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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 #265
Days ago, the young giant, too easily distracted, wandered away from his fellow giants. First, he loped after a butterfly. A pretty butterfly with many black lines and splotches of other colors. Until he got distracted by a skittish squirrel, but that little thing climbed higher up a tree than even the giant could reach. With a sigh of disappointment, the big guy moved on. He followed the spots of light that danced through the trees. Until those faded at the end of the day. That disappointment was also soon forgotten when he got a whiff of f...
Submitted to Contest #264
“Sasha!” mom hollers from the bottom of the stairs. If she doesn’t answer, mom will call for one of the boys. “SASHA!” or she won’t.Reluctantly, twelve-year-old Sasha starts to lower ‘Weird Girl’ by Myranda Marie, the book about an awkward girl who, together with her big ass dog, becomes part of a teenage werewolf pack. And discovers she has the special power of ‘seeing’. Just one more page.“SASHA! Now!”“Coming!” She runs down the stairs. Hopefully, this won’t take long so she can go back up in a second and finish the chapter. Surely Luca wi...
Submitted to Contest #262
“I’ll have half a pound prosciutto, extra thin, please.” “I’ll have half a pound prosciutto, thin, please.” That echo comes from my right. I glance at the man next to me, he pronounced it proshute, as if he knows what he’s talking about. His skin is sun-kissed, I think that’s the term. With well-styled, dark brown curly hair, sinfully long lashes framing brown eyes, a roman nose and full lips, he reminds me of a long-ago movie star. Can’t remember who. It’s not important. Are you Italian? I ask. He shrugs eloquently. No, he answers,...
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 #257
Mason Campbell, reporter with the Atlanta Constitution, feels frustrated. For the past fifteen minutes he’s been trying to interview Miss Chancey Jarvis. Though Miss Jarvis is patiently answering his questions, her answers are vague.“Miss Jarvis, you have lived here for more than sixty years, Is that right?” He asks.“Yes, it is my home.”“But people don’t live permanently in homeless shelters, do they?”“So, I’ve been told.”“How come you have?”“This is where I live. Will you be much longer? I need to put the towels in the dryer.” She fidg...
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 #253
Something Came UpYou won’t make it home for dinner tonight.Bet if anyone could choose how they'd want to die, they’d choose to die in their bed, in their sleep, wouldn’t they? Sure, anyone would. Granted, they'd leave a tangled mess for someone else to deal with. But what the hell, they'd be dead. Not their problem anymore.Maybe, at some point, if someone'd live long enough, they may become more mature and have a lawyer write up a will. They might even name an executor, make bequests, and ignore all those relatives who are hovering with thei...
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 #240
Steve, the weatherman on channel six, rudely interrupted Dr. Phil. to tell us that a tornado had touched down near Louisville and was traveling up the Ohio River. Everybody knows that these guys live for this stuff, like a self-respecting entomologist lives for the hatching of the seventeen-year cicadas. But really! Louisville? That was at least two and a half hours away, if you kept to the speed limits. I've lived here for thirty years and yet have to see one of these things. Come to think about it, that's a good thing.On second thought, I ...
Submitted to Contest #235
Wednesday morning5:00 o'clockShe is sitting on the edge of her bed. It has taken days to pack. A little bit at a time, carefully hiding it from her parents. Trying to decide what is important, what is fluff. How much is enough?Sitting still, being quiet, because she can't wake Mommy and Daddy, and still keeping herself awake is hard. She can hear Daddy snore through the thin wall. But Mommy says she's a light sleeper. Marjory doubts it. As often as she has come in late these past few months, Mommy never seems to have heard her.She frets. Doe...
Tonight, Maggy finally gets her chance to run. Tonight, he passed out drunk again. But this time he forgot to lock up first. Tonight, she waits quietly, huddled out of sight. She waits till she hears his sloppy snores.She takes one of his shirts, the one she has been ironing. Knowing exactly which floorboard creaks, exactly where and how far she can push the screen door to keep it from squeaking, she slips out of the house. She tiptoes over the gravel and patchy front yard to the street.And runs."Let's run, Maggy!" With a shove, six-year-old...
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