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A weekly short story contest
Author on Reedsy Prompts since Aug, 2019
The old man sat on the sun-bathed bench closest to the childrenβs playground. He was skinny and bent, leaning on his cane, cheap sunglasses askew. He smiled at kids climbing, running, giggling and screaming, their parents desperately winging their arms between sand pits and slides, climbers and pirate ships, trying to prevent their offsprings from getting hurt. The grounds smelled of dust and warm rubber. The lawn was sparse around the bench, but I pretended to have some work about it. The old crow payed no attention. I raised a puff of dus...
Oti lost his footing and crashed down the stairs below the telescope. The fat on his back painfully scraped the last few steps, his rump whacked on the tiled floor. He remained sitting, hands shaking, sweating profusely. Muffled sounds came from the door. As he stared open mouthed, the door swung open and a young woman burst in, waving a large Glock gun. She was dressed like a man, in a tidy black suit, black homburg hat and dark glasses. Holding a weapon down against her thigh, she moved several steps aside and stood there, alert and stari...
βWhat do you want?β βI want you to teach me to be wise,β said the young man. He stood on top of low and steep bank above the lake shore. By the water below him, on a rotting log, sat a gaunt old man in a torn monk's habit, surrounded by clumps of tall sharp grass and bulrush. His back was turned at the newcomer and his eyes studied the rain clouds above the lake, ther threatening brown mass closing around the last island of clear sky far in the west. Darkness was gathering fast. The far shore still burned with sunset, painting edges of clo...
Submitted to Contest #81
While he was in prison, Cold Al has added more muscles to his already hefty bulk and now they were useful to pull him up the cargo container. As he peeked over the edge, a gun blasted, a bullet ricocheted inches from his hairy fingers and he slumped back to safety of the grimy floor. The bitch was already holding the high ground. Squeezing the gun, Al scanned the passages among the piles of crates in the warehouse. The light was dim and he could... "Al?" The sound. Al poked himself in the thigh with a gun barrel to snap out. He must kil...
Submitted to Contest #1
It is his birthday. What shall he say? That big wall far behind, there is the chaos, crowds, noise, parades, glare, and blinding lights. They have forgotten why. Ma and him will remind them. They will remember. Here, the night is heavy with storm clouds. Overgrown graves stretch to all sides disappearing into the blackness between twisted shapes of trees and thick shrubs. Whisps of mist curl among dirt-blackened crosses. In the pause between two rainfalls, the birch under which he stands is dripping. Before him is a mound overgrown with bur...
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