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Robin Owens

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Apr, 2020

Stories (28)

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69 Followers

3 Following

28 Stories

699 karma pts

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Broken

Robin Owens

Submitted to Contest #261

This is a true story, as told by three familiar characters. ADRENALINE: She’s holding her seven-year-old daughter’s hand as they walk to the grey Volvo in the parking lot of cheer camp Thursday afternoon. Mom stops when she sees the shattered glass of the passenger window. Confusion tries to take hold, as Mom’s eyes process whose car this is, who this could be happening to. Her daughter screams. I knock Confusion to the side and fly into place, planting myself firmly within Mom. Her muscles tense. Her blood pumps furiously through her veins...

7 likes

Possibly Your Last

Robin Owens

Submitted to Contest #233

Lisa surprised herself by not getting out of the car. The valet stood by shifting from foot to foot while her body stiffened, holding still as a tombstone. Cars began to line up behind her in the hotel’s semicircular drive. She could sense this but was paralyzed by the smallest shift in her mind, something she felt but couldn’t quite grasp, like an elusive stray hair that tickles your face. Marcus was waiting for her inside, she knew. Predictable as a puppy, though less forgiving. This would hurt his pride, her no-show to their, what is it...

7 likes

My Many Unsuccessful Attempts at Self-Kidnapping

Robin Owens

Submitted to Contest #232

Dear Diary, I’ve decided to get taken. Yes, taken, as in: stolen, kidnapped. No, this is not what Mom would have wanted, but Mom’s not here, as you know from our previous grief-stricken 48 pages together. Yes, she taught me all the ways to stay safe: carry pepper spray, make sure someone always knows where you’re going, don’t walk alone at night, keep your head on a swivel. Well, Mom accidentally gave me all the tools I need to make this happen: 1: Toss pepper spray. 2: Tell no one of plan. 3: Sneak out of house at night and walk alone...

7 likes

One Billion Apologies

Robin Owens

Submitted to Contest #214

It wasn’t the sun’s sudden reversal nor the tides rolling out that I noticed first. It was the blood on my hands, evaporating into thin air, like ballerinas leaping off my skin and disappearing into a dusky sky. For a stretchy, taffy-like ten seconds I watched as every bit of the boy’s blood left my hands, a crime attempting its own undoing. The knife slipped itself from his tanned neck, and the handle inserted itself into my closed fist like a key in a lock. My body rose to standing. White sand trickled off my knees, reuniting magnetically ...

11 likes

Foul Play

Robin Owens

Submitted to Contest #206

The knee of a disheveled Carl Pinkerton bounced a mile a minute. Carl pulled his dirty old BAMA cap over his grey-blue eyes with a shaking hand. His stomach growled. He checked his watch. The bus he was waiting for was late. He’d traveled two hundred miles from Alabama to South Louisiana, but it wasn’t far enough. He needed a thousand more. His grey hair poked from beneath his cap, and he cursed himself for not having shaved it. Sweat prickled his skin, cooling him down in the thick night air. He desperately needed sleep, but the adrenaline ...

12 likes

Heart Attack at Camp Chapawonga

Robin Owens

Submitted to Contest #199

I slap my thigh in a futile attempt to murder a mosquito. It survives and moves on to suck the blood of another unsuspecting camper. Chatty teens line the hand-carved—so they say—wooden benches that face the lake. Everyone nervously introduces themselves to each other in this first hour of the first day of our high school summer camp. The two campers on either side of me have their backs to me, finding intrigue elsewhere, I guess. For the first time ever in my life, I envy the buzzcut on the guy sitting next to me, as I peel my thick black...

13 likes

Ashes of Indecisive Customers

Robin Owens

Submitted to Contest #194

“Ahh Sweetheart, let me look at you,” says Gran. I release Gran from my embrace, the scent of her rose soap lingering between us. I squeeze her shoulders. Her eyes smile at me with a bit of emptiness. Sweetheart she called me. She hasn’t called me Jen in a year. It’s been two months since I’ve seen her. My mom and my sister, Sam, have driven Gran to a small town that’s halfway between my house and theirs. Just some ladies meeting for a little antique hunting—or, as Gran would call it, shopping for modern treasures. None of us has the h...

20 likes

Train Ride

Robin Owens

Shortlisted for Contest #182 ⭐️

I know she can feel me looking at her. I try to suppress the shock that is contorting my face. She’s eight or ten people behind me in the line. I avert my eyes, barely, attempting to camouflage my snooping. Her greasy hair and splotchy pink skin burn in my peripheral. The oblivious baby on her hip. The royal blue spaghetti strap dress. Half-dress. I shiver. She’s looking at me, it’s obvious. Disgust plastered on her face. Everyone is looking at me. Well, this is what he wanted. What he always wants. I’m used to the attention. A cool gust o...

24 likes

A Day With Dorothy

Robin Owens

Submitted to Contest #180

When Mario let himself into Paige’s apartment, he was greeted by a pair of striped legs protruding from under the couch, à la Wizard of Oz. “Has there been a tornado in here?” he shouted with mock concern. Paige flexed her disembodied legs and bumped her head on the underside of the couch. “Ow! Ugh, Mario you scared me.” “Well, that’s what you get for making me think I’d walked in on a dead body.” Mario plopped down on the swivel chair. “The wicked witch is dead!” he sang as he swiveled side to side. Paige wiggled free and sat up. “Y...

13 likes

MATON Corporation

Robin Owens

Submitted to Contest #150

Disclaimer: language “Another gift basket from the company?” My brother asked me, his tone disapproving. He refused to call the company I worked for by name. I didn’t have to respond; he could see it was true from my shame-flushed cheeks. “James,” he continued, his condescension barreling toward me like a 10-foot wave. “What are they trying to cover up now? They can’t keep putting you in these predicaments, forcing you to lie for them. It’s unethical. You’re a pawn in their game. Just like Dad was.” The wave crashed on my head, steal...

11 likes

Not Exactly Hallmark

Robin Owens

Submitted to Contest #148

It could have ended like a Hallmark movie—you know, if I were into those—but it didn’t. It would have been too obvious and convenient anyway: the boy, the girl in the neighboring apartment, both single, eye-flirting from their patios until one of them finally breaks the ice with a killer line. Picture a guy and a girl; I’ll call them Greg and Sarah. Greg’s walking his dog Lulu. Sarah is trying to remember where she parked. (Prepare for the meet-cute). In a matter of seconds Greg’s dog has wrapped herself around Sarah’s legs. Greg catches S...

22 likes

No Ordinary Sign

Robin Owens

Submitted to Contest #119

“Listen,” Tara mouths and tap-taps her finger to her earlobe. I resist rolling my eyes because she’s my best friend, and she can get away with more than most. When anyone else tells me to listen, I punch them in the face (in my mind) because they should know better.I’m deaf. I can’t hear you, idiots.“Becca overheard Rick telling Alex that he likes you. Like, likes you likes you.” Tara says this aloud faster than she can misspell our classmates’ names with her fingers. She uses the word like so much her face resembles a robot that’s shorted o...

6 likes

Driving Blind

Robin Owens

Submitted to Contest #111

My Dear Isabella, I’m writing to explain the large sum of money that has suddenly materialized for you and your brothers. Now, you know your grandmother to be a woman of modest means, so I imagine the news of your newfound small fortune has come as quite a shock! To best explain, I should like to share a story I’ve kept largely to myself for the past several decades. New York City, January 1903 Mother (your great-grandmother) and I visited New York each year to escape the frigid lake-effect snow of Buffalo and gallivant through the pre...

15 likes

Mary and Kate

Robin Owens

Submitted to Contest #108

Her phone keeps going straight to voicemail. “Hey, it’s me. You can leave a message, but I’d prefer a massage.” Massage. I was with her when she set up that recording. We giggled, though admittedly tipsy, and I assumed she’d change it later. She never did. It usually makes me smile, but today it’s unnerving. I let myself into her house a few minutes ago with my own key. I can tell it’s empty by the way the dust is settled and the silence is loud. Neither Kate nor her boyfriend are home. I’ve wandered through the rooms while calling Kate’s ...

16 likes

Letters to Grange

Robin Owens

Shortlisted for Contest #106 ⭐️

I let myself in after ringing the doorbell one time. At most homes I wouldn’t do this; I’d just leave the groceries on the front stoop. But I decide to waltz right into Mr. Granger’s house for a few reasons. One: he always leaves the front door unlocked, which he argues is intentional, and I retort that he is becoming forgetful in his old age. Two: I like to linger here in this quaint home, however contrary a setting to its gruff owner. Three: I quite enjoy the argumentative banter that we have developed over these last 6 months that I’ve ...

33 likes