Timothy Holland

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jul, 2024

Stories (4)

4 Stories

43 karma pts

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“"I AM....MAN!!"” by Timothy Holland

Submitted to Contest #263

I’m really a nice guy. I am a husband and father of two little girls and a boy. I love my family dearly and am a good provider. My friends and family know this, but most people do not. For I am a professional wrestling villain. You know me as “Man.” Not “The Man.” Not “Mountain Man.” Not “The Big Man.” Just “Man.” I wouldn’t have it any other way. Of course, like everyone I have a birth name. It’s Marvin. Marvin Manley. A good name and I like it. But it’s not a good ring name for a villain. I did not ask to be a villain. It was simply the w...

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“Hot and Hungry” by Timothy Holland

Jose woke up hot and hungry. His stomach was already making noises. This was not unusual for him or anyone in the Berrao household as they did not have much.   The hardwood floor that was his bed did not cool or comfort, but with seven siblings in a two-bedroom house one had to sleep wherever they could. Jose being one of the oldest knew this all too well. There is nothing like the experience of being hungry on a hot day. This one would be the hottest of the year with temperatures soaring well above one hundred degrees. The night had do...

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“The Men who Raised 500 Boys” by Timothy Holland

Submitted to Contest #261

What is the definition of an unsung hero? To me, it is a person who blesses others without asking for acknowledgement or anything in return. Two men who helped shape my life and the lives of many young men fit this definition. They are my junior high school physical education teachers Mr. John and Mr. Mac. I shortened their last names in case they would like to remain unsung which wouldn’t surprise me. Mr. John and Mr. Mac did something that so many took for granted. They helped raise 500 adolescent boys five days a week from September to Ju...

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“A Rage To Burn ” by Timothy Holland

Submitted to Contest #260

The five-gallon gas can was in the bed of the old gray pickup truck. A pack of cigarettes rested in his shirt chest pocket. A book of matches in his pant pocket. Old newspapers lay on the passenger’s side of the truck seat. It was dark enough to get the job done. Leroy Stanford Jackson had had enough. The anger which had always been a part of him was at the boiling point. On this night, the man, who in his mind, so many people had passed over was about to get revenge. That revenge would come at the hands of all who worked at the sawmill. Th...

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Author bio

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