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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Oct, 2021
Submitted to Contest #303
Connie was used to Franks going out at funny times. Franks knew that, because after ten years of marriage he could feel her every thought, awake or sleeping. He had no belief in telepathy, but he nevertheless enjoyed certainty that two people could get to know each other so completely that each might as well be inside the other’s head. Like siamese twins sharing a brain, he thought, loving the way her dark curls fell and spread themselves so naturally over the pillow’s smoothness. Deeply, beautifully asleep, she stirred slightly, exhaled, th...
Submitted to Contest #300
When twelve-year-old Yasmin Juffail had kissed her Aunt Suhaila goodbye at New York’s John F. Kennedy airport, and walked away holding the hand of the smiling, blonde lady who had introduced herself as Candy, she had never imagined her journey would end here. Candy had reassured Aunt Suhaila, who Yasmin thought was being a bit over-anxious, that unaccompanied minors on Trucial Air were accompanied from gate to gate, until handed over to the adult collecting them at destination. Yasmin had rolled her eyes at the oxymoron but said nothing. She...
Submitted to Contest #295
So this is my diary. I’ve never kept a diary before. I’ll tell you in a minute why I’m starting one. I like writing and Sister Boniface says I’m good at it, but those aren’t the reasons. First, about me. My name is Ama. I usually have to say it twice to people. It’s short for Amaranth. Amaranth Christelle Obojo. I’m in Year 11 at Cloisters House. It’s a residential school for girls in north London. It’s pretty expensive. I go to boarding school because my parents live in Lagos. That’s a big city in south-west Nigeria. But I’m not starting th...
Submitted to Contest #275
I have to stop the man. My guide told me. At any cost, I have to stop the man.That’s my purpose. I have to. I must stop the man making a mistake. A serious mistake. A life-ending mistake. I can stop him. I must stop him. It’s my goal. It’s the reason I’m here, now, pursuing him, chasing him, across time, across the nation, forever and ever, amen, until I stop him. It’s what I have to do. It just is. It’s what the guide told me.It’s grey here. I can’t feel my feet. The man drifts in and out. Sometimes I see him clearly. Other times, he’s in t...
Submitted to Contest #272
I am sure it used to be here. Shit, there can’t be much of my break left. This is ridiculous. I get little enough free time as it is. Hell, one corridor looks just like another in this place. They’ve moved it again. They must have done. We used to have a proper smoking room with soft chairs and a water cooler, kettle, fridge and stuff. It’s no more than we’re entitled to. I know some people don’t smoke. I get that. But it’s about freedom of choice, isn’t it. You can choose whether you smoke or not. We won’t inflict our smoking on you. We’ll ...
Submitted to Contest #269
Sensitive content: suicide and assisted dying.A tear pricking the corner of her left eye, Fiona pressed the cool, disproportionately heavy metal-and-glass object into Rosemary’s palm. “Thank you, Rosemary,” she said, quietly, as both watched the mechanical, numerical display on the beautifully crafted, nineteenth-century timepiece click rapidly down from seven to zero, just as they had both known it would.Reclining into the capsule’s super-comfortable, ergonomically sculpted, reclined seat, Rosemary smiled up at Fiona. “I should be the ...
Submitted to Contest #268
Sol Crabbe blinked. He blinked again and stretched stiffly, joints popping like an old man’s. It was dark. There was a weird yet familiar smell, like a hospital. Where was he? This was a peculiar place. He didn’t recognise it. He’d awoken here, wherever here was, and he had no idea how that had happened. He was sitting - perhaps lolling fit better - in a high backed armchair, that felt like it was upholstered in vinyl or faux leather. Sol’s mind snapped back to boyhood, when he’d often slept over at his grandma’s house. Befo...
Submitted to Contest #260
As the hunter and the soon-to-be victim converged, the searing purpose of dark intent blazed black in the killer’s heart. Unshaven and unwashed, the donkey-jacketed, thick-set, bearded man, black woollen beanie pulled down over his ears, remained locked onto his quarry, his face expressionless, his pace an unstoppable march of inevitability. The slim young blonde bounced jauntily on, swinging her designer bag, the embodiment of carefree and footloose. He was certain she was unaware of her pursuer. She could have no inking of his plans. God, ...
Submitted to Contest #258
Ivan steered the beautifully smooth Mercedes E220 between the close kerbs of the single-track lane that led to the Long House, slowing for speed bumps and potholes, mindful of the fine machine’s low profile tyres and lean ground clearance. The car seemed to get smoother and quieter every mile he drove it. Right now, it was a few minutes after seven thirty in the evening. The early July Solway sun shone golden from a clear blue sky. The six-hour drive from south-west London had been the easiest he could remember in more than thirty years on t...
Submitted to Contest #238
Far within the dark panelled, richly furnished, insanely, recklessly safe lair of the Predator, the Client raised the lead crystal tumbler, luxuriating in its delicious heaviness, swirling the smoked amber nectar, inhaling the Islay malt’s rich, woody bouquet as the flickering flames from the hearth danced in its fiery depths. “Show me the tools of your trade,” she said. The Predator smiled. He had been anticipating this moment. He set down his own glass. The Client had probably guessed her host was drinking apple juice, or something equally...
Submitted to Contest #236
The Bains are a happy family of three. It’s a typical Saturday. Carl Bain and his twelve-year-old daughter Sylvia are having a day out at the local museum. Sylvia is intrigued by the cow cream jugs, moulded ceramic farm animals with a hole in their back for filling, and an open mouth for the spout. “Dad, it’s like the cows vomit the cream up,” Sylvia laughs. Carl smiles and gives his daughter’s shoulder a fatherly shove.In the next room, Carl stops. “Well, I’ll be…”Sylvia asks him what’s wrong.“Nothing,” he says. “It’s just the things in her...
Submitted to Contest #225
Sensitive content: Incest as a manifestation of evilIt was one minute to midnight, on Wednesday, 25th April, 1979, the eve of Oyna’s eighteenth birthday. Unforgiving and unblinking, Oyna’s ice-cold gaze slid, slowly and carefully, up and down the naked female body on bold, fully frontal display before her. Complemented by raven black, shoulder-long straight hair, her perfect, alabaster skin gave onto mathematically pure, smooth-shaded curves of breast, waist and rounded rear. Be it in the eye of the beholder or out there in the objectiv...
Submitted to Contest #141
Sometimes, Tony Gordon reflected, the best pleasures in life are simple, and free. He basked in relief as he drained his bladder, visceral satisfaction enriched by the long, exquisite fart he simultaneously let rip. Just as well he was alone in the restaurant’s bathroom. The dark, heavy fetor embraced him like a lover as he finished and zipped.Washing his hands, his deflated colon and de-stressed waterworks lending him a strong sense of well being, he marvelled at the restorative power of simply emptying a couple of body cavities. Tony’s deg...
Submitted to Contest #136
“You’ll never know unless you try,” encouraged Gordon Ramsay, as they watched the silver streaked water bubbling in the moonlight. They were a little way off from the rest of the group, the gurgle of the burn mingling with the distant chatter and laughter. A faint tang of smoke - bonfire, tobacco, and other substances - drifted across in the still air. It was Friday 12 August, 2022. Kirkton Burn had become a regular weekend gathering place for the group of friends, all in S5 at Thursfield High. Aged 17, they were due to take their Highers t...
Submitted to Contest #135
Simeon Dharsh twirled his glass and shook his head. “I don’t buy it,” he said, with decisive finality. “I mean, if the universe is run by an all-powerful deity, why is there suffering and death? Who makes bad shit happen?”Shona Drien tried her best not to look condescending. “Simeon, it’s way more complicated than that. God is all-powerful, yes, but there is still evil, sin and wickedness in the world. That state of affairs is reconciled by theodicy, the vindication of God. You see, it has to be that way. There simply must be suffering, for ...
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