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Susie Bennett

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jan, 2025

Stories (33)

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14 Followers

18 Following

33 Stories

489 karma pts

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This isn’t what I signed up for

The salt spray stung Elara’s face as the skiff bucked and shuddered on the turbulent waves. The wind, a mournful howl, tore at her cloak, threatening to rip it from her grasp. Rain lashed down with the ferocity of a scorned lover, blurring the already indistinct horizon. She gripped the railing of the small vessel, her knuckles white, and swallowed hard, trying to suppress the rising tide of nausea."This isn't what I signed up for,” she muttered, the words almost lost to the storm’s fury.Just a few weeks ago, Elara had been surrounded by the...

1 like

This box...it whispers of endings.

The rhythmic clang of the grandfather clock echoed through Elias Thorne's antique-filled study, each chime a hammer blow against the fragile edifice of his composure. He sat hunched in his worn leather armchair, a half-empty glass of amber liquid trembling in his hand. Outside, the wind howled like a banshee, clawing at the ancient stone walls of Thorne Manor, a sound that mirrored the tempest raging within him.Elias, a renowned antiquarian and historian, was a man defined by order and control. His life was meticulously curated, a fortress b...

1 like

My memories are a kaleidoscope of vibrant images

Submitted to Contest #300

The salt spray stung my face as I stood on the cliff edge, the wind tearing at my threadbare coat. Below, the churning grey water of the Atlantic crashed against the rocks, a relentless symphony of loss. I closed my eyes, the image of Avonlea rising in my mind, not as it was now, a mere memory etched in the hearts of a few, but as it had been.Avonlea. A name that tasted of sea salt and peat smoke, a place that existed on the fringes of the world, clinging to the craggy coastline of Ireland with the tenacity of a limpet. It wasn't on any map,...

4 likes

Queen Victoria pantaloons were gone!

Submitted to Contest #299

Right, buckle up, butter your popcorn, and prepare for a rollercoaster of ridiculousness. I present to you the saga of Bartholomew Butterfield and the Case of the Purloined Pantaloons.Bartholomew Butterfield, a man whose life was as beige as his wardrobe, lived in the quaint, somewhat eccentric village of Little Piddleton. Bartholomew’s greatest passion in life, aside from meticulously alphabetising his collection of commemorative spoons, was his collection of antique pantaloons. Not just any pantaloons, mind you. These were pantaloons of hi...

4 likes

A bridge between people

Submitted to Contest #299

The city was a symphony of honking taxis, chattering crowds, and distant sirens—a chaotic melody to which Leo, the clown, danced. Not literally, not yet. He stood in the alleyway beside O’Malley’s Irish Pub, adjusting his oversized shoes and painting a fresh, vibrant red smile onto his face with practiced ease. The damp chill of the evening seeped into his thin costume, but Leo didn't mind. He was about to step into his element.Leo wasn’t just any clown. He was Leo the Luminous, the Purveyor of Peculiarities, the Master of Merriment (at leas...

10 likes

He was finally free to start living

Submitted to Contest #298

The salt spray stung Elias’s face, a familiar welcome after years away from the sea. He gripped the worn railing of the ferry, the wood smooth under his calloused hands, a ghost of the fisherman he once was. He was returning to Oakhaven, the village cradled in the crook of the bay, the village he had sworn he’d never see again. He was returning for forgiveness.Twenty years. Twenty years since the storm, since the accident, since the unforgivable. The guilt had burrowed deep, a constant ache that no landlocked life could ever ease. He had tri...

4 likes

Sunrise Yoga

Submitted to Contest #298

The old wooden sign creaked in the wind, its faded lettering barely whispering the promise of "Sunrise Yoga - Beginners Welcome!" Eliza hesitated, her hand hovering over the rusty gate. Sunrise. Yoga. Both concepts felt alien to her, foreign languages she couldn't quite grasp. For forty-two years, her mornings had been a symphony of coffee, emails, and the frantic scramble to get her kids, now thankfully fledged, out the door. Exercise, beyond the occasional sprint to catch a bus, was a myth she read about in magazines.Eliza was, in her own ...

8 likes

The Guardian of the Woods

Submitted to Contest #297

The wind howled a mournful dirge through the skeletal branches of the ancient oaks, a sound that mirrored the turmoil churning inside Elara. It was just before dawn, the air thick with a pre-dawn chill that seeped into her bones despite the heavy cloak she wore. The sky, a bruised purple fading to a sickly grey on the eastern horizon, held no promise of warmth or light. Here, on the precipice of a decision that would alter the course of her life, the world felt bleak and unforgiving.For generations, Elara's family had been bound to the Whisp...

3 likes

The Lighthouse Keeper

The old lighthouse keeper, Silas, had a secret as deep and swirling as the ocean surrounding his solitary post. For fifty years, he’d stood sentinel, a weathered figure against the crashing waves, guiding ships away from the treacherous Devil’s Teeth. But the light he shone for others was a stark contrast to the darkness he kept hidden within himself.His secret wasn't a crime, not in the eyes of the law. It was, in Silas’s estimation, a betrayal. A betrayal of trust, of nature, and of the very essence of himself. He clung to it, wrapped it i...

1 like

The Village Healer

Submitted to Contest #296

The biting wind whipped at Elara’s threadbare coat as she hurried through the market square. The scent of roasting chestnuts usually brought a flicker of warmth, but today, it only amplified the hollowness in her belly. Her gaze darted from stall to stall, not searching for a bargain, but assessing weaknesses, identifying unguarded corners.Elara wasn’t a thief. Until a week ago, the idea would have repulsed her. She’d spent her entire life working honestly, scrubbing floors, mending clothes, taking on any odd job that came her way. But a wee...

7 likes

Thomas, Oakhaven, 1950

Submitted to Contest #295

The salt spray kissed Amelia’s face as she leaned against the railing of the ferry, the churning water a mesmerising turquoise beneath a sky the colour of faded denim. She was on her way to Oakhaven Island, a tiny speck of land off the coast of Maine, a place her grandmother had always spoken of with a wistful sigh and a faraway look in her eyes. Amelia had inherited her grandmother’s cottage, a charmingly dilapidated structure perched on the edge of a cliff overlooking the endless expanse of the Atlantic.She needed an escape. An escape from...

7 likes

Alistair Finch was not dead

Submitted to Contest #295

The rain hammered against the canvas tent, each dropping a heavy drumbeat on the sombre melody of grief. I stood under the inadequate shelter, the collar of my coat pulled high, trying to disappear into the throng of mourners. Or were they mourners? That was the question that gnawed at the edges of my composure. Because here, at the supposed funeral of Alistair Finch, I was increasingly certain Alistair Finch was not dead.Alistair, my enigmatic neighbour for the past five years, had lived a life shrouded in quiet mystery. He was a retired cl...

10 likes

Magical Powers

Submitted to Contest #295

The chipped porcelain teacup sat on the dusty shelf, nestled between a chipped gravy boat and a tarnished silver candlestick. It wasn’t particularly beautiful; a faded floral pattern barely clinging to its surface, a hairline crack spiderwebbing down its side. It was, in the grand scheme of things, utterly unremarkable. Except for one small detail: it held wishes.Melissa inherited the teacup, along with the rest of her eccentric Aunt Millie's cluttered Victorian house, a month after Millie’s unexpected passing. Melissa, a pragmatic accountan...

12 likes

I didnt mean that

Submitted to Contest #294

The salt spray stung Paige’s face as she clung to the railing of the fishing trawler, the Sea Serpent. The predawn sky was a bruised purple, hinting at the turbulent day ahead. Beside her, Captain Silas, a man carved from weathered oak and hardened by decades at sea, squinted at the horizon. He barely acknowledged her presence, his focus solely on the churning waves and the promise of the day's catch.Paige, fresh out of the Academy with a degree in marine biology and a head full of idealistic dreams, felt a knot of apprehension tighten in he...

8 likes

Wanderlust

The salt spray stung Juliana's face as she clung to the railing of the "Wanderlust," a fishing trawler that had seen better days. The rhythmic creak of the old wood and the endless expanse of the grey sea were her only companions. For the past year, the ocean had become her refuge, a vast, silent canvas reflecting the turmoil within.Juliana hadn't always been silent. Once, her voice had been a bright spark, a melodic thread woven into the tapestry of her life. She had been a storyteller, a performer, a teacher who captivated children with fa...

0 likes