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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Aug, 2020
Submitted to Contest #222
Ramirez shows up three minutes early everyday. I am to be here ten minutes earlier. Somehow she knows if I’m not. The wall is blank. It was painted over in the night. A lost white. As if a blizzard had swept in to confiscate the previous day’s mural. I am allowed one brush and two colors. I may choose the colors the night before, but I must do so having no idea what Ramirez will ask me to paint. According to her, she doesn’t even know what she’s looking for until she walks into the studio. The wall is three times as high as either of us. T...
Submitted to Contest #221
The line is one block deep by the time I arrive. I always tell myself I’ll get to the shop early, but life intervenes with burnt toast or my landlord banging on my door asking about back rent. Sure enough, I don’t get to Marty’s until after eleven, and there it is--the line. “How’s it moving today,” I ask the woman in front of me. She gives me half a glance before taking another drag of her cigarette. Her coat is too thick for autumn weather, and her shoes look like they’ve been sewn back together once or twice. “Slow,” she says, “Ev...
Submitted to Contest #220
Holden Arroyo had been lost in the desert for approximately twelve days before he stumbled upon the mobile phone store.“That shouldn't be there,” he mused.The store appeared over one of Holden’s favorite dunes, which was a few dunes down from where his plane had crashed. He was on his way to Tanzania when the self-flying plane’s license expired, and before Holden could go online and renew it, the aircraft was plummeting into the sand. Luckily for its only passenger, the plane landed in one of the softest patches of sand in the Ganasi Desert,...
Submitted to Contest #219
The clock doesn’t dictate the pace. The pace is separate from the clock. The clock tells you it’s one. So what? It doesn’t have to be one. It could be two or three. It could be next Thursday. You don’t go by the clock. You go by what you see in front of you. Sixteen screens. The Sweet Sixteen. The guy who worked the night shift before you used to say every night was cake. You never got what that meant, but you didn’t worry about it. You are given the answer to one unanswerable question in this life, and you certainly aren’t going to use it t...
Submitted to Contest #218
He always wore English Leather. Sundays would come around and he’d tap lightly on the front door. His car would be idling outside, but before I’d hear the engine or see his blonde curls dangling above his Cheshire smile, I’d smell the English Leather. Like all good fragrances, it strikes you differently depending on which scent resonates in your memory. For some reason, I took the lemon first. It reminded me of a glass pitcher sitting on the counter. My mother on the porch, talking to a man I never knew the name of. That man had a softer eng...
Submitted to Contest #217
Personally, I like the big guy, but that’s just me, you understand? I feel as though if the king wanted me to go slay a dragon, he should have picked a nastier one. This fellow ain’t bad at all is the problem. I showed up and he was just sitting there lighting the occasional tree on fire. Well, I suppose if you like trees, that sort of thing might upset you, but a tree never did me any favors, so what issue should I take with it?Every other knight was given a notoriously terrifying dragon to vanquish, and by the time the king got to me, I co...
Submitted to Contest #216
You can’t go home right now. Go to that pizza place that’s always open. Order the buffalo chicken. You have some cash on you from the other day when Uncle Greg slipped you a twenty. That’s enough for two slices. You can have some pizza and check your phone. Play some chess. You need to play more chess. You’re good, but you could be better. You always give up your bishops right off the bat. That’s no way to play. You gotta protect your pieces. I don’t care if the other guy is willing to give up his good pieces; that doesn’t mean you have to...
Submitted to Contest #215
The family left Gardenia around five in the morning. They quietly packed their things and left, stopping only to clean the fridge, because they felt strongly that a dirty fridge would speak poorly of them and their abrupt departure. When they left, the fridge was clean, and there was still blood all over the walls. The blood did not belong to anyone in the family. It had started pouring down from the ceiling, and the family decided that was the final straw. It was one thing when specters appeared at the top of the stairs with two heads and...
Submitted to Contest #214
If it was a Wednesday, we’d get pizza after midnight. Grandpa Ed would wake me up from my spot on the couch. The television would be playing reruns of a show from the 1950’s about a talking cat or a horse that solves crime. The black and white would cross my face, and I’d fear for a moment that the world had lost its color. Then, warmth. I’d be scooped up into arms that smelled like tweed and Aramis. I’d pretend to still be asleep, but I don’t know why. I don’t know why that was my favorite thing to do. Fight going to bed only to continue ...
Submitted to Contest #213
Jeremiah had no intention of turning his dog into Napoleon. He woke up one day and when Scotch Tape came to greet him in bed with a lick of the feet and a wag of the tail, Jeremiah gave him a pat on the head as he had always done, and the next thing he knew, there was a tiny tyrant standing before him. “Well, now you’ve done it,” said Napoleon, “Look at me. Just look at me. I’ve been dead for almost two hundred years, and you brought me back just to fetch a frisbee.” Jeremiah assured Napoleon that he didn’t mean to resurrect him. He ha...
Submitted to Contest #212
I had always thought that the Muscatellos had a perfect marriage. Lindy Muscatello would often leave the windows open whenever they made love. During one of their sessions, Oscar Muscatello would sing opera at the top of his lungs. I’d be lying in bed next to Robert and he would beg me to shut the window. The whole thing made him uncomfortable. When we made love, there was no sound at all. Just a quiet gasp when Robert decided to land the plane, so to speak. My plane never landed. It just circled endlessly until it ran out of fuel and plum...
Submitted to Contest #211
Althea woke up and remembered it was Christmas. She pushed off the blankets that were feeling exceedingly heavier with each passing morning, and placed her feet down on the warm, wooden floors. “Warm floors,” she said to herself, “I’ll never get over warm floors.” When she was a little girl, there were things promised from the future and things that couldn’t even be imagined. Althea was still waiting on the things promised, but the unimaginable had arrived time and again, and each time, she couldn’t believe how much energy people expen...
Submitted to Contest #210
The aliens were not going to leave the Olive Garden. Originally, they had no plans to try out any of the fast casual restaurants the world had to offer. They were on a very strict timeline-- Arrive on Earth. Bring together mankind under an umbrella of peace and kindness. Meet Paul Simon. Go home. Peace and kindness didn’t take very long, but Paul Simon was a hard man to pin down. When the aliens finally got him on the phone, he cautiously agreed to meet with them provided they did not force him to sing “Call Me Al.” Of course, this...
Shortlisted for Contest #209 ⭐️
I need a second.I really had no intention of, you know, returning to this house. So many bad memories here. So much trauma. Is it okay if I just sit for a second? If I remember correctly, they only had the two chairs. Well, technically, they had three chairs. And I, an innocent little girl of fifteen, sat in one of the three chairs, and immediately felt as though I was being set upon by the fabric. Certain people recounting my story have said that it was too soft, that first chair, but it wasn’t just that it was soft, it was that I have...
Submitted to Contest #208
It would be one thing if we were stuck in a book. There’s a respectability to being characters in a book. I was discussing it with my husband last night, and we both agreed that a novel--or even a novella--would be just fine. Not that we know the difference between a novel and a novella, but I think a novella is sexier. Not that I’m opposed to being in something sexy as long as I’m not the one supplying the sex. I’m not a prude, mind you, but I’m not doing anything prurient just so Reese Witherspoon can read all about it and then tell her ...
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