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Author on Reedsy Prompts since May, 2025
Clive’s appointment as Chief of Staff to the President of the United States, Joe Harrison, was, by any measure, an act of sheer, glorious, and very American political absurdity. It started, as all great American fables do, with a viral video.A sudden flash flood during a climate summit in Morocco swept through the tented luncheon. While heads of state scrambled, Clive, then serving as a polite but highly anxious beverage-bearer for a wealthy Saudi delegation, was filmed performing an act of pure, reflexive heroism. He didn’t save a person; h...
The old Chevrolet, a tank of a thing she affectionately called The Beast, gave up twenty feet from the cabin porch. It wasn’t mechanical failure; it was the snow. It had started as a whisper an hour out of town, a delicate powder dusting the windshield. Now, it was a solid, white wall being hurled at the mountainside by a wind that sounded less like a natural phenomenon and more like a colossal beast dragging its rusted chain across the peaks.The cabin, built by her great-grandfather, sat deep in a cove carved out of thick, towering pines. I...
The sun was too hot and the sand was too wide,And Clive wished with all of his heart he could hide.But a camel must walk, and a camel must trudge,Through the dunes and the heat, without murmur or grudge.Clive knew this was true, but he felt it was frightful—The Sahara was rough, when he wished it delightful!He dreamt of a home with a rug that was plush,And a tiny wee clock that would never say, “Hush!”He yearned for a chaise, and a teapot of blue,And a life that was tidy and wonderfully New.But this, friends, was Clive’s Catastrophic Complai...
The Sahara at night was a different beast entirely from the Sahara by day. Gone was the blinding, oppressive glare, replaced by a velvet-black canvas speckled with a billion indifferent stars. The air, which had been a dry furnace, now held a chill that seeped into Clive’s very bones. And the silence—oh, the silence! During the day, it was a vast, humming emptiness. At night, it was a living, breathing thing, pressing in, amplifying every rustle of sand, every distant shhhick of a scorpion's claw.Ferdinand's caravan had made camp in a shallo...
I am Groot. I am Groot. I am Groot. I am Groot. I am Groot. I am Groot. I am Groot. I am Groot. I am Groot. I am Groot. I am Groot. I am Groot. I am Groot. I am Groot. I am Groot. I am Groot. I am Groot. I am Groot. I am Groot. I am Groot.I am Groot. I am Groot. I am Groot. I am Groot. I am Groot. I am Groot. I am Groot. I am Groot. I am Groot. I am Groot.I am Groot. I am Groot. I am Groot. I am Groot. I am Groot. I am Groot. I am Groot. I am Groot. I am Groot. I am Groot.I am Groot. I am Groot. I am Groot. I am Groot. I am Groot. I am Groot...
Life is a sequence of trials, and for Clive, the Sahara portion of his existence had concluded with a profound, aching humiliation. He’d endangered two men, twelve camels, and an imported tin of Earl Grey—all for a sip of citrus-tinged tranquility.The two months that followed involved no more tweed jacket daydreams, just silent, grueling penance walking without a load, which was, quite frankly, boring. Archibald, the stoic elder, offered no comfort, only the occasional, profoundly irritating sigh that seemed to say, See? Told you so, you gre...
The sun over the Sahara was not a benevolent monarch; it was a tireless, unforgiving overlord who ruled with a blinding, brass-knuckled fist. To most of the camels in Ferdinand's caravan, this was just life. They were built for it, these tall, dusty fortresses of the desert. They had the right kind of skin, the right kind of lips, the right kind of magnificent, condescending sneer.Then there was Clive.Clive was, to put it mildly, an evolutionary anomaly. He was structurally sound—two good humps, four working knees, and the customary set of t...
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