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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jul, 2020
Submitted to Contest #64
As the clock struck eight, little monsters were herded back to their warm beds, every one of them with a cheeky smile and a mind full of delicious candied thoughts. Danny and Jones were laying out tiny plastic cups on the kitchen island. Two bags of tiny cups needed laying out and three bags in the fridge holding green half jelly-half liquid concoctions. Orange and black streamers crisscrossed every inch of ceiling in a thoughtless mess. Jones had bought out the 52nd street dollarstore’s inventory of styrofoam spiders and scattered them onto...
Submitted to Contest #59
I am Xion. I am writing this because I am, well, confused. My bunkermate Cass suggested this. Considering my distress recently, she introduced me to this type of writing therapy. “They used to call it ‘confession’,” she said, her hands gesturing outwards as if presenting the word in the air. She explained very little but said that her “parents” made her do this once and she’d felt better. Cass is from the Trad Tribe, a growing group of historiarians who follow the traditional methods of human living passed down from the early 2000s. ...
Submitted to Contest #56
Danika was about a block away from Café Tranquillité when her sister Freya texted. She briefly glanced at it, but barely read the words. She picked up pace. It was a cloudless summer day and the heat pulsed on Danika’s bare skin. Drops of sweat dotted her forehead and she thanked the gods who created sweat-proof mascara. One more corner and she would escape the heat and enter a safe haven of air conditioning and coffee. A group of five teenage kids were just coming out from the café, iced drinks in hand and chipper chatter all around. T...
Submitted to Contest #53
The first contact of the cold sugary liquid was like a pin prick on the soft skin between the index finger and the thumb, sending a light jolt of electricity down the spine. The green popsicle—sweating in the sweltering heat—Jason’s favourite lime-flavoured treat, sold by a jolly old man in cargo shorts and striped polo, tufts of white hair peeking out of his boonie hat. He sets up his ice cream bike next to the duck pond every July, calls it The Icicle Tricycle. You can find him there every morning of the month, 9 a.m. sharp to 2 p.m., and ...
Submitted to Contest #51
After 14 years of avoidance, 6 years of denial, 2 years of self-encouragement, and 2 months of preparation, I am here now, standing in front of a 15 by 30 feet demon. A monstrous eight hundred and fifty five square feet of trauma ready to swallow me whole. I pull at the taut costume I’m wearing, feeling like a female warrior in action movies wearing impractical armour for the sake of sexual appeal, but more so the impracticality than the sexual appeal. I crouch down, half a feet away from the beast, and touch it. Cold! I look at my options...
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