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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jan, 2025
It was Aunt Maggie that made him do it. If Aunt Maggie didn’t come over that Saturday, if it wasn’t his thirteenth birthday, if she wasn’t a big kisser, none of this would have happened. But as it happened, she did come over. It was his birthday. And she was, without a doubt, a big, wet, face kisser. ‘Ooh I bet you can’t wait for Aunt Maggie to get here,’ his brother teased that morning. ‘Are you looking forward to a nice big, birthday smooch?’James cringed at the thought. Aunt Maggie’s breath smelt like old cigarettes and ancient, minty gu...
Submitted to Contest #294
Dear Mr Miles,It has come to my attention that there is a cat in the building. I have seen it twice now, once on the front path and once in the hallway. Is it yours?Kindly,Joseph Grey, President of the Residents Association.Hi Joe.I was under the impression cats are not allowed in the building. Have you tried Clara at number three?Cam Miles.Dear Miss Lecky,It has come to my attention there is a cat in the building. Does it belong to you?Kindly,Joseph Grey, President of the Residents AssociationMr President,Please call me Clara. Cats are very...
Marjorie checks her bag, then checks it again. She moves aside the sandwiches, the cheese and crackers, the bag of grapes (green, seedless, obviously), she looks under the Tupperware of cut carrots, the tub of hummus. The flask of coffee (milk, no sugar, they are not animals). It’s not there. Marjorie sits back in her seat and looks out of the window. The world is flying past at speed as the train hurtles through the suburbs, trees blurring together into one long, fuzzy shape (is that the speed? Or is it because she’s forgotten h...
Submitted to Contest #292
‘So, can you? Can you do it?’ The young girl stands on my doorstep, I squint at her through the crack in my door. She twists a lacy handkerchief in her thin hands and stares at me beseechingly, her watery eyes shiny and quivering. Christ. She’s actually doing puppy dog eyes. ‘It’s just, I had heard...’ she continues, barely audible, voice quaking. ‘You had heard?’ I demand, my voice coming out crackly and old. It startles her, the poor, sweet thing. ‘Yes, I... well I had heard from a dear friend that you might... ...
Submitted to Contest #291
There’s one of those old-fashioned filter coffee machines in the corner of the room. It sits on a trestle table with a set of paper cups and a plate of biscuits. A drip of condensation snakes its way down the inside of the glass jug, which catches the light from the florescent strip lighting in the ceiling. I’m staring around the room trying to get my bearings, I must have nodded off, I’ve been doing that lately. Comes with getting on a bit I suppose. We’re sitting in a circle, this group and I, on orange plastic chairs. There’s a lady...
Submitted to Contest #289
The room was unfamiliar, I don’t know how I got here. I mean, I know how I got here, a standard mode of teleportation, in which my every molecule was compressed and pushed through space in quite a brash manner and thrown together at the other end. I hope it was my every molecule, anyway. I would hate to have left anything behind. No, I mean I don’t know how I got here. As in, how did a lowly conservationist and Earth enthusiast go from being in a very civilised conference aboard the Command Ship discussing the future of this ...
Submitted to Contest #287
I know exactly what we’re about to talk about and I don't want to have this conversation. I feel his eyes on me as I stand at the counter, my back to him, waiting for the water to rumble to a boil, the kettle to flick off, the hot water to splash onto the teabag, seep into the leaves, turn everything a deep red-brown. I think about making him a cup but I know he wouldn’t drink it. I know what we’re about to talk about. He knows what we’re about to talk about. At least he’s nice enough to let me make a tea first before he hounds me. We m...
Submitted to Contest #286
I'm speeding through the garden, my wings buzzing furiously, my antenna cutting through the air ahead like swords. I’d have tears streaming down my face if flies could cry. They can't, but the sentiment is still there. I clear the neighbour's fence, almost get taken out by some sheer stockings flapping on a washing line, tumble my way through the leaves of a lemon tree and almost collide with a honeybee going about his work. ‘Oi! Watch where you’re going!’ he shouts after me. ‘Bloody house flies.’ Some call me dramatic, and by...
Submitted to Contest #285
‘There’s never anything to eat here, God,’ says Chelsea. ‘Are you kidding me?’ I say, gesturing at the four boxes at my feet that I’ve already cleared from the pantry. I’ve got what I think is flour on my cheek and grains of what I hope is some spice under my nails. It smells smoky. Cardamom maybe? I’m not good at spices. ‘Oh, yes mum, please,’ says Chelsea, picking out the nearest jar, ‘let me eat some whole green pickles in brine from...’ she turns the jar over, ‘nineteen-ninety-seven.’ Horror and disgust fight for first...
Submitted to Contest #284
‘Pâté!’ Exclaims Sylvie, clattering a plate of neatly cut sandwiches in the centre of the table which clanks noisily against Judith’s best porcelain. Judith winces but manages to turn it into a gracious smile, eyeing the thick, greyish filling. ‘How lovely,’ says Judith. ‘Who eats pâté anymore, Sylvie?’ I ask. Judith has her little round table set with all her finest, as is tradition in an event such as this. Her thin, porcelain teacups with the cherry blossom design, the silver tray of her old mothers. She’s even bake...
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