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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Oct, 2024
Submitted to Contest #279
Death and War (content)When I was six, my Grandma Dora used to call me her blue eyed pixie. Little did she know that I was far from a mischievous sprite. Blonde hair and pigtails on the outside; inside, I was extremely introspective and philosophical, midnight feathered. My trauma induced fears often surfaced as symbols in my nightmares; I would have the same recurring night terror every time I closed my battle-worn eyes and fell into a deep sleep. It escalated to the point where I slept on my sister's floor so my mo...
Submitted to Contest #278
The bloodroot and butterfly weeds had grown thicker in Her declining years. The wildflower garden had always had one vine-like tree lounging on the great oak, which had overspread its canopy and had become a hiding place for observant owls and rust colored squirrels alike. How had I not noticed this uncultivated plot as the burial place for her secret? A secret that was mine as well despite my lack of awareness. But it was there entwined in the roots of the great oak nourishing it like a bastardized Tree of Knowledge...
Submitted to Contest #277
This story is primarily a psychological story on a teenager being groomed by a predatory teacher. Violence is implied rather than graphic.*****Adults are WickedEmagine slumps over the splintering cluttered kitchen table for hours, her eyes burning from acidic tears and leeching exhaustion. To craft each word and mold every untenanted slide to impress Mr. Jacob, she thinks, If he can only see my effort and intelligence then maybe, just maybe, for once, I will be recognized as the best and not compared to the others with their lead chorus...
Submitted to Contest #276
The Escape: Later I yearn to be in my townhouse with my striped cat, Raskolnikov, entwined securely around my torso, his paws protectively grasping my arm; instead, I drive to the Target off of 611 to hide among the many crowded aisles of suspiciously too jolly and gluttonous Saint Nicks juxtaposed with eerie elf animatronics coming to life with a slight tussle, their green eyes peering at the eager shoppers. It is early November, and the moon is shaded by Nimbostratus clouds fortelling rain. I glance at the time–8:4...
Submitted to Contest #274
When I was visually a sixty-three year old man in a black dress shirt opened at the collar, with faded ebony khakis that ended at my scuffed camel brown shoes, capped at the cranium with a weather beaten umber stetson and pointedly steadied with an old wooden cane, others eyed me with disdain or pity for my vagrancy. If I sprawled on the damp grass like an animate mannequin after a storm, I was looked down upon like a soaked mutt and thrown moldy leftovers of charity. If I discarded my clothing for wudu from the rainwate...
Submitted to Contest #272
Mythical beasts have been the awe of school-aged children for centuries. Marina had her own dreams as most little girls do, but they were not of princesses and princes. Rather, she dreamt of dragons. She longed to fly with freedom through the unconfined winds of her town, a small fishing village in rural Italy. She would perch on the stout back of a lime green beast as its Leviathan sized wings manipulated the air with ease. This is what passed her thoughts as she scrubbed the steps beneath her grandparents’ fish mar...
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