Rosemary Cannon

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Apr, 2021

Stories (4)

4 Stories

85 karma pts

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“Philip's Really Bad, But Useful, Day” by Rosemary Cannon

Submitted to Contest #255

Philip was angry. No one who knew him would have been surprised. Philip was often angry. Okay, he was good at his job, really creative, and so people made allowances for his temper. They had learned to keep out of his way and even grab anything precious out of his reach. Some remembered the cover artwork he had thrown from the meeting room window, when others had suggested some changes. How it had lain, forlorn, at the foot of the skyscraper, and people had side-stepped it as they made their way along Fifty-fourth street. One poor woman had ...

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“Chocolate Has a Memory” by Rosemary Cannon

Submitted to Contest #237

The rain was falling steadily, as he sheltered on the porch of the Knightsbridge house, nursing his eye, which throbbed nastily. The rain washed over the bouquet of red roses which lay bedraggled on the top steps leading down to the flat below, which has once been the kitchen of the grand house, but now was a basement flat. The tall windows of the houses opposite seemed to stare down at him reproachfully, taking in his torn jacket and tousled, damp hair. A trickle of blood was running from his nose, joining the rivulets of rain. In his other...

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“The Milk of Destiny” by Rosemary Cannon

Submitted to Contest #197

Andy tried really hard to make the milk curdle. He furrowed his celestial brows and planets veered off their course and tumbled into a black hole. Whole species and civilisations were lost forever on account of this action, but Andy didn’t care. He was a god with a singular mind and it was, at the moment, concentrating on the milk. Of course, Andy wasn’t his real name, but “The Great God, Andrezephaneos, god of the procreation of Species” was too much of a mouthful, and he felt Andy had a jaunty feel to it, which he liked. His mother “The ...

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“The Cloths of Heaven” by Rosemary Cannon

Submitted to Contest #91

Caroline crossed the street and headed towards the library, her shoulders hunched against the cold and wet. The lines of a poem ran through her mind “I hear leaves drinking rain; I hear rich leaves on top, Giving the poor beneath Drop after drop” (1) She had inherited this activity from her mother, along with her love of the library. For her mother it was song lyrics; she would suddenly burst into a song which fitted the situation or echoed a word someone had uttered. Caroline nowadays took it one step further, following her study of lit...

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Author bio

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