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Author on Reedsy Prompts since May, 2023
Winner of Contest #293 š
There's a baby in the back of the glider, but it's not mine. Sure, she looks like my baby, but my baby never cries when we're cruising through the Kuiper belt. Quite the opposite. Cruising through the solar system's outer reaches is sometimes the only way I can get her to fall asleep. But this baby is wailing like an electric guitar. And if there's any doubt, then there's the smell, or the lack of it. My baby farts like a race horse. No filtration system known to man can completely dilute it. Weaker noses would rush for the airlock, but I'm ...
Submitted to Contest #276
Lately, the San Diego beach had taken on a screaming emptiness. There were people there, sure, and sun and sand and sea and sky, but they were hazy lines against the roaring void that I'd come to call the Big Zero. Plus I no longer recognized anyone at my hostel up the street. The crowd had changed to mostly young Europeans on holiday whose eyes passed over the zone of invisibility that my urine-scented top bunk had become. I was one of those guys who had stayed for too long. They knew it. The Big Zero knew it. And so did I."For $20, I can g...
Submitted to Contest #274
In that corner of the world where moments pause and linger, where the air holds a secret, there is a room of porcelain and quiet. That place where the walls whisper echoes of those who've come and gone, where the faucet's drip marks time's passage, and the tile's cool touch grounds you. That place whose people are 3-ply people, seeking solace in softness. Whose wipes pass like a silk breeze across the stillness of their sanctuary. Fred finger-mimed blowing his brains out until the toilet roll dispenser fell silent and dispensed three sheets ...
Submitted to Contest #273
"So, have you ever tried following someone, you know, without them seeing you?" Theo asked to break the latest awkward silence."That's stalkingā¦" Katie, the psych major seated across from him in the Cafe at the Loren let her silence hang, as if accusing him of some unspoken crime.Theo had thought her shy at first, but over the past 20 minutes bordering on infinity, he'd come to see that she reveled in these painful pauses. Like some self-satisfied boa constrictor, she'd squeezed the life out of every attempt at conversation while staring wor...
Submitted to Contest #272
"Oy choi, show me your tongue!" That's what you got to say to a suspected serp. They can't hide their forked tongues even if they've gotten better at copying just about everything else. Ask anyone, and they'll tell you. I mean, it was all over the feeds, this little old man, he could've been anybody's Grandpa, except he was living under a stolen ID and preying on small critters near a school zone. But luckily some Final Front guys caught him, and when they backed him into a corner, out came that freaky serp tongue. And that's just one exampl...
Submitted to Contest #251
There is a book whose title is untitled, whose author is unknown, and whose language is not language. J.D. Salinger is said to have caught a glimpse of this book's untitled title page before fading from public view; Hemingway kept a few pages tucked away in memory before it all overflowed; and Homer made it through an entire chapter before going blind. And as for Gerald Bloom, well, he intended to read the whole damn book. A daunting task to be sure, but Bloom had one thing going for him: He wasn't a writer. Like the ageless book itself, Blo...
Submitted to Contest #250
Lloyd was not one to pray. That's what made the child's sudden prayer all the more terrifying. It came while Lloyd was working the heavy bag. Fists up, he whirled to face the sound's source, but there was only the voice, a little white girl's by the sound of it: "Dear Lord, please tell Rufus to stay out of my room. He can't be in my room because he's dirty. And please make me pretty like Mom, and if you could, have Beth Marie invite me to her birthday. World peace is good, too. Thank you, I love you." Now, one gloved hand paused in front of ...
Submitted to Contest #244
"The coin never fails, but I'll give you a fair chance." "Coin? You want money?" "No, I want you to flip it." "What?" "The coin. You can't look at it yet. Not until after you flip it." "Hey, watch where you're pointing that thing. I know you. You're that guy who put the Kalinksi brothers in a coma with some kind of coin trick. They call you Percy, right? What do you want?" "You know better than I do." "Did Falcone send you? Listen, if this is about his wife, nothing happened. She simply came to a show." "Like I said, you know better." "You k...
Submitted to Contest #243
In 1845, a journeyman by the name of Henry David Thoreau set out to tame nature. In his head were plans for a steam-powered chainsaw. His goal? To prove that one man alone could level an entire forest and remake it in his own image. Within two year's time, Thoreau had toppled every tree for miles around and built a boardwalk empire that spanned Walden Pond, a place of power where cheerful clouds of smoke replaced woodland canopy and sounds of industry blighted out birdsong. So began the Age of Mechanicism as America freed itself from romanti...
Shortlisted for Contest #238 āļø
"You have my attention," says the Grand Assassin. "Who?" "Heā¦" The boy drops his gaze to the Varos gold coin on the tavern's backroom table, his guarantee of safe audience, then looks back up at the man. The Grand Assassin's wrinkles and white hair may or may not be real, but the eyes are. Pinprick pupils caught in stillwater stare back at the boy. "I can't say it." "Have you heard the story of the little bird with the frozen wings?" the Grand Assassin asks. "Are there two birds and a stone in it?" "No, lad, it's the one about th...
Submitted to Contest #236
Merv does the finger thing and mouths "right friggin' now" again. He's wearing a camouflaged suit to my father's funeral, and it's not helping him blend in.I'm at the head of a line of well-wishers and condolence-givers, mostly little old ladies dressed in black, so I ignore him."Psst!"The line of old ladies turns to stare at Merv."Ahpsst!" He tries to pass his earlier psst off as a sneeze then strolls too casually out of the reception room."Merv has something to tell you, dear," says my mom, standing beside me."Do I have to?" I mutter.My mo...
Submitted to Contest #235
I thought, for some time, that dying while holding hands with my soulmate would be romantic. It wasn't. First off, it took an awful lot of convincing, and when we finally did jump off that bridge together, I was preoccupied with ensuring our heads hit the pavement simultaneously. As for what came afterward, well, that's now, and it's just awkward. The other soul rubbing up against me is bland, well-rounded, probably whale-bound after a few more human orbits. It shudders because I'm all spikes, the type of soul who always ends up in a...
Submitted to Contest #234
Dust gathered on dust like fossil layers in the roadside hat store as a red pickup truck sent up more of the same outside. Melinda's heart rose then fell as she watched the Ford F-150 pass the skeletal remains of the old steel mill that loomed like arthritic dinosaurs over the land of the forgotten. The store's hats were in their display cases, relics in glass tombs waiting to be exhumed. All the hats' pewter pins still shone, and each hat was a Harry's original, priceless beyond measure. But the place hadn't seen so much as a single cus...
Submitted to Contest #230
"Leave me quetzalcoital with your Hemingway-six!" the bearded lady roared. These were the perfect words with which to begin the meeting, which was why she was the boss. Her "Hemingway-six" echoed across the labyrinthine cave, fluttered feathered serpentālike across six pairs of ears, and crafted wind jewels across entangled neurons. The effect was neither sensuous nor sensual. It was quetzalcoital, and all six in the cave knew it at once. The bearded lady and her five confrĆØres were the only ones who knew about the cave. It was their ov...
Submitted to Contest #229
Vivi had arrived at her grandparent's doorstep with her heart frozen over in disbelief, her eyes twin pools of desolation. Some spiteful child at school had told her that Santa Claus wasn't real, so Grandpa was doing his best to warm that frozen heart. Grandma, too, in her own quiet way.They were making Grandma's special cookies, usually reserved for Christmas and not the night before. Now, everyone knows it's a sad fact that most cookies don't taste as good as raw cookie dough. Not so with Grandma's cookies. No one, not even Grandpa, knew h...
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