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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Feb, 2020
Dear Diary: 3-18Youâre brilliant teal-The color of the sea, right where it touches the sky. A leather band wraps tight around you,To hold your thoughts in, Mom said. Iâve never written in a diary before. But Mom thinks I should, she wants me to keep my feelings to myself. Like she does.I canât-We all grieve differently. Dear Diary: 3-19You should expect these entries to be short.&n...
You sit on the bed, worn quilt draped over you. Thereâs a hole in the quilt, one that your knee fits through perfectly, edges frayed from years of sitting in this exact position. Sunlight from the window streams in, lighting up the words on the page of the book in front of you. Black type-written words on creamy background; you stare but donât truly read. You read the first few pages, and that was enough. How could she? You stare at the book in your hands, florid, garish...
I canât describe the empty space. The in-between, where the misty threads of what I call myself danced over and around each other. Where thoughts were indiscriminate from dreams.I canât fully describe the feeling when he started writing. As though bits and pieces were being pulled from the mist, sliding into each other, wiggling until they ran like clockwork. I canât describe the feeling, because up until 4:35 AM on Tuesday, March 3, I did not exist.I shoot into exis...
He walks up to you, slapping you a high five. His blue eyes glint down at you, sparkling cobalt as always, but missing their usual mischievous spark. You know the spark, youâve stared at it for years. Youâve been friends since you beat him in the first-grade spelling bee. Youâre tied for the top of the class, have air hockey battles, and know things about each other no one else does. His middle name is Bartholomew. You were the one who took your sisterâs homework that one time.&n...
Circling, circling, The hills shone, a vibrant green-painted blanket of jitterbug-dancing life, as though the earth had taken it upon itself to create an earthbound paradise, a promenade of the purest natural beauty. An eagle rose into the sky, buffeted by gusts of wind, sending him spiraling. On the edge of the verdant meadow sat rails, rusty iron tracks used twice a day by the great red steam engine. The polished-brass wheels shone, traveling city to city at high, well-advertised speeds.   &nbs...
Very few people knew of his existence. Of those few, all but one were dead. Which is why it was such a surprise when he heard the heartbeat-quick rap on his door. Slowly, ever so slowly, the grizzled man shifted from his seated position. His joints cracked as he stood, turtle-slow, and yet the way with which he moved seemed to reflect the man he had once been, a man who could, whisper-silent, slip through the shadows. Yes, his younger self did show- reflected in a warped fun...
Hey! Taryn Morlock here, a creative writer, adventurer, and general life-liver. :)
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