper fell away, revealing an...

1 like

The Silver Hour

The town of Stillwater had its own way of holding onto things. The air smelled of damp earth and forgotten promises, the kind that settled into the cracks of old houses and the spaces between people who had stayed too long. Sarah Ponn had left once, years ago, but now she was back, and nothing had changed except the way she saw it. She arrived just as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting everything in that peculiar shade of silver-gray, the in-between of daylight and darkness. The Silver Hour, her grandmother used to call it. A time w...

1 like

Author bio

Hi, I’m Rebecca Lewis. I’m drawn to stories that don’t flinch — ones that deal with power, violence, identity, and all the messy human dynamics most people prefer to ignore. I care about how systems work, how people survive them, and how we carry what’s unsaid. I read and write with a sharp lens when it comes to misogyny, racism, queerness, and the stories we tell to make sense of harm. I love fiction that’s fast-paced but layered — bonus points if it’s queer, complicated, or refuses neat resolution. I approach astrology like I do most things- with a focus on timing and context, not platitudes. I’m skeptical of anything that demands silence or self-erasure. I don’t do small talk well, and I don’t tolerate bullshit — when it comes dressed up as tradition, authority, or ‘just how things are.’ I value emotional honesty, autonomy, and holding people accountable when it counts. Most of what I create — or even just pay attention to — is about that space between what happened and what it means. That’s where the real story lives.