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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Dec, 2020
There is a black metal door standing alone in the mist. The sound from within makes the stones tremble at her feet. Insects scuttle away and under her boots. The grass is already dead. Her heart is tight and hard like a fruit. Ready to burst, ready to pour out of her chest and leak from her skin. She should not have comeânot without telling anyone. She didnât even leave a note. If...
When the giant sea spider swallowed the entire town of Cobble, it was decided that something should be done about it. Flee, the next town over and slightly higher up, had watched the unfortunate event from their balconies and terraces, very pale and very shaky, and also very quietâin case the sea spider decided to look up and think about dessert. But lucky for the town of Flee, the sea spi...
The last person Brett would have liked to go on vacation with was his wife. But, as she tended to remind him, they were reaching their twentieth anniversary and heâd had more than sufficient time to âpack his bags and take off without a note like a fucking coward.â She was right, of course. Brett had not packed so much as a set of nail clippers when his wife, overshadowing the bedroom door and wat...
âThanks a lot.â âOf course,â the bot replies with a tilt of its blank, feature-less face. âWe aim to make our Sleepers comfortable.â Kora sips the glass of blackberry water offered and shudders as she glances out the glass wall to the seventy story drop. Silver buildings crowd the crossword of streets, huddling against one another for warmth. The river crawls between, lazy and black, a sheen of ice sweating...
He watches the man and woman reach for each otherâs hands as their favorite song lures them to the dance floor. She, whispering in the manâs ear as his hand slides down her back. He, head thrown back, laughing as the woman spins him awkwardly. Theyâre terrible dancers. Even he, standing in the dark corner of the club with his hand in a deathlike grip around his vodka soda, can hardly bear to watch them, their arms...
Each evening, the old woman put a box on her doorstep. The next morning, the box was gone.Gene and Cynthia watched from the attic window, because the attic was really the only place with a broad view of the neighborâs property. The silver sky faded to black as night set in, shadows sprawling across the overgrown grass and weed infested sidewalk.âDo you think sheâs a spy?â Gene asked Cynthia, squinting his face so that his freckles bunched up inside his cheeks. One of his glasses, p...
âHave you heard dadâs new album?â Kate smiled stiffly at her brother from across the white granite island as she took a sip of her champagne, her mouth instantly infused with bitterness. âYou know I didnât.â Jason looked at her, bemused. âWhy not? Itâs your kind of music.â Kate studied himâthe boy who considered himself a man now just because he wore cologne and suits instead of lounge pants and jers...
âWe kill them in the morning.â The woman let the lace curtain fall back across the window, obscuring the view of the family waving before climbing onto their horses. Finally. The sky had turned from indigo to the black of leather, a red moon settling over the plains. âI thought we werenât going to do that anymore,â answered the man. He sat on the edge of the bed, his boots still o...
It was the end of the world and Angela wanted to brush her teeth. âItâs just like, I canât cope with dirty teeth,â she stated as she marched down the supermarket aisle ahead of me, always walking too fast, with her big steps and long legs. âAngela,â I hissed after her. âWait.â But there was no waiting when it came to what Angela wanted. It didnât matter that the supermarket was eerily sile...
There was a body on the table. They stared at itâat the heavy hair-sprayed pink curls and the smudged mascara and the tiny crop top that showed off a belly button piercing (did people still get belly button piercings? Never mind the piercing, she was dead) . Sixteen, maybe. Or younger. Anyway she was too young to be here. Thatâs what they were all thinking. Someoneâs niece whoâd hidden in the back of the ...
She lives in a tree now. Itâs the only place left where she can get some peace and quiet. The windows of the little houses in the neighborhood wink and blink and flutter at her, their blinds opening and closing every time she walks past. Every time she bikes by. She is never alone. Even after Jed left and she thought she was going to have long silent hours to write, long hours alone with the noise in her ...
He picks up the bag they drop off for him each day. A tuna sandwich. A thermos of coffee. A yellow apple. Itâs always the same. It doesnât matterâhe has no taste buds. It will all filter into a storage bank he'll just have to empty out later under the bridge when no one is looking. Two Four Seven, you have one hour to complete your assignment. Heâs better at blending in si...
In honor of the victims of the Tlatelolco massacre, 1972, Mexico City You see your pale, wrinkled hands folded over a long white rose. You see shadows hovering around you. They are whispering as though you are sleeping, as though they do not want to disturb you. As though they are not about to bury you. A child shakes you and calls you Abuelo. A woman touches your cheek. My Love, ...
Youâve never been great at meeting women. Youâre no better at it now. You shouldnât have come. Youâre tired of being pushed into doing things you hate doing. Still, you try. Mostly, for themâyour friends who care about you. Mostly, you just donât want to end up like one of those guys who games all day and wears plaid and stops combing his beard. Get out more. Be friendly. Be yourself. Youâve gotten ...
Why did I have to volunteer for everything? Stupid. I am stupid. Itâs all Austinâs fault. Beautiful, dark-horse, bed-head Austinâtotally untouchable, utterly un-haveable but pathetic me must fantasize about it anyway. Him and me, accidentally brushing hands as we reach for the coffee pot. Him and me, tangling eyes behind the potted ferns. Him and me, alone in the nap pods. Oh, hey you. Didnât see ...
Worker bee by day and writer by night, someday you'll see me on the shelves. www.anna-koltes-writer.com
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