reedsymarketplace
Hire professionals for your project
reedsyblog
Advice, insights and news
reedsylearning
Online publishing courses
reedsylive
Free publishing webinars
reedsydiscovery
Launch your book in style
Author on Reedsy Prompts since Aug, 2020
Submitted to Contest #58
My fear follows me everywhere. It doesn’t always look the same, but I can find it, whatever face it wears, and it can always find me. I weave through the crowds of rush hour foot traffic, sometimes, trying to lose it on my way home from work. It’s like a game, almost. If I lose myself in the crowd, maybe I’ll lose it, maybe I’ll be just another person, maybe the fear will go away. Can I drown it in people, smother it in the jittering buzz of a hundred lives? The answer is always no. I will never be fearless. I think there was a time ...
Submitted to Contest #57
Usually, Crista loved the rain, the cleanness of the world after the smog was washed away, the crisp scent of the air. She’d used to lean out of her apartment window until she felt like she might tumble out, and take long, deep breaths of the humid air. Even in the concrete heart of the city, she felt like she could smell new things growing. But it was a different story now that she was on the run. Crista ducked into a narrow alley beside an abandoned nightclub, pulling the hood of her rain jacket low over her face. Mud squelched ben...
Submitted to Contest #56
There was an absence in the house. Cressida could feel it, an ache in her bones, a deep hollow in her chest. She shivered, pressing the memories back into the depths of her mind. Her eyes burned, and she blinked hard, breathing unsteadily. The baby fussed in her arms, driving away the last of Cressida’s spiralling thoughts. Softly murmuring nonsense, Cressida rocked the child, who yawned widely and stuck a tiny pink fist in the air. Cressida cooed and leaned forward, kissing the hand. She smiled down at her son, who stirred again and retur...
It was my neighbour who taught me the rules of the Proud, of the Games. Most people have never heard of them—I certainly hadn’t, not before Mrs. Gupta showed me the Agora. Mrs. Gupta was old. Maybe “elderly” would be a less offensive term, but it implies a certain frailty that Mrs. Gupta did not possess. Her movements always had a tortoise-like slowness to them, so I’d assumed she was arthritic, but it never gave me the impression of weakness. She had sinewy limbs, stardust-silver hair, and liquid brown eyes that ignored your face and...
Submitted to Contest #55
Spring, 1920 Jane had always thought that strange things were supposed to happen at midnight. Midnight was a time for fairy tales and ghost stories, when phantoms groaned and darkness cloaked the prairies with a tapestry of winking stars. Then again, Jane’s mother was always scolding her for indulging in idle fantasies. They lived in Wellmere, a tiny farming town where the people were bitter to the bones and, apparently, imagination was considered largely impractical. Not even Jane could have imagined what would come, though. In defianc...
They glanced over their shoulders when they came, and pulled their hats down low. Not all of them were wearing hats, however, and some had to make do by burying their faces deep in their collars. Grace Matheson simply hid in the shadow of an umbrella, though the rain was a full hour past, because she didn’t want to ruin her makeup. Still, in spite of their best efforts, it was impossible to hide the money that ran in their blood. They were the cream of high society, and couldn’t help but arrive with fanfare. In the wavering evening light, b...
Oops, you need an account for that!
Log in with your social account:
Or enter your email:
10 likes
