Z. H.

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Apr, 2020

Stories (30)

30 Stories

921 karma pts

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“Scarecrow Boy” by Z. H.

Note to Readers: Please give harsh comments so that I can improve this story. I wrote this without really thinking, it was just a bunch of emotion mixed together. It'll also be best if you listen to "Tightrope" while reading. It pretty much inspired me to write this story.1756 The FieldThe field stretches on for mile, short and trimmed so that the whole horizon is visible. The sun is red, a big bold circle. And underneath the rays of blood-stained light is a house. It'...

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“Behind the Walls” by Z. H.

The building is a tall candied strawberry, it glints in a powerful way. In a colour that can never fade, an exuberant scarlet. Next to it, is a bright slicker yellow one, it’s edges are curved and each window is circular and gleaming. Through the windows, one grey desk sits in bright white light. On the desk is a complex yet simple spotlight that towers over a thick stack of fresh paper. As I look right, I notice that every room is the same. With the same thickness of paper and the exact brightness of the light. The street is l...

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“Why a Red Day?” by Z. H.

It is a pink day. With cotton candy clouds and a watermelon sky. The horizon is flamingo and dancing with wisps of coral flame. I walk on the yellow cobblestone path, spreading my thick wool hood over my bumpy arms. The chilled air hollows my red cheeks and sends vibrations down my limbs.The trees are thin and black, they taunt me with his name.TobiasBut I push his name away. I push the sight of his freshly dug grave away from my head because it numbs my inside and ...

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“The House” by Z. H.

The house was patch-worked, with pieces of thin wood horizontally clumped into squares and rectangles and shapes of all sorts. A group of ripped, torn plants formed a vertical path, cutting across the stone ribbon meandering down to the house's dreary entrance. All the windows were half-moons, sitting in awkward places and showcasing the house's deprecating light.I walked on the stone ribbon; minding the drooping weeds that grew from the deep cracks etched across the thick stone circles. Every step, every time my foot mo...

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“And” by Z. H.

We both dance side by side in the treehouse. The colour of the ripe April sun washes over us, brushing our ankles in hot ecstasy. Our movements are aligned as our feet tap and slide against the faded wood floor, rectangles of orange light showering over us.He is the first to speak as we twirl side by side, "If you are to say - marry someone. What would they be like?"My muscles tense and the world suddenly becomes blurry. The trees are all I can focus on - thin and lean with pinstripe suits of stripe bar...

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“Winston” by Z. H.

Winston was small with floppy legs that refused to bend and skin as orange as the rind of a tangerine. His shirts were always filled with numerous deep creases and stains of all sorts. A faded brown hat was always worn on his head to cover his hideous black octopus bangs.His toes pecked on the chair occasionally as he hummed a familiar tune. The spring buds were crawling on the polished window sill and as Winston looked outside he felt assurance in the familiar sight. Assurance. That is all that he needed....

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“Hot Air Balloon” by Z. H.

March 5th, 1780The Hot Air Balloon speaks to me. It sits tucked away beyond the rolling green hills in another realm. The balloon is far away on the land of green, flowers, and houses but I am stuck on the sea of rapid waves, storms, and currents. But none of it shall matter because our hearts are bound together like strawberries and whipped cream.It is not lonely though. It is only I who is lonely. The balloon meets friends every day, from kids to old men.Today, Gilbert told me that we must sail...

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“Shadow And Light” by Z. H.

CHAPTER- ONERae laid down, his weight resting on his small bruised elbow; he flipped through a colourful comic book. The words were big and highlighted and each blurb was full of action and heroics. It was a superhero comic. Today he was reading Superman. How he wished to be like Superman- brave, courageous, and with a scintillating smile.He had been laying in his rooms for hours now, re-reading the new debut of Superman over and over. Rae's mother had entered his room many times- asking if he wanted to go on a wa...

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“Rainy Days and Lemon-Yellow Umbrellas” by Z. H.

Dear You,The sky was grumpy. The clouds were shaggy like the grey mane of a wolf. Underneath the shaggy clouds was a glowing red button. The clouds would cry occasionally and freckle the yew trees with thick water. The tree-scented droplets would drip onto your lemon-yellow umbrella.I watched you.I watched you as you curled into a little ball, and tucked yourself under the eaves. I wanted to run to you. I wanted to hug you and comfort you and tell you that you'd be alright.

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“You Jump” by Z. H.

You need to jump. You have to. The sea looks grey and stormy, it's splashing and screaming and yelling. But you can make out a little spot of mundane yellow sand, with a small pearly cove - where you will be safe. You slide your warm hands at the base of the window and slowly pull it up, feeling the ocean winds kissing your face.You cringe as you wipe off the green grime at the tips of your fingers.The bedroom behind you is almost begging you not to leave. You say goodbye to the faded pinstripe couch an...

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“The Walls Remembered” by Z. H.

I threw my black pen into the oblivion of brown twigs, frazzled leaves, and colourful flower petals. So I felt a satisfying feeling spread through me. So I pledged not to write another word on the crowded white paper.I'd poured my energy into this. I'd added soul into each object and personality into each room. I'd added feeling into each window and indescribable beauty into each flowerpot.I walked up to the large empty field of grass, it was empty but full. The broken dandelions swayed in the white sun...

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“The Creator of Wonders” by Z. H.

The golden sun flew as gracefully as a bird down onto the house, swooped down and took a fall. Splashing bright yellow light everywhere. Collin waltzed in. The walls were cracking and the place was coated in thick ivy. Dark torn curtains hung on the wall. It seemed so odd to be here again-weird even. The short walls were whispering. All those shared times he had, with his child and wife. It was so wrong to be here...

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“Why Do You Write?” by Z. H.

“Why do you write?” She smiles at me, with her tall clipboard in hand, looking at her lined paper and then back at me in rapid intervals. Her smooth hair is dark as fudge. A clear pink clip is pulling up her thick side bang to her ears.The room is small. With a tiny window covered in smoggy sunshine looking out to a blurred version of a long winding road crowded with colourful cars.“Uhh-for money. It’s a job to keep me living.” My head jogs, and I try to recall the time when I first wrote. The brook is ...

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“Woodgums” by Z. H.

A fiery ball of light dazzled in the sky, it's rays running through the eerie windows and into Woodgum Factory. The sky was cloudy, filled with dark clouds pregnant with gallons of water. A single stick-like crow swept onto a rusty sign that said Woodgums Factory. The workers inside the factory worked, wood chips stuck in their hair. They carved deep brown beds and birch book side tables.In a luxurious house, still on the same lot, but just placed far far away, the owner of Woodgums lounged on his chair in front...

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“The Taste of Freedom” by Z. H.

The moon was getting weary as it hung tiredly, it's light tangling around the branches of the peach trees. The peaches themselves were hung with shadows wrapped around their warm orange. Bright white fingers swept the valley in rays of sunlight as the music danced around the giant sized mansion. The Perry House's windows were swept with a mixture of sun and moon. Plump pink lanterns strung along with the bush which served as a fence to protect the yard. Overflowing tables of butter bread and spiced tomatoes, brisket and fat potatoes, chee...

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Author bio

I like music and that fuels up my writing. The more sad the song, the easier it is for me to write. Usually, sad songs have more emotion. So it makes it easier to cultivate inspiration. If I have trouble writing, then I will watch a Drama or some emotional movie and it'll pretty much get me started. My favourite part of writing is the characters. To see if a character is really "strong" enough (in character) I will put two or more characters in the same situation and see what different moves they make. Favourite Month: March Favourite Animal: Lion, Orca Favourite Books: The Sisterhood Of The Travelling Pants, Percy Jackson, Lord of The Rings, Anne Of Green Gables, and Ms. Peregrin's Home for Peculiar Children, The Perks Of Being a Wallflower. I prefer critical constructive feedback please.