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Rebecca Lewis

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Oct, 2023

Stories (294)

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17 Followers

15 Following

294 Stories

418 karma pts

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The River's Whisper

The rain fell in sheets, a relentless cascade that blurred the edges of the world. Rebecca stood at the edge of the forest, her boots sinking into the mud, her coat soaked through despite its thickness. The trees loomed ahead, their skeletal branches clawing at the sky, their trunks dark and glistening with rainwater. She had been here before, though not in years. Not since the accident. The memory of that day was a ghost, always lingering at the edges of her thoughts. She had been twelve, her brother Aldo just ten. They had been playing i...

3 likes

When the Rain Fell Twice

The first time the rain fell, it was on the day Julie left. It wasn’t a dramatic kind of rain. No thunder growled overhead, no lightning split the sky. It was soft and persistent, like the world was too tired to cry properly but couldn’t stop itself anyway. The kind of rain that clung to windows and soaked through clothes slowly, unnoticed, until it was too late. Jason stood on the porch of their tiny house, watching her load the last of her things into the car. The drizzle smeared his reflection on the glass door, blurring the sharp ang...

2 likes

The Storm We Can't Outrun

The sky felt too still, like it was holding its breath. Barbara adjusted the porch swing's cushion, listening to the creak of the old chains as she settled in. She stared out across the fields that stretched from her family’s farmhouse, the corn stalks unnaturally stiff, their rustling silenced by the oppressive weight of the air. It wasn’t just the weather that felt heavy. “You can feel it coming,” she said, not really to him, but just to break the silence. The wind had stopped altogether. Not even the cicadas dared to sing. Les's eye...

2 likes

The Call of the Tides

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden hue over the small coastal town of Seabrook. The air was thick with the scent of salt and seaweed, and the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore provided a soothing backdrop to the evening. The town was quiet, as it always was this time of year, with only a few locals wandering the cobblestone streets. Among them was Deidrea, a young woman with a heart as restless as the ocean. Deidrea had always felt a deep connection to the sea. It was as if the waves spoke to her, their rhyt...

2 likes

To The Ones Still Here

The tide rolled in with a steady, rhythmic hush, the salt air thick and heavy in the early evening light. Darryl stood at the edge of the surf, her feet sinking into the damp sand with each passing wave. The cold bit at her toes, but she didn’t move. Not yet. Behind her, the coastal town of Haven’s Reach was winding down for the night. The lights from the harbor twinkled faintly, and the scent of frying fish from the pier clung to the breeze. It was the kind of place people came to escape things — jobs, responsibilities, memories. Darryl...

1 like

The Weight of What Remains

The rain battered the window in a relentless rhythm, a steady percussion against the fragile silence of the room. Kiersten sat hunched on the edge of her bed, her fingers curled around the ceramic mug that had long gone cold. The tea inside had once carried the promise of warmth, of comfort, but now it was nothing more than a forgotten afterthought — much like everything else in her life. Her breath hitched as she stared at the small wooden box on her nightstand. It was unassuming, dark cherry wood polished to a gentle sheen, the kind of t...

1 like

A Love That Never Was

The air in the apartment was thick with the stifling weight of unspoken words, the kind that clung to the walls like damp rot. Matty sat on the couch, fingers drumming against his knee, eyes fixed on the flickering screen of his phone. He had read the text a dozen times already, each repetition fueling the storm in his chest.We need to talk. Can we meet?It wasn’t the words that set him off — it was who they were from. Brian.Matty's jaw clenched so tightly it ached. Brian — the name alone was like acid in his throat. His best friend, his clos...

2 likes

The Nameless Café

The café had no name. At least, not one that anyone could remember. It existed on a quiet street, nestled between an old bookstore and a shop that sold antique clocks, both of which seemed just as forgotten as the café itself. The sign above the door had once held letters, but they had long since faded, leaving only the ghost of a name behind. Megan discovered it by accident. She had been wandering aimlessly that afternoon, her thoughts clouded with the weight of memories she wasn’t sure she wanted to hold onto. The city felt different a...

2 likes

The Last Cup

The kettle screamed. Michele reached for it absently, her fingers curling around the worn handle as she poured steaming water over the loose-leaf tea in her grandmother’s porcelain cup. The scent of bergamot and chamomile filled the tiny kitchen, clinging to the air like an old memory. She stirred the tea slowly, watching the way the leaves unfurled, blossoming in the water. A strange sadness settled in her chest. She hadn’t made tea like this in years. Not since her grandmother had passed. Not since him. The house was too quiet now ...

2 likes

Gone

The first time Tim saw his name missing from the school roster, he thought it was a clerical mistake. "Maybe they just forgot to print it," he muttered to himself, staring at the list pinned to the bulletin board. His classmates' names stretched down the page, neatly typed and arranged alphabetically. Ties. Tigran. Tilford. But no Tim. A cold, prickling sensation crawled up his spine. The hallway buzzed with the usual morning rush — friends laughing, lockers slamming shut, the rhythmic tap of hurried footsteps against tile — but for ...

2 likes

The Berkopec Compass- A Legacy of Direction

The silver compass had been in the Berkopec family for nearly two centuries, passed from one generation to the next, each owner leaving their mark on its worn surface. Small and round, it fit neatly in the palm, its lid engraved with a ship in full sail. The needle, ever restless, seemed almost alive — sometimes trembling with urgency, other times hesitating as if uncertain itself. By the time it reached Nate Berkopec, it was more than a tool — it was a legacy, a silent promise to carry forward the courage of those who had held it before h...

2 likes

Familiar Windows, Stranger’s Light

The house on Waverly Street had been vacant for nearly six months before Michael noticed the "For Sale" sign had been replaced with one that read "SOLD." He drove past it every morning on his way to work, but today, something about it pulled at him, the way an old song does when you catch it on the radio at the wrong time — unexpected, unwelcome, and drenched in memory. The house had been his once, a long time ago, before everything unraveled, before grief hollowed him out and left him drifting through a life that never quite fit anymore. ...

2 likes

The Weight of Leaving

Sandy had forty pounds of space to fit an entire life. Her airline ticket sat on the rickety nightstand, the name on it barely feeling like hers anymore. Sandy Ellis. One-way to Berlin. A new city. A new life. She stared at the suitcase lying open on the bed like an empty grave, waiting to swallow what little she had left. She had three hours before the cab arrived. The room around her was more barren than it should have been. The bookshelves were empty, clothes tossed in piles on the floor. The desk, where she'd once scribbled dreams ...

2 likes

ChronoStep- A Daughter's Paradox

The year was 2050, and Dr. Gayla Moran stood in the center of her laboratory, the hum of her prototype vibrating through the sterile air. Around her, a team of eager researchers scribbled notes, analyzed data, and whispered nervously. They had every reason to be apprehensive. The project, code-named ChronoStep, had only been theoretical until two weeks ago, when Gayla successfully sent an apple back in time by ten minutes. But today was different. Today, she was going to be the one stepping through the portal. "Are you sure about this?" ...

2 likes

Echoes of the Silver Screen

I was born in an era of wonder, crafted with precision and love, in a factory that hummed with the ambition of countless human dreams. They called me the Monarch-7000, a 35mm film projector that once sat proudly in the heart of the theater, the jewel of the projection booth. My casing gleamed with polish, my reels spun with grace, and my light pierced the darkness, bringing stories to life. I was not just a machine; I was an alchemist of emotion, conjuring laughter, gasps, tears, and awe. I was the gateway to other worlds, the bridge betwe...

1 like

Author bio

I spend a lot of time pulling at threads most people would rather leave alone. Whether it’s writing fiction, watching films, or reading, I’m drawn to the kinds of stories that sit with you long after they’re over — the ones that unsettle more than they resolve. I like ambiguity when it feels earned, symbolism that doesn’t scream for attention, and characters who are complicated enough to make you uncomfortable. In my own writing, I’m circling around guilt, power, transformation — and the kind of dread that creeps in rather than announcing itself. I’m not interested in stock villains or easy catharsis; I’m after something a little more tangled than that. My stories tend to live in darker spaces — but with enough humanity to still matter. When it comes to film, I lean toward psychological complexity and strong atmosphere. Nolan, Lynch, Tarkovsky, Villeneuve — directors who aren’t afraid to take their time and leave space for discomfort. Same goes for music. I’m pulled toward melancholic, layered, charged stuff- Radiohead, American Football, Cigarettes After Sex, Chopin, The Weeknd. Anything that feels a little haunted. I don’t buy into neat answers. I’m not religious. I don’t think the world was designed with us in mind. But I think meaning exists in how we respond to that — what we choose to make of it. That’s what I’m writing toward, whether I realize it or not.