Menu

Menu
Prompts
Contests
Stories
Blog
Directory
Contests
Magazine
FAQ

Rebecca Miles

Author on Reedsy Prompts since May, 2022

Stories (35)
Comments
Library
331 Followers
53 Following

35 Stories

2877 karma pts

?

Nie wieder is now

Submitted to Contest #326

Political horror, depictions of hate, historical references, and gender-based tension. The sky is a thick, unbroken grey above the bench where Maxine sits. Five bottles line up beside her — escape from the dull day. High above town, so high she could be up in that pea soup sky, she unscrews each bottle: turmeric yellow, lime green, burnt orange, royal purple, baby blue. Potions to spark some magic; to transform base, boring matter and alchemise the day.Carefully she paints half of each nail, alternating along the little row of bottled colour...

3 likes 0 comments 0
Read story

Moon, earth's child

Submitted to Contest #243

My thirsty white mouth sucked at your seas.Glancing at my pockmarked face, you slipped on your swirling green and blue gown; your shoulder was a beautiful cold curve as you turned away. Even though I was disdained- the plain child, no glow of her own- I succumbed to your pull.Tugging on your tides, I had time to think: origin myths, who was I anyway? A cosmic collision, wham bam and meteor damn if there wasn’t a little white bun in the galaxy oven. Was I worthy of a name? Nah, just Moon. Day in, day out, for 2.5 billion years,...

33 likes 30 comments 30
Read story

The Robber Year

Submitted to Contest #231

All rituals are doorways. Jeanette WintersonVivien wipes her hands on the damp tea towel, watching the water spill from the tap, filling the saucepan. The pan is overfull but she places it on the hob and ignites the gas, the blue flame casting an icy warmth like the last shudder of December sun on the kitchen’s window pane. In the growing dark, she picks up the peeler and makes short work of the eyes and sprouting growths, gorging them out of the potatoes like so many black pupils and little hooked fingers. With a knife’s blade, she cas...

36 likes 28 comments 28
Read story

Racing Shadows

Submitted to Contest #221

TW: Grief and mourning Hoofbeats thunder across the dark plains of the sky. The clouds toss, revealing the white of the moon’s eye, rolled back in fright. I crane my head out of the window but my hair is flying wildly about my face and I can see little, only the deepest dark. It’s been waiting for me: banished by the city lights, the votive candles I burn, but gathering here: an army of shadows, massing, ready for the assault. Somewhere, in this impenetrable uproar, is our new house; it’s somewhere close, as the car tyres churn on grave...

39 likes 26 comments 26
Read story

Mida's Touch

Submitted to Contest #218

The autumn years: the time you’ve worked and waited for. To settle back, finally for more than a snatched half hour, on that comfy sofa you spent the best part of one career year saving for, sinking with a loud sigh into those plump cushions. No lego bricks digging into your back or model cars skidding beneath your feet. Just space to stretch luxuriously out, a glass of red wine in one hand, each sip a taste of the south; a book in the other, any yarn will do, you’re old enough to read what you like now after all. That’s the dream isn’t it w...

43 likes 33 comments 33
Read story

How the Leopard Lost its Spots

Shortlisted for Contest #216 ⭐️

A gull can fly but Asad could race across the beach like a boy with wings. Gathering speed, he would run lightly across the pebbles, laughing at my attempts to catch him. He was always two steps ahead, but my imagination lifts the memory and gives it flight, so he rises up, soaring clear of the shore. Across the waters, arms outstretched, he disappears into the hope and fear of the horizon. If I squeeze my eyes shut, I am with him, gliding like a seagull against a blood-red sunset. I picture us, arms sprouting feathers, mouths open, shr...

51 likes 45 comments 45
Read story

The Green-Eyed Monster

Submitted to Contest #215

Beware, for my appetite is hard to satisfy. Once I have sunk my teeth into you, savoured your particular taste, it is very hard for me to let go. Think of when you suck juices from the bone, relishing every last drop of roasted meat; or the times when you lick the plate, greedily, trusting that no one is watching, sauce dripping from your chin. That is like me, feasting on a most delectable dish: you. You do not need to be marinated, tenderised or steeped in spices, I enjoy you quite as you are; yet it is remarkable- your ability to fla...

35 likes 34 comments 34
Read story

Clippings

Submitted to Contest #212

It was an envelope, small and pastel blue; sealed and then folded up as if it wanted to disappear or the sender had meant it to. Without name, address, or stamp it was like a summer’s sky on a cloudless day; it should have heralded opportunities, yet Simon felt only trepidation, turning the square over and over in his hands. His stomach had lurched when he’d opened the box this morning, sent as promised by the care home, and the letter had all but jumped out at him; flashes of the frightening Jack-in-a-box toy he’d tried to break when just a...

27 likes 24 comments 24
Read story

How the Whale Freed his Throat

Submitted to Contest #201

Who knows of what a whale sings when he opens his throat and releases that deep, sonorous sound. If you hear it, then feel it, shivering over your skin as you stand on a windswept shore, you will be struck by its resonance: a force which passes all human understanding. But this is not a story of whales in the general: behemoths of the ocean; symbols for salt-shriven sailors everywhere. No, this tale is about a very particular whale and one mariner who had been, for a while, this giant’s lunch. The swallowing and regurgitating of the mar...

30 likes 25 comments 25
Read story

Touched by Majesty

Submitted to Contest #196

Earth has not anything to show more fair:Dull would he be of soul who could pass byA sight so touching in its majesty(Composed upon Westminster Bridge by William Wordsworth)Outside the carriage window, crowds as deep as seas wave flags. Children are hoisted onto shoulders to catch a glimpse of the historic moment; countless phones like periscopes, angled in the hope of capturing the newly crowned monarch. He has waited so very long for this moment; now it has come to pass, the noise of his subjects crashes on his ears like surf pounds the sh...

36 likes 37 comments 37
Read story

On Cherry Tree Lane

Submitted to Contest #191

When the April winds blow, the first blossoms drift, like a wedding party has passed, carpeting the pavements of Cherry Tree Lane in confetti. The streets are so colourful you can easily feel like you’ve stepped from the pavements through the frame of a painting, and you’re sauntering through a shimmer of pastels along with everyone else, out for a Sunday morning stroll. The beautiful scent perfumes the air and passers-by are like bees, drawn to the heavy pink clusters swaying overhead. My aunt stops beside me and inhales deeply. “Oh Li...

40 likes 26 comments 26
Read story

A Blaze of Hope

Submitted to Contest #189

It was so terribly cold: I struck a match, but its tiny flame could never warm me.Snow was falling: dreaming of food and a life of plenty, I lit another match; but flame and dream spun into smoke. It was almost dark: the third match sparked, but a complete and final darkness enveloped me. I lost consciousness, gripping my final match. Four matches: four life chances, just waiting to blaze bright, however briefly. Friction made them burn, life affording me plenty of rough surfaces upon which to strike my ephemeral incandescence...

37 likes 37 comments 37
Read story

The Day the Music Died

Submitted to Contest #188

Have you heard the rumor? The one going round town? About a no-hope kid, his luck just going down. Rumor has his number,Rumor's splashing it around;Rumor shouts: run, kid, your luck just hit the ground.Gnawing the stub of pencil, I look back at the lyrics. Not quite Bob Dylan, but the words sing my story; the ballad of the howlin’ no-hoper: Mitch Malarkey. It’s a freezing Monday in March and the wind tugs at the paper like it wants to snatch it away. Yet another thief, trying to up and run with the last of my possessions: a fe...

38 likes 37 comments 37
Read story

The End of the Line

Shortlisted for Contest #183 ⭐️

The waveYour lips are telling me you love me and that you’ll be home tomorrow. I watch your legs briskly walking away. With decisive steps, you mount the train steps and the doors slide shut. When you sit at the window, I think perhaps it is so you can see me one last time; but when the train pulls away, you are already checking your messages. I raise a hand and wave to your bowed head. Is this gesture to catch your attention? Look at this tableau: your wife waiting on the platform, hand half raised.As you depart, an announcement crackles ov...

61 likes 46 comments 46
Read story

Save the Last Dance for Me

Submitted to Contest #182

You look beautiful in that dress, floating under the disco lights like silver smoke. You dance in his arms, but I imagine you spooling apart, drifting out of his hold, back to me. No one else can see the ten slight pressure marks where his fingers meet the softness of your flesh, but I feel them like his hands are on me, not you. And you are smiling against his cheek, wearing a lipstick I have never seen you in, never kissed you in, before. Your first dance of the night is over and others stream onto the dancefloor as the music cranks u...

37 likes 37 comments 37
Read story