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Rosa Christian

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Oct, 2024

Stories (4)

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4 Stories

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The violin Player

Submitted to Contest #278

THE VIOLIN PLAYER Paul.Speroni@italmail.com Pietro stopped typing. Is this what I want? Can I do this? Of course, it is my duty. Uncle Vincenti agrees I must. Right! Here goes nothing. Dear Mister Speroni, my name is Pietro Golino. Mia madre è Maria Golino. Do you remember her? I am her son. I am twenty years old. Do you remember now? She was sixteen. I am loro figlio, your son. Respectfully, Pietro. His mother stood behind his chair clutching the uprights. ‘Why? Why do you want to talk to him? He left me, left us to fend for ourselve...

4 likes

The Inheritance

Submitted to Contest #278

THE INHERITANCE 'Christ!' Bec snapped giving a start. Before her stood a tall man in a butler’s suit. His lips curled and he lifted a sardonic brow as he gave a small mocking bow. Her eyes moved from his oddly fat feet up his short, sturdy legs, where the tail of his coat hung below his knees and moved back and forth in the slight breeze. His hips were narrow, but his long body widened into a thick paunch then his chinless head squatted on shoulders no wider than his girth. His long, thin nose occupied his face. 'You frightened the b'jesus o...

9 likes

Don't Blame Me

Submitted to Contest #277

I am Death. I am everywhere and nowhere. I will come 'as a thief in the night', in full daylight, expected or unexpectedly, in agony, peacefully, singly or by the thousands. Of one thing you can be sure. I will come. Yes. I will come for you.However, you have no need to fear me. I am not the executioner. I am merely the tool. So, don’t blame me. Others, much more powerful than I, decide the where, when and how, but the ultimate decision belongs to The Destroyer, who has his own reasons and does not share those with the likes of me.My job is ...

7 likes

Night Terror

Submitted to Contest #274

Misty tears drip, drip and slip down the pane. Wintry chill rimes the sill. The gnarled fingers of the giant, standing naked in the garden, scritch scratch at the window. Its many arms flail in terror of the spectres who stalk the night. A moan from the mountain goads it to thump the roof, demanding entry. Looking for me. The trunk’s open mouth screams, silently. No teeth. A black hole. Scientists talk of them sucking everything in. It’s drawing my soul forth. It will swallow me. In the deep night, I am alone, or might as well be. The house ...

3 likes