Teacher Mom

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Feb, 2025

Stories (4)

4 Stories

28 karma pts

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“The Unfinished Portrait” by Teacher Mom

Submitted to Contest #292

Daniel ran his fingers over the cracked surface of the old canvas, the scent of aged oil paint and mildew thick in the air. The antique shop's dim lighting barely reached the corners of the room, casting the painting in uneasy half-shadow. This was nothing new. He had spent years salvaging forgotten art, breathing new life into the discarded.But something about this piece unsettled him."Beautiful, isn't it?" The shop owner materialized beside him, an elderly man with eyes that seemed to catch and hold too much light. "Not many people can see...

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“The Red Symphony” by Teacher Mom

Submitted to Contest #292

Adrian had always felt something missing, a silence lurking beneath the music that defined his life. Each note he played was precise, honed by years of discipline, yet empty, like a symphony missing its final movement. Music was his identity, his refuge, but also his burden.And there was never any red.His world was deliberately colorless, rich mahogany, deep navy, pristine ivory. His father's study stood as a monument to order, a world of muted tones, controlled and calculated. Red had no place in it. Passion had no place in it. Adrian had l...

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“Ink of Secrets” by Teacher Mom

Submitted to Contest #291

The fragment trembled between Jonas Halloway's fingers, its edges crumbling like dead leaves. In the suffocating quiet of his basement office, grudgingly granted by the university after last term's heated confrontation with the board over his "unorthodox" research methods, the parchment seemed to pulse with its own heartbeat. Generations of scholars had searched for this text, and now here it was, ink impossibly wet after centuries.Professor Chen's warning echoed, "Your obsession with these texts is becoming dangerous, Jonas. The board is co...

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“Ink Against Oblivion” by Teacher Mom

Submitted to Contest #291

The journal lay open on Leah's desk, pristine pages gleaming under the lamp's harsh glow. No coffee stains. No grocery lists. No half-formed story ideas. Only emptiness stretched across page after page, as if something had devoured the words she knew should be there.Her hands trembled as she traced the leather binding, remembering how she'd written in it just yesterday–hadn't she? The memory felt soggy, dissolving at the edges like wet paper.She slammed the journal shut and reached for her coffee, fingers brushing empty air. In the kitchen, ...

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