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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Aug, 2020
Submitted to Contest #304
The reservation is a standing one. Seven o’clock every Thursday. He meets Grace and Brian and Lucinda and Terry and Matt and Matt and Michael. They have their usual table. Grace doesn’t eat. They don’t talk about Grace not eating. She misses when they could smoke indoors. Grace has never smoked in a restaurant. It was outlawed before she was old enough to partake. That doesn’t matter. She knows people used to be able to do it, and she misses when that was the case. When it was possible. The reservation is under his name.Archie Norris.It’s no...
Submitted to Contest #303
My father was convinced that Clyde Barrow had a son. It didn’t matter what computers told him. He couldn’t believe that a man who’d made his way into history books could fail to procreate. Whether or not the son would have been the product of the passion between Clyde and Bonnie Parker was not something my father gave a lot of thought to. This might be the result of him knowing that you would have an easier time proving that a woman never had a child, whereas with a man, it was always at least somewhat possible. Late at night, parked behind ...
Submitted to Contest #302
Pulling up to the house, the first thing I noticed was the pirate on the front lawn. If I told you I remembered the name of the boy in my car, I’d be lying. Was he a man? He was. I say “boy” because I felt bad for him, and when I’m filled with pity, men become boys. I asked about the pirate. He told me not to worry, because the pirate was from Iceland and Icelandic pirates are known to be docile in the winter months. They have to be. They’re freezing to death. I asked the name of the house, but it was unpronounceable. The boy took a piece of...
Submitted to Contest #301
There was no reason for him to continue living in the garage.It was one thing to stay together during a pandemic, but the restrictions had long since eased, and they had recently surpassed the awkward milestone of having been broken up longer than they’d been together. Whitney justified Dan’s pervasive presence in her life with a bevy of excuses that made her throat itch.She didn’t have a car so why not put the garage to good use.It was impossible to afford a house or even an apartment these days.Dan had grown to love the island, and it woul...
Submitted to Contest #300
A century from now, it will be burned to the ground by a horde of zealots. They will believe in modern fashion and old-fashioned ideals. I’m glad I’ll never get to meet them. My children might--if they live an abnormally long life. Their father told me when we finalized our divorce that at the very last moment of his life, he would forgive me all my sins. Yes, he had a god complex, but he was also a god, so the complex comes with the territory. His name was Shamash, and he was the Babylonian God of the Sun, who was killed by Sin, the Goddess...
Submitted to Contest #299
When she was initially detained, we thought it would be a quick fix. My mother never has her proper papers on her. Not ever. Because she’s an engineer, she was one of the first contractors allowed to set foot on Saturn, and they spent seventeen weeks preparing her. According to her, most of that preparation involved having the correct papers on you when you reached the midway station. It was something like eight or nine pieces of paper that you had to have on you. My mother brought two and forgot the rest. She’s so effervescent that somehow ...
Submitted to Contest #298
Bertram Fuller refused to teach civics. He saw no need for it. The sea people had no need for government or governing. When Fuller showed up that fateful July morning shortly after dawn, they thought he was a god. A lesser god, yes, but still a god. A god given to them by the sea. Fuller was wearing his customary sea travel uniform--velvet shorts, a white shirt modeled after the architectural leisurewear that was all the rage in Paris, and a very small hat. He had been looking for the Isle of Dove, but the rough waters and unpredictable curr...
Submitted to Contest #297
I’m not supposed to play you this record. You don’t have school tomorrow, but that’s not why. My mother would come into my room on Friday’s before midnight and she’d tell me to go get the record player. I had to set it on the floor, and plug it in. I had to look at the record. She’d make me stare at it. Memorize it. Until I could see the tiny dots that made up the letters. The illustration on the front would move from side to side and I’d think it was going to come to life. I’d imagine the tiger turning real and swallowing me up. When I coul...
Submitted to Contest #296
Liz tried to describe the taste of apricots to herself. This was always her biggest problem. Feeling something and having no words for it. It was why two therapists in a row had quit on her. What they took for a reluctance to communicate was actually a lack of vocabulary. Her latest doctor had suggested she seek out opportunities to describe things. She recommended trying a new food, and then immediately piecing together the experience of tasting it--using a thesaurus even, if need be. The need, it turned out, was there, but the online refer...
Submitted to Contest #295
Scotland’s sister had died sixteen times between the ages of twenty-two and thirty-seven. She had a habit of faking her own death only to reappear like Huckleberry Finn a few months later. The explanation was always art. Her art. The first time she did it, Scotland screamed at her. He had grieved. He had mourned. It had been two hundred agonizing days. She was his only family. He thought he would spend the rest of his life alone. “But don’t you see,” she said, “You are alone. We all are. I was just trying to remind you of that.” She told him...
Submitted to Contest #294
My father was angry that we had to leave all his napkins behind. Two miles past Quincy with half a tank and no money to get us any further than Burlington, his most pressing concern was going to be what happened to all the napkins he left in the cupboard above the kitchen sink. All hoarders have a worthless item they prefer above all other items--worthless or otherwise. My father’s favorite was a napkin. Any kind of napkin. He collected them the way kids my age at the time collected Pokemon cards. The strange thing about a fixation like this...
Submitted to Contest #293
She was telling Sheila all about the divorce. The Goodes and their Bad Divorce. She was pleased with herself. Something had always seemed to Carol to be off about the Goodes. They were all smiles, all laughter, but Carol knew that kind of marriage had its dark side. She and Tony weren’t like that. They didn’t smile or laugh, but they loved each other, and Carol took umbrage with couples who pretended like what they had was so precious when secretly they were dying to get the hell away from each other. That’s why Carol was friends with Sheila...
Submitted to Contest #292
I knew it was my mother forging my signature because she signed it in lavender ink. She never failed to have anything useful in her purse the way other mothers did. No band-aids, no snacks, no wet wipes to clean the face of a child who’s just eaten ice cream. Instead, she had little notepads. Six or seven of them filled with ideas written out in illegible handwriting. Long were the nights when she would sit at the kitchen table under a dusty bulb and curse herself for her own sloppy penmanship. Alongside the notepads were lavender pens that ...
Submitted to Contest #291
We only have about ten minutes to get him to Everett. Awake, the ride takes forty-five minutes, but we don’t need that long if he’s asleep. I once trained a guy who quit on the third night, because he didn’t like the pliability of it all. The way time wasn’t the only flat circle, but everything. Nothing but circles. Speech, behavior, and emotion--all could bend if you knew which way to pull and how hard. I can get anybody to Everett in twenty, but sometimes you have less than twenty, and that’s when it gets complicated. I showed up at around...
Submitted to Contest #290
The first thing I noticed was the improper knot on his tie. He chose a large knot. It doesn’t fit. Every other man at the reception has gone with a small knot, which is appropriate for a lean tie. This tells me that the Best Man has never attended a proper wedding. He has never been to a wedding held by the sea. Where the ocean is in the background as the couple exchange vows. Where the women will wrap shawls around themselves as they make their way inside the very nice hotel for the reception. Where hors d’oeuvres will have cost more than e...
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