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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Aug, 2025
Submitted to Contest #319
The orchard is quiet when I first step into it, not a quiet peace, but of a breath held too long. It’s a hush that needles against my skin, the kind that makes you want to whisper without knowing why. The air smells of damp earth, of moss clinging to bark, of sweetness gone just past ripe. The fruit here has secrets bruising under their skin. As a child I was never allowed past the first row. My grandmother would grip my wrist if I wandered too close, her knuckles white with something more than age. “They’re greedy things,” she’d mutter, t...
Shortlisted for Contest #317 ⭐️
It rained on the day they buried my grandmother. Not the hard kind that rattles rooftops and sends people running for shelter, but the quiet, persistent sort that seeps into wool and bones alike. It felt like the sky had taken up the same soft voice the priest used, and together they were asking us to keep our heads down. Be good. Be small. Be done. Inside the little church, lilies crowded the altar. I sat in the second pew with my knees pressed to the polished wood. The casket looked lighter than wood should look. My mother's hand was flat ...
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