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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jun, 2022
Submitted to Contest #159
Sunlight streams through the church's lattice work windows, pale and dull. Alys sells the last of the blackberry jam and slips the six spinel fires it was bought with into the nearly full bag at her hip, its pink surfaces half-burning to the touch. Newly crystallized then. She glances at the back of the woman who'd given it to her. A girl really, wrapped in bright purple linen and walking alone with hunched shoulders. Alys breathes harshly through her nose as she turns away. "Do you have to go back?" Reben asks as he hugs her, pr...
Submitted to Contest #158
It's only by the grace of the gods that Francis doesn’t laugh at her mother-in-law’s bellowing wails. Davith’s funeral had ended three hours ago but Maryanne Warthwood had always been dedicated to her dramatics. It was no secret that Maryanne hated her eldest son; he wouldn’t like the foods she wanted him to like, wouldn’t go to the university she wanted, and refused to marry the woman she’d prepared for him since he was six. Everything Davith did was a crime after that last slight, but now the woman of sixty-five years cries bucket...
Submitted to Contest #157
Sloane-Amalia is not afraid of the highborns in Lord Solomon's ballroom because she is better than a great many of them.Their poorly hidden disgust had been evident the moment of her arrival at Hallow Hall. They knew not to approach her. It wasn’t just bladed words that kept them away. No, it was the complete and utter loyalty the common people of the Paele Isles showed her. They loved her because they knew that Sloane-Amalia did what they wanted first, and what the nobles wanted last. Now they gather in their groups and dare not c...
Shortlisted for Contest #156 ⭐️
“Don’t you remember?” his wife — his wife! — says, giving him a purely curious look despite the scorn that Alex knows he deserves. Briana stands at the window nearest to him, its glass having long become miniscule shards on the dusty warehouse floor. The sun’s light gives her large afro a blossoming halo, her dark skin glowing with gold undertones. She’s a vibrant painting, a masterpiece made flesh even with the travel-worn black clothes she wears. “I don’t,” he responds and looks down at his ragged sneakers, they were practically f...
Submitted to Contest #155
It was muggy in the factory. Illow licked her dry dark brown lips and inhaled deeply. As she concentrated, she tasted the thick air, wet earth and rusting iron resting heavy on her tongue. Transmuting dirt into muslin was a mindless process, the hard part was keeping up with everyone else. Illow’s hands cramped from the repetitive motions and she briefly flexed them under her padded gloves. She grabbed five handfuls of red dirt from the bucket on the far edge of the table and placed them onto the thick cast iron tray in front of her, sp...
Submitted to Contest #154
You are a statue of She of the Burning Clouds and you are being blasphemed against. This declaration had come nearly every day since the wedding was announced. You had heard it all before, but today seemed to be one of the worst. Before you stood two women, brides draped in layers of white embroidered blue silks, facing one another with looks of pure, unfiltered love. They were unphased by the raucous chanting outside your gray brick edifice. The protestors had shown up the evening before and stood just outside the small parking lo...
Submitted to Contest #153
The Nsoro are merciless bastards, of that I am sure. You had hoped that this wedding would be the first step to peace between our tribe and theirs but, Your Radiance, my confidence dwindles by the minute. The day began well enough. Everything was in its rightful place, as was everyone. However the trouble came just before the morning invocation. The twin grooms caught sight of the garments they were meant to wear and went on a rampage. Apparently, the Nsoro hold orange as a holy sign and blue as the source of nightmares and inauspicious tidi...
Submitted to Contest #152
Kendra had been a ghost for twelve months, but this was the first time someone had walked through her. She dug red nails into her dark brown hands, shaping crescents as she watched the man who had done it. His back faced her as he thanked the owner of the newspaper stall and moved further into the open-air market, whistling all the way. He was light skinned, of middling height with a bald head, and wore a tan suit, shoes, and hat. The man was nothing special, and why would he be? It was Kendra’s fault.She bit her lip and turned back to the p...
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