Russell Mickler

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Oct, 2022

Stories (42)

42 Stories

2018 karma pts

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“Whispering Secrets to the Wind” by Russell Mickler

Submitted to Contest #240

Beyond the window, a blur of drifting pink cherry blossoms obscures the afternoon sun. Its radiance backlights Cordelia, who kindly takes my hand, while my son, David, is to my right. “Mom?” David’s tone is filled with worry. I cringe, gulping down my words. The guilt of my lifelong deception weighs on me. An electrocardiogram issues constant, rhythmic pulses. Cordelia leans in and whispers, “Go on.” I resist, shaking my head; the cannula tugs at my nostrils. Cordelia smiles. “We went everywhere together.” She wears a knee-length, floral dre...

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“Remnants” by Russell Mickler

Submitted to Contest #239

Bright. The boy shielded his eyes from the sun. Insects buzzed, and a stench of fresh-mown hay and cow manure lingered. Silhouettes of long cattle shelters and silos wavered on the horizon. Dairy farm. A half mile from home. 2,640 feet; a mile is 5,280 feet. In the distance, a yellow school bus rounded a corner to accelerate up the country road. He checked his analog wristwatch, his fingers forming a sharp right angle. Late. Four minutes. There are sixty minutes in an ho...

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“The Nüwa Five” by Russell Mickler

Submitted to Contest #213

Dr. Li Wei entered a featureless gray field. “Office,” he said in Mandarin. A grid materialized under his feet followed by echoes of his footfalls and cane striking the floor. Tiles emerged, followed by desks, conference tables, lab benches, sleek chairs, file cabinets, and glass partitions rose from the grid, followed by objects like computer terminals and keyboards, papers, pens, and flowers alongside pictures of friends, colleagues, and family. Wei donned a white lab coat from a free-standing rack. Wei tast...

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“An Epistle Conveyed by Airship” by Russell Mickler

Submitted to Contest #212

An Epistle Conveyed by Airship7th day of January 1872My Esteemed Mr. Ambrose,May this missive find you in robust health and high spirits.Acknowledging your eminence as a prodigious savant of the mechanistic arts, adorned with intellect, a cogent psyche, and a countenance befitting a gentleman, it is apropos for me to forewarn you of my decision to set our contraption into motion.Pray, do not construe this communiqué as a provocation to intercede in my endeavor....

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“The Song at Harvest's End” by Russell Mickler

Submitted to Contest #211

The Bard. Benzie’s Concerns. Celebration. Voiceless. A cozy birchwood fire crackled in the inn’s limestone hearth. Mounted above the mantle, Truffler - a taxidermied warthog - proudly presided over the festivities sporting a ratty black tophat that (most agreed) leaned too far to the right. In the Halfling hamlet of Pondaroak, the Swindle & Swine was considered an exciting destination to spend Harvest’s End, a holiday celebrating the conclusion of the year’s farming cycle...

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“Returning Home Without Ever Leaving” by Russell Mickler

Submitted to Contest #210

Mars-Moon Transit Corridor. 2291. “Proximity Warning: object on impact trajectory.” “Time?” “Forty-seven minutes, six seconds.” Seated, Carlie Barnes flipped a switch above her head. The flight deck window depolarized to reveal the black of space backdropped by motionless, distant stars. “I don’t see anything.” Charlie Broussard manipulated a three-dimensional model of local space on a flat screen. “Nothing’s in the queue; the schedule’s clear.” ...

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“Freedom” by Russell Mickler

Submitted to Contest #209

CW: Strong Language, Mental Illness, Alcohol, Guns, Racism, Religion, Transphobia, Homophobia, Fascism, White Nationalism, and Basically Hate of Every Kind. Phoenix. 87 miles. Nearing dusk, a lime-green 1974 Cadillac Coupe DeVille barrelled down Interstate 93, plowing through the desert heat like a yacht cutting across the surface of an ocean. In the distance, an arid, desolate landscape. The air shimmered. Absent its soft top, the Cadillac’s driver and passenger were e...

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“Social Proof” by Russell Mickler

Submitted to Contest #206

Ethan reoriented his phone and pushed his stocking cap back to reveal more of his hair before offering his audience a two-fingered peace sign. "Hey-hey, guys! Wazzup?" Aiden raked Ethan’s hand. “Dude, what the Hell?” “What’s gotten into you?” Sam chortled, recording both of them on his phone through a cloud of steamy breath. “Scared?” “No,” Aiden barked, glaring apprehensively into Sam’s camera. “I’m black, moron. Shit like this gets a brother killed.” In response to Aiden’s misgivings, heart...

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“The Widow of Caer Mawnog” by Russell Mickler

Submitted to Contest #205

Dame Armaelle Jullou - mounted, field-armored - galloped into the glade, holding a swaddled infant close against her breastplate. Battle-worn and bloodied, she reined to slow the animal, steadied, then stiffly rolled her hip to dismount. Stricken with pain, Armaelle stumbled when her legs met the ground, and, glancing fearfully behind her, cradled the child’s head and trudged on. Armaelle limped into Caer Mawnog under the haunting glow of a full moon. The cemetery rested in a boscage of brooding willow trees with gnarled, reaching...

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“Jistu's Way” by Russell Mickler

Submitted to Contest #204

Many Content Warnings.Please Read my Afterword in the Comments. Twenty-six stars sewn into a blue field alongside a cage of red and white hung listlessly from a guidon. Grungy, sweat-stained, and hungover, the standard bearer leaned precariously in his saddle as he escorted a column of three hundred indigenous captives across an arid, nameless wasteland. The sun had baked the soil to clay, trampled to dust by their passing. Farthest to the rear, ...

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“The Ferryman” by Russell Mickler

Submitted to Contest #203

The red double-decker omnibus jostled along the uneven, cobbled street. Signage displayed Penge prominently above the driver. Reginald P. Blenkinsopp preferred sitting in the first row of the upper deck, even on drizzly days. There was something cavalier about it - the slight breeze, the rush of passing scenery, the risk of soiling his suit. Regardless, he never missed an opportunity to ride up top, if only to evoke a comforting nostalgia for his more reckless years. Nearing his stop, Mr. Blenkinsopp pulled o...

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“Enemies of Crowkind and Shades” by Russell Mickler

⭐️ Shortlisted for Contest #202

The Gargoyle. Edgar. Routing Evil. In the Free City of Mumling, the gothic cathedral honored Silvanus, a nature deity of Man. It was a looming structure, rectangular, constructed from solid granite blocks, mortar, iron, wood, and glass, topped by a vaulted gable roof covered in vigorous green moss. A spire at its entry reached beyond the roofline, decorated with statues depicting Silvanus’ acts of celebration, and if one were to stand at its harrowing doors, the spire seemingly stabbed the sky lik...

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“生日快乐 - Happy Birthday” by Russell Mickler

Submitted to Contest #199

“A clear night,” Li Mei Ling texts in Mandarin, leaving the transit station. “Weird, but a good sign.” She turns a corner, her attention fixed on her mobile as she passes a mix of modern and traditional Chinese architecture. Neon colors splatter and stretch across the city street where throngs of young people loiter near vibrant, trendy bars and restaurants. A thrumming bass echoes, and Mei Ling smells the aromas of sizzling noodles, skewers, and dumplings offered by mobile food carts. A pair of pink over-the-ear headphones...

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“What We Should Be Saying” by Russell Mickler

Submitted to Contest #198

CW: Language, Politics, Truth.{a high school graduation}{a crowd applauds}“Thank you. When Paul asked me to deliver the commencement address to Lake View High’s Graduating Class of 2023-”{applause}“... yes, well, I truly thought your principal had lost his marbles.”{audience laughs}“I even gave him a second chance this morning to rescend the invitation - for the Love of God, pick somebody else - but he declined the...

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“Urlwyn's Ward” by Russell Mickler

Submitted to Contest #198

The Witch. Her Cottage. What Remained. Being Brave. Her name was Urlwyn Pitch, and when she died, her body was stuffed into a lidless casket propped upright against a hawthorn tree outside her home. A gruesome practice, the macabre display deterred sympathizers and served to caution the remaining members of her coven. Shortly after, the townfolk of Taemorden raized her humble cottage using mauls, sledgehammers, and mining picks, in a collective toil meant to expunge the witch from their memory.

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Author bio

I work as a tech consultant for small to mid-range businesses. I've been in the industry since the early 90's, and, over the years, I've written and co-authored a handful of tech-related books. But tech's _boring_ ... ... I really like to write fun stories about halflings! Black Anvil Books is my imprint for fantasy, flash, micro, and serialized fiction. Website: https://www.black-anvil-books.com Reedsy Discovery: https://reedsy.com/discovery/user/russellmickler

Shortlisted 4 stories ⭐️

Contest #202

Enemies of Crowkind and Shades – read story

Contest #193

A Plum Tree's Neighbors – read story

Contest #191

Soso – read story

Contest #180

The Two Shades of Luck – read story