Stasia Komadinko

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Oct, 2024

Stories (4)

4 Stories

240 karma pts

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“Mary” by Stasia Komadinko

Submitted to Contest #274

War steals homes and lives, but it cannot steal the courage to remember. I That August was scorching. There was no sign of rain to cool things down. The air was thick —outside, inside, and in the minds of everyone.In a light-filled room, two women sat facing each other. The woman in the white coat with gold-rimmed glasses was at her desk, intently reading through some paperwork. The other tried to settle herself on the couch. If not for her disheveled hair and red, frightened eyes, she might have seemed quite pretty."Alright," the woman in t...

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“The Urge” by Stasia Komadinko

Submitted to Contest #272

Hi, my name is Brian, and I'm a serial murderer. I haven’t killed anyone for 365 days. They say anniversaries are the hardest, that it’s exactly when you feel like you’re standing on the edge. The emptiness inside feels so palpable, like it’s about to consume you whole. Unfortunately, there’s no '12-step programme' for guys like me. Although my addiction is just as intense, it tightens around my neck like a noose. The thing is, my urge isn't constant like it is for people who crave alcohol or drugs. It comes on suddenly and then I'm ready to...

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“Night shift” by Stasia Komadinko

Submitted to Contest #271

Andrew's touch was firm and a little rough, just how she liked it. Anna wrapped her arms around his neck as he pulled her close, and they kissed passionately. They both knew they didn't have much time. The subtle aroma of his aftershave mingled with the crisp, clinical scent of disinfectants in the on-call room. Her fingers traced a path down his neck, light but confident. Andrew paused for a moment, looking into her eyes. She pulled him back in, not in the mood for drawn-out looks. Anna was eager to get down to the nitty-gritty.Then her pho...

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“The Dinner” by Stasia Komadinko

Submitted to Contest #270

The kitchen filled with the smell of cooking as the meatballs browned. I was very tired and not in the mood to cook. My feet and back hurt. The meatballs burnt. I didn't care.Would it bother him? Would he notice? Maybe he'd grumble about the burnt edges, but I wondered what would upset him more tonight: the overcooked meatballs or what was going on beneath the surface? I turned down the heat, trying to save the dish, though I knew it was too late.I sat down for what felt like the first time all day and took a moment to think about it. After ...

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Author bio

Doctor from Ukraine, mom and just another woman who likes to put words into sentences. I write simply, honestly, and with an eye for life’s details