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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Nov, 2023
Submitted to Contest #266
Story’s MissionFinally, the library was one of the few places that offered any comfort in the old drafty Woodleigh Manor. The roaring fire was the main, though inadequate source of illumination in the cavernous book lined room. The light from the candelabra at Sir Percy’s elbow allowed for reading but did not reach beyond the well-worn leather club chair.Sir Percy turned the page of his book, pushed his half specs back in place and reached for the brandy snifter. Suddenly he paused in the lifting of the glass, his body at full alert. His bre...
Submitted to Contest #260
It caught her eye, winked at her, made her fall in love. She just had to add it to her collection. Right there, on the modest table, among all the other market stands was the vase. A beautiful, ethereal pale green jade vase. She stopped, carefully, almost reverently lifted it off the table, felt its weight, held it up to the light and knew it was hers. Exploring, traveling, learning about cultures different from her own, attempting to master at least a few words of the language, as well as seeing the sights, comparing architectural styles an...
Submitted to Contest #259
It would have been an ordinary day, one that would have passed like every other if she hadn’t seen him. If she hadn’t heard the roar from the motorcycle as he pulled into the slot in front of the pharmacy. If she hadn’t stood at the window, mesmerized watching him swing his leg over the bike, tuck his aviators in the chest pocket of his leather jacket. If she hadn’t watched him finger comb his brown hair while he did a slow 360, taking in Main Street.To say he was tall dark and handsome would be too easy.Later they would say that they had kn...
Submitted to Contest #255
.Night ShiftJack is two minutes late for work. Nothing unusual about that. He’s actually ahead of his own schedule, just not his boss’ schedule. He would have been on time, maybe even a minute or so early, if he hadn’t knocked Mrs. Compton off her feet in his rush to leave home. Apologizing profusely, hauling her clumsily upright, chasing and returning DeeDee, her toy poodle, had taken what little extra time he had allowed himself and then some.Catching all the red lights is as normal as his toast landing peanut butter-side down.With a grunt...
Shortlisted for Contest #254 ⭐️
Whispers.Did you hear the latest? Oh, my! Do sit down, have a cup of tea. You have met Lady Farnsworth, have you not? Exactly! At the Wendtworth ball. Yes. Her garden is legendary. Or so I’ve heard. I don’t really know anyone who has seen it firsthand. With the exception of Lady Creason, but all she will say about it is that the garden is simply magnificent, divine.No, really, it’s almost too much. She does it herself! Can you imagine? I shudder to think … Oh, the horror! Dirtying her gloves as she digs in the soil, as if she’s a common maid...
Submitted to Contest #249
What Lies BeneathSummer 1972.“Road trip!” Pam screamed over the sound of the juke box. She had shoved her chair aside, since there was no dancefloor in this hole-in-wall bar, her arms in the air, hips bumping and grinding to the beat. Feet barely moving. After half a pitcher, she could sway her hips or move her feet. She opted for swaying to Otis Redding.“Wastin’ time!” Barb was still capable of doing a fair lip-sync of Sitting on the dock of the bay. Pam a tad too wasted to remember all the words.Fancying themselves the last hippies, the tw...
Submitted to Contest #248
Paradise Lost(Paradise Found?)I almost let the phone go to voicemail since I didn’t recognize the number and suspected I would have to be rude to yet another salesperson.Yes?Mr. Samuel Makarov?Yes?I have a story for you.Those are magic words. I’m a freelance reporter. I’ll take whatever news I can get. Excluding who is sleeping with whom, who had a face lift or tummy tuck or who got who pregnant.Talk to me.Not over the phone.The man gave me the address of a coffee shop just out of town. We agreed to meet in thirty minutes.Mr. Ahmed Sharuff a...
Submitted to Contest #231
I stare into the bottom of the glass and contemplate the last swallow. Absentmindedly, I swirl the wet tumbler in lazy circles over the bar. If I drain the glass, the question will be whether to order another or leave. And go where? Yes, unlike some, I do have a home with a roof, a bed, hot and cold running water.And echoes.Echoes of someone to come home to, of cold feet to warm, of comfort food to eat, of secrets, jokes, hugs and laughs shared. Of medication and nausea, of pain and helplessness, of fake smiles and false bravery, of promises...
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