Timothy Lawver

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Dec, 2020

Stories (11)

11 Stories

164 karma pts

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“The Star of the Priestess in the Land of Pig Farms” by Timothy Lawver

Submitted to Contest #88

Twice upon time the forces of evil converged on the tiny hamlet of Gurp-on-Tunib. This particular conflagration of civilization consisted of one tavern, a statue so old and worn nobody could recall whom it honored, a one bedroom hovel belonging to the mayor, the root shack, and five pig farms in the surrounding boggy plains. One could say that its relative strategic and economic importance to the realm at large was somewhere above nonexistent but below measly. The first instance of evil descending on the poor folk here was three ge...

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“The Trial of the Magic Pixie” by Timothy Lawver

Submitted to Contest #87

A nervous hush hung over the assembled beings beneath the old Poplar tree’s roots. Seated at the head of the diminutive hall, bathed in the sunlight pouring through a gap in the growth, Dismuth the Wise presided, his steely gray eyes keeping watch. Standing between this imposing figure and the masses, Hargum the Wood Elf glared angrily at the figure seated in the middle of the room. There, on a simple stool crafted from an acorn cap, Ricky the Pixie twiddled his thumbs, swished his feet, and did his best to not make eye contac...

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“Dam It, Tommy” by Timothy Lawver

Submitted to Contest #87

Dennis gripped and re-gripped the steering wheel. His eyes, strained and on the verge of tears, scanned the road ahead, watching each twisting turn. The old Ford surged with growls and relented with whines as its driver balanced urgency with safety on the narrow mountain road. The radio had long since gone to static but remained there, white noise of insufficient import. The old dam road took a broad turn out to the right along a cliff face scattered with bushes and weeds, curving out to crest the massive cement structure that...

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“Charles, Princess of the Forest” by Timothy Lawver

Submitted to Contest #86

Breath coming ragged and fast, Charles raced through the underbrush. He jumped a mossy log. He ducked a low hanging branch of a pine tree. Arms crossed over his face he barreled through a clump of bushes. Taking no care for his already battered shoes he splashed through the shallow creek. In the end, a half buried length of rusty barbed wire caught his pant leg and sent him tumbling into a patch of wild flowers and grass. Sunlight streamed through a break in the forest canopy, slanted lines of illumination falling at...

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“Caffeine in Wartime” by Timothy Lawver

Submitted to Contest #84

Standing in front of the map, I really only saw a blur. A couple of blinks, and the mass in front of me was just greens and browns depicting an area roughly the size of Connecticut. I’d done the math the week before. Or maybe it was the month before. In any case, the numbers were probably right. Or close to it. “Sgt Angel, did you book my ride over to FOB Joyce for tomorrow?” I didn’t even look over my shoulder as I said it, half worried the good sergeant would also be a fuzzy blob. “You went to Joyce last week,...

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“Sacrifices for the Deep” by Timothy Lawver

Submitted to Contest #83

Brandy bottle in hand, Captain Visser swayed with the roll of the ship, eyes locked with the cherubic face on the canvas. From beneath golden curls the boy looked back, also moving with the toss of the waves, expression frozen in a serenely benevolent look. Given the circumstance the good captain considered the look condescending at best, malevolent at worst. Was that crest of red and gold above the hat brim meant to be a halo or the fires of Hell? Little Hoitink, promoted from cabin boy to first mate on account of attrition,...

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“Family Climb” by Timothy Lawver

Submitted to Contest #79

Wind howled in Devin’s ears. He tried to tell himself it was just the wind. The cold attacked every joint, seeking out every seam of his cobbled together gear. Part of his mind wanted to let go and fall into the abyss. He screamed back at the wind and forced his arm to swing the adze another foot higher, another foot farther. “Mom!” he screamed downward, “You’ve gotta try! Keep climbing!”  Wind or no wind, he should have heard her response. She should have yelled something back, however defeated or demorali...

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“Anole Other Story” by Timothy Lawver

Submitted to Contest #78

I did not like Mr. Bruce. I needed Mr. Bruce. To be more specific and needed in listed as my resource teacher for 4th period. On paper, this meant a period in which I could be given extra support with challenging subjects, like a directed study hall. In practice, this meant I hung out in the computer lab, just myself and Mr. Bruce. On this particular day, a Tuesday, I trudged in, slid my backpack across the floor and flopped into a seat. After staring blankly ahead for a few minutes, just to ponder my general hopeles...

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“Winter, My Friend” by Timothy Lawver

Submitted to Contest #77

“Gonna go outside, where it’s freaking cold,” Jacob sang to himself, as he’d gotten into the habit of doing lately, “Gotta wear these crappy boots, gotta get some firewood.” Having put on every layer at his disposal, including the throw from the back of the couch, he trudged from the mud room to the front of the cabin. One brisk breath, and his snot froze in place. He smiled, as he did each time, amused in a juvenile way about rapidly chilled boogers. Squinting in the glare of winter sun on endless snow he made his way careful...

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“The Events in Lab B” by Timothy Lawver

Submitted to Contest #76

“And thus we see…Hang on. Is the, um, the thingy recording?” “Yeah, for like the fourth time, if the red light is on, it’s recording.” “So, sue me. I’m a little nervous. There is a fair amount of precedent to be set and scientific foundation to be built in such an auspicious moment.” “Right. Cause the town drunk said this giant cocoon came from a pulsating rock that fell from the sky, and totally isn’t a prop from a bad B movie.” “Great. Just great. Now that’s on record. Barbara, if you can’t take this seri...

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“Rain, Dust, and Final Chimes” by Timothy Lawver

Submitted to Contest #74

From the grandfather clock in the hall, the one technically stolen despite family lore of it having been loaned, came the first chime at the hour of three o’clock.  The resonant sound, a G sharp that was supposed to be an F, echoed nicely over the oak floors downstairs despite their growing blanket of dust, spreading into the rooms in turn.  The living room.  The entryway.  The dining room.  The kitchen.  The small study off the kitchen, a room full of windows that should have been full of light. An overcast d...

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