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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jun, 2025
Submitted to Contest #318
“Just look at this!” Nelly cried, throwing her arms up as if she might take flight. The view was breathtaking. Below them, the desert lay swaddled in pale mist, and nearby, other pyramids rose with solemn grandeur. Somewhere in the distance, Cairo pulsed with chaotic life. Rita shivered involuntarily and muttered, “We’re going to fall off with these stones. Or get thrown in jail.” “Maybe,” Nelly replied breezily. “But they’re not going to climb up after us. So, let’s just take a moment! Look at those pyramids! Imagine what they looked like b...
Submitted to Contest #317
“A paradox is a logical puzzle but a tough one,” Alex said, stirring the brew over the fire. “You think there’s an answer, but it’s not right. You can’t approach it directly.” In the evening forest clearing was peaceful and quiet; only the fire crackled and the wind rustled through the tops of the pines. Somewhere, an owl hooted. Annie liked Alex. He was tanned, clad in a shabby training suit with a well worn mountain windbreaker thrown over it. She sensed his mutual fondness; it was probably why he was being so talkative. Her grandmother h...
Submitted to Contest #316
“These aren’t people, they’re sloths,” said Ed, nicknamed Jabba. “Sheep. Lemmings. Real people are rare.”Obese, unkempt, wedged into a reeking tracksuit stretched over his belly, he sat at a desk buried in fast-food cartons and empty bottles that spilled onto the floor.“And who, in your opinion, are real people?” Sasha asked, trying to keep any skepticism out of his voice. He was fifteen and hadn’t come here to argue.“Real people? They use their own brains. The rest just scroll, binge garbage, and parrot whatever tiktok or the feed spits at ...
Submitted to Contest #315
“Send me a selfie,” a trembling voice whispered through the phone, “so I can recognize you…”I sighed but didn’t argue. You don’t argue with potential clients. Glancing around for a suitable backdrop, I saw that the café was rather dim; a few patrons sat at their tables, busily having breakfast. No one paid me any attention. I aimed my phone at my own face, smirked as if seeing it for the first time, and took the shot. The phone chimed as the message went out.“Good,” the client whispered. “Wait…” And the line went dead.I exhaled, nodded to th...
Submitted to Contest #311
“And there… tam… they cut off my bag, u menya otrezali sumku,” Patrick translated into Russian, speaking with a thick Irish accent. “Took the money, vzyali dengi, the documents, dokumenty…”He was a little drunk but tried hard to pronounce the Russian words clearly — and to tell his story about visiting Russia. “That’s terrible,” I said, patting him on the shoulder sympathetically. “Only, if they ot-rezali, that means they cut it off — took the whole bag. But if they took out the money, then they must have cut into it — made a hole —raz-rezal...
Submitted to Contest #310
The story contains description of verbal abuse, violence, mental health issues and self-harm He was yelling at me—it felt like someone was hammering nails into my skull. I was bad, bad, bad in every possible way. Not a good mother. My children were neglected. The house was a mess. The food was either uncooked or cooked wrong. The dishes were left unwashed—or washed, but not well enough. And this, despite the fact that I worked just as much as he did—often even more. I earned more, too. But still, I was the only bad one. He made sure to tell ...
Submitted to Contest #309
Eli woke to a terrible noise. Someone behind the wall was trying to play Tartini’s Devil’s Trill. Just great. Why wasn’t that little talentless brat tackling Paganini instead? Unbelievable.He didn’t immediately remember where he was, but the rumble of a streetcar outside dragged him back to the grim reality of existence: he was in Odessa, in his mother’s apartment. His tour had gone to hell thanks to that idiotic global quarantine, and Italy was now off-limits—for God knows how long.The violin on the other side of the wall kept screeching ou...
Submitted to Contest #308
“Are you going to cry on my shoulder or what?” the bartender asked.“What’s the point?” I shrugged, looking down.“Just human interaction,” the bartender said as he wiped another champagne flute. He arranged them in a sparkling row. Then his finger glided along the golden rim of one, and the flute emitted a divine moan.“Okay, here’s your interaction,” I sighed. “My wife left me for my best friend. They took our money and the business.”“Ouch!” he said. “It sucks!”“Yeah… Today, I’ve lost everything.”“Not everything,” the bartender replied. “You’...
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