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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Oct, 2021
Submitted to Contest #132
In the garden“Are you there, Lord? It’s me, Amelie.”It has been a long night in the garden. She has spent every hour in prayer, with barely a break.The gnarled olive trees stay mute, save for the hiss of the dawn wind through their branches, upper twigs waving like the thin, sharp-nailed fingers of a demented witch as she casts a hex on one who threatens her peace.And then Amelie sees the tall figure, at the far end of the grove, throughthe limbs and foliage. Smiling, bearded, white-robed, hands clasped, glowing in the morning sun. Open-arme...
Business Class Lounge, Saudia Terminal, King Abdulaziz International Airport, Jeddah, Friday 4 February, 2022, 23:00ASTSipping his coffee beneath the bright LED ceiling light, Damien White knew the stark feature illumination would show off the single gold stripe on his sleeve to the best effect, against the deep black of his airline pilot’s jacket. He had chosen a chair close to the business class lounge’s dead centre, where he could make the best impression on the admirers he knew would be watching. Centre stage, almost. Damien had always e...
Submitted to Contest #130
Saturday, 28 January, 1995 Snow lay deep, high in the Dinaric Alps, under the slanted afternoon sun. Demyan arrived at the den first. He didn’t think Serafim would mind if he lit a fire. He had it all planned. He’d brought a box of matches. He hoped his mother wouldn’t miss them. He was going to put them back, before she would look for them to light the gas for dinner. The den had been a shepherd’s house, they’d decided, the day they found it. Serafim had worked it all out. Serafim was the clever one. He would be, Demyan supposed, because h...
Submitted to Contest #128
High Tea The picture of bored indifference, completely unaware she was slowly grinding Aanshu into the dirt, Athaline sat splendidly, waiting. One twelve-hour day at a time, slogging on through endless, back-breaking labour, an infinite, dark tunnel, Aanshu dared allow herself no hope of escape. Ironically, Athaline felt the same about her own existence. Living through one day, again and again, nothing to pin her hopes on, no random surprises, just on and on. In the orangery’s afternoon splendour, sun slanting through the greenhouse panes...
Submitted to Contest #127
Monday lunchtime Hector Bullivant wiped greasy lips and chin on the starched linen serviette he had just freed from between his ample paunch and his broad lap. The foie gras had been more than usually rich today. That was fitting, because Hector Bullivant was a more than usually rich man. One who could afford to lunch at the Savoy five times a week. Today’s crypto deal had netted him a seven figure sum by his morning coffee break and prompted him to order the insanely expensive wine. Across the table, Julian Lloyd sat back and sipped his gl...
Submitted to Contest #126
Bangkok, 31 December, 2021In this city, no-one goes to bed early. Unless, thought Ben, you mean the early hours of the morning. Krung Thep, City of Angels. No shortage of them, if that’s what you want. Right now, with ten minutes of 2021 remaining at 100.5 degrees east, what Ben Proust wanted most was a tasty meal. He sat down on the simple plastic chair, at the equally simple Formica-topped table, under the fluorescent tube’s honest glare, at the noodle stall on Sukhumvit Road. A patched street dog, lazing next to a concrete post, gave him ...
Shortlisted for Contest #125 ⭐️
Monday 20 December 19:30UTCMax Swanson sweated in the back of the Uber and read the electronic boarding card on his phone for the fifty-fourth time. Flight BA247 from London Heathrow to São Paulo, scheduled departure 21:10, gate to be announced, last bag drop 20:10, one hour before departure. Snow fell lightly, flakes melting and sliding down the windscreen before the intermittent wiper blades swept them away. They edged forward in the solid traffic.The driver didn’t seem to have much sense of urgency.“How long till we get to terminal 5?”“GP...
Submitted to Contest #124
Wednesday 16 February: Hide and Seek“I know you’re in here,” Molly called out as she pushed open the oak door, her cheery voice floating on the hollow feeling that she ought not to be doing this.For that matter, neither should Mary, whose feet Molly had spotted, under the curtain. Holding her breath, she padded across the faded rug and jerked the velvet aside, to expose her sister’s hiding place.But Mary was not there. Just her shoes, the glossy leather reflecting the window’s wan light.A hand clapped down on Molly’s shoulder. “God, Mary, do...
Submitted to Contest #123
Dennehy swept forward from stage left, in sole, solitary command before the footlights, white shirt front ablaze in the follow spot’s beam, the gradually filling auditorium his silent, brooding foil. As planned, with time to spare, the killer took up position in the darkened theatre, her target stark, plain before her. It was obvious she was not under suspicion. Nonchalant and arrogant, the target seemed completely unaware of the impending danger. Perfect. Straightforward. Just the way she liked it. She fingered the concealed weapon. It was...
Submitted to Contest #122
BryceStainless steel, plate glass, high gloss granite floor tiles, everything squeaky clean. I know this place comfortably well. A few units boarded over, as usual, splashy logos promising me something new and exciting, coming soon.The girls know I can’t deal with trailing round behind them while they browse the boutiques and the kitchen store. I need a goal; a purpose. I go shopping for something. I get it and I’m done. I suppose I do browse a little. My tastes are tech stores and bookshops. Not that I buy paper books any more, when I can d...
Submitted to Contest #121
“Thanks a lot,” said the delivery driver as the receiver signed his proffered tablet, then he waved and left. The box with the Brand Trafalgar logo had been sitting proudly and unexpectedly on the step as the receiver opened the door. The bell had rung and there it had been, the driver standing by for a signature. Puzzled, the receiver wondered what on Earth it could be, and who might have sent it. The box was quite large. It wasn’t heavy and was not too hard to slide it in through the door. After some hesitation and head-shaking, th...
Submitted to Contest #120
It was the first time for Miles Levenage. He couldn’t believe what he was experiencing. He’d had the laptop almost a year - rather fittingly, it was coloured ‘space grey’ - and he hadn’t tried out the speakers until today. What had he been missing? How could they do that? It was just a laptop, with no hidden extras, small and light enough for him to bring along. Yet, as the track played, drums and hi-hat emanated convincingly from a point about a foot to the left of the device. The vocals, similarly, were coming from somewhere well east of t...
Shortlisted for Contest #119 ⭐️
“Listen,” urged Fiona. “Don’t you hear it?”Brian’s brow furrowed as he concentrated. “Sorry, no, I don’t hear anything.”Disharmony reigned, rare in Brian and Fiona Berriman’s year-old marriage. Whenever they disagreed, it always seemed to be about the damned phonograph. Apart from that, they were the perfect couple, insanely in love, lapping up every minute of each other’s company, filling the gnawing emptiness when they had to be apart by keeping busy and video calling whenever they could.The phonograph had been an impulse buy. On the secon...
Submitted to Contest #118
Dressed in funereal black, Iris Theristi crept silently into the modest sized bedroom, as though Simon was still asleep and she was scared of waking him. The room was just as he’d left it. Fairly tidy, she thought, compared with some of the students who had lodged with her. The single bed had been hastily straightened. The wardrobe door was ajar; she could see the neatly stacked clothes and the shirts on their hangers. She crossed to the window and placed a finger in the plant pot on the sill. Bone dry. Oh, Simon. One thing he had not been...
Submitted to Contest #117
All Hallows EveMichael Rymes pushed open the door of the Cricketers Arms and made his way toward the bar. It had been a tough day. He was seriously looking forward to a cold pint, to wash away the stresses and tribulations of work. The Cricketers had the best kept IPA in the village, and beyond.Michael had lived in Chiselford for a year now. He still didn’t know many of its two thousand souls; he liked a quiet drink, eschewing quiz nights and darts tournaments, and his work took him out of the village most days. As area manager for a high st...
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