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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Apr, 2020
Submitted to Contest #52
“You’re coming with us, madam,” I heard roar from across the airplane terminal gate, bouncing around the accordion-like walls. “You will not board this plane!” I stopped in my boots. Who are these big, tough guys talking to? Me? Nah, that lady carrying a black and basic briefcase looks awfully suspicious. I bet there’s money organized by the hundreds in there, or maybe an exotic pet. Is that a feather poking out I see? But alas, my bad luck has followed me. The grey suited men stand before me as one reaches for my wrists. I resist. Needless ...
Submitted to Contest #50
There’s always the heart pounding scene of a high-speed chase in action movies, with the police grimacing, seizing the challenge of locking up yet another felon like myself. The camera zooming in, the distance in front of the officers, the suspense. I mean, they’re, I guess, OK to watch every now and then. But my point is what about us? Where’s our blockbuster film or legendary major motion picture? I have yet to see a criminal’s point of view—where’s his cameo? We have feelings, too, and after all, not all of us are bad. Well except for tha...
Submitted to Contest #49
Angelica steps in line. “Well this begins my journey,” she loudly announces as she overlooks the entrance of the amusement park ride. The wait time is 120 minutes. For measly three minutes, she patiently stands still; however, it’s starting to eat away at her, as she becomes antsy. She checks her watch. “Ah man, it’s only been a few minutes; feels like I’ve been here fore-ever! Maybe it’s a good time to take up a new hobby. I’m not really sure what I’m going to do with myself for two hours.” She sighs. She slips her phone out of her ba...
Submitted to Contest #48
Overlooking the huge black bookshelves tightly packed to the seams with old comic books still in mint, Joey considers where to begin. During his contemplation with a vexed tap of his foot, he heavily sighs, almost a grunt, feeling inconvenienced. “It’s been 10 years, and I haven’t gotten rid of these witless comics Mom just had to save for me. When I said I wanted a legacy, I was not talking about this!” His mother was a comic book author and illustrator back in her youth. Before she passed, her dying wish was to gift her entire collection...
Submitted to Contest #40
It’s midnight. The bar with the neon sign glows through the window unto the slick road. Then, the light shines back into the boozy business. A car brakes squeak and a door slams, and a woman walks a couple steps, whipping the heavy glass door open. Click, click, her stilettos tap onto the waxed concrete floor. She makes her way to a stool and orders a virgin drink. The bartender sideway glances at her in bewilderment. She just ignores it, scanning the nearly ghostly empty establishment.“Why would you bother even coming here in the dead of ni...
Submitted to Contest #38
“Hey Mom!” Martin greets his elderly mother hunched over in pain as she opens the door.He walks in. “Ahh, still looks the same, smells the same, and feels the same,” he admits while surveying the inside of his childhood home, the light walls and dark carpet and bleached-spotted curtains and the sound of a static television. “So, Mom, how ya been?” He notices her struggling to reach her armchair in front of the TV with a basket full of jumbled yarn resting beside it. He helps her sit down, and she returns to tangling her swollen fingers in a ...
Submitted to Contest #37
Lance is a lucrative, swaggering businessman constantly on the move, a type of snobby and pretentious that wears dress shoes to a pool party. He’s unfailingly hooks up with pretty young things with supermodel figures, hair from shampoo commercials, and freshly bleached smiles. He’s always flown solo, so he, brick by brick, assembled his empire from the ground up, the solidarity he very much loved to bathe in. He is the kind of millionaire that made miracles you occasionally hear about, a self-made man, carrying around an inspiring story. How...
Submitted to Contest #36
April 10, 2020It’s my birthday, I’m 98 years old! I must admit, my memory has failed and faded. Despite this, I am grateful for the investment I put in myself—86 years in the making. I am officially retiring from the squiggles of the present, transitioning to plunging into the antiquity. Over my entire life, ever since I was able to properly hold a writing instrument in my hand, I’ve captured the essence of my being through penmanship. I am immensely appreciative that I decided to journal over the span of my life because I can’t remember a l...
April 1, 2020 (night of)It is one in the morning, and I am at my bedside writing this. Of course, I’d rather be sleeping, but these days it’s not so simple. A pen and spiral notebook in hand, I will begin to follow my doctor’s advice.Today, after years of struggling to doze off and just get a restful night, I took a visit to a supposedly renowned sleep specialist, the absolute finest in the country. He suggested if I can find myself a nice journal and take 15 minutes every night before bed to write about the good things in my life and all th...
Submitted to Contest #35
A walk in the park sounds leisure for most, a harmless recreational activity, but I’m not convinced. My girl keeps pushing me along, to follow a twisty cobblestone path stretching with a rainbow of flowers on either side. I notice how the dim lamps brighten our course as dusk unwinds into twilight as both of our unhurried shadows emerge.Sure, sure, flowers are pretty and all, like she keeps trying to prove. To say the least, I’m not easily fooled or persuaded, and most of all, I’m unamused. If she wasn’t in awe over the springtide, I could h...
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