Varuni Pragya

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Feb, 2020

Stories (4)

4 Stories

56 karma pts

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“God’s Favorite” by Varuni Pragya

Submitted to Contest #97

God’s Favorite Don’t believe them. I know you will but I will still tell you to not believe them. My family tells everyone I’m crazy which is why they’ve kept me locked up here, in my attic room. But I want you to believe me. My small room is made entirely of wood. It’s basic with a bed and a box full of Greek mythology books my mom gave me when I was a child, before the southern doctor told them I’m crazy. I live alone but I’m rarely lonely. My bed is usually surrounded by at least one of my friends from the sky. From the night goddess wit...

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“THE LAST LETTER” by Varuni Pragya

Submitted to Contest #45

THE LAST LETTERThe most ephemeral feeling a person can experience in the world is that of hope. As a millennial who loved phrases like ‘changing times’ or ‘the progressive new world’, I was so lost in the excitement of new found liberty that I forgot that there was a time when all this was a dream. I was living in a time of pride parades and women marches across capital city markets, of open online confessions and Supreme Court libertarian judgements. Lost in the beauty amidst the rubble of ancient social pillars, I had forgotten that we wer...

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“Secret Keeper” by Varuni Pragya

Submitted to Contest #41

I slouched back inside my makeshift dog house as I saw her jump from the first story window of the house and land with a thump on the ground. She brushed off the dust and grass blades from her blue faded jeans and turned back to notice the lights getting switched on inside the house followed by a low pitched mumbling of voices. Unfazed, Charlie took me in her arms and ran towards the front wooden gate of the house, got in the passenger seat of the dusty red Chevy which sped ahead. All the members of the Davis family had grown up in front of ...

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“Snowstorm over Annecy” by Varuni Pragya

SNOWSTORM OVER ANNECY- Varuni PragyaOn the morning of 24th December, the inner compartment of the European Railways was as quiet as a tombstone in mourning. The train was at a standstill, on a bridge overlooking a death valley. The raging snowstorms outside made all the tree canopies appear white. Mr. William Anderson, the coachman was a very light sleeper. He could hear the wind howling but it was all usual to him. He peered outside his door, a regular routine to make sure some passenger ...

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