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Author on Reedsy Prompts since May, 2022
A man works, behind a counter, crafting wake-ups. He combines cloudlike froth and powdered bean, dissolved in steaming water; hands them away for thrice a dollar, the occasional heavy-lidded smile. His face is blurred, his unimportance in the bigger picture, as the world rolls on by. They’re addicts, they all are; it’s just another bitter morning, with a bitter drink to warm the hand, defrost the heart, and he’s just a m...
The Gardens of Omorfia are a cursed, beautiful solitude, and they will stand for all of eternity. They were once home, as much as you can call it that, being such a cruel reminder of unbelonging, to a myth still untold. They now grow in the space in between everywhere and nowhere, situated right outside death. They hold memories of confining sadness, short-lived loves and most naturally, the cursed, beautiful Omorfia her...
Rosa. Rosa. Rosabel. It is as if your name is the word written in a beautiful motif across my sorry heart; with every precious beat another inscribed in your hand. For so long – too long – I could not see it, as one cannot see his heart, but now I know with as much surety as though I hold my bloody, still pulsing heart in my hands, that it is so. It is you. It has always, will always be you. ...
Matilda sat with the dollhouse cradled between her knees. Blonde hair tumbled down to frame her face as careful, delicate hands worked to arrange each little piece of furniture: the little velvet couch that had once been a sweet blue but had faded to almost grey, the little China sink, the little double bed with its matching kitten motif duvet and pillows. Everything was little, so small and perfectly sized for her hands.They weren’t fiddly. For some people they might be, people with big and clumsy and impatient fingers;...
I am bornof negativity. I am weak.I wake to darkness, blinded by hunger, to search sightlessly for food. I am somewhere else,in Nothing,and they can’t see me. I scrabble mentally, sensing very little,the lies and the hatredvery weak flickers in the abyss. I reach out feebly with my tongue, my only moving appendage formed, and lick gingerly.I taste them,though the flavor is not strong; hungrily, I ...
Tobias dreamed vividly. First, his mother was standing on the balcony, gazing across at the rumbling grey skies. Her hair tumbled in thick brown curls down her back, which was turned to him, her lithe body swathed in a blue dress. He approached her to stand and clasp the railing beside her. It was cold, and the wind sliced at him like knives. He remembered this night. I had chosen it parti...
[TW: themes of physical violence, gore and substance abuse.] Stepping into a packed club from typical British weather for the first time is exactly how I imagine time-travelling to be. The mass of bodies are flames heating up a gigantic, sweaty, intoxicated furnace, and it truly feels like I’ve entered another dimension, because no place should be this hot when the rest of England suffers in such rainy, f...
Sometimes I think I want to be the main character – I always wake up from the nightmare screaming. You ask why; I ask why you ask why, because I think it is quite self-explanatory.You won’t know my story, not specifically at least. But I’d wager you’ve seen it written throughout the pages of many books. I live through every one of them.It’s rather fabulous. Secondary characters are fabulous. Main characters are the weapon that strikes the killing blow, but sidekicks and secondaries are...
Life’s a game, and love is the prize – or so they say. If that is the case, then why, of all things, is the first kiss the horrible, long snake that sends you tumbling right back to square one? Well, perhaps not the kiss itself, and more how the kiss ends: whether you’re interrupted, walked in on, broken apart fiercely by something. That’s always how it goes in novels. The character’s build up such a connection – oh, sparks are flying the size of deadly lava bombs – and they finally, after so agonizingly long, have that first kiss… but it...
“So,” I said tentatively, “what’s the catch?”I sat awkwardly perched on a tall stool by The Upturned Pint’s bar, swizzled round to gaze at the faerie before me. Its alien beauty struck me – I had never seen one in person before, had only ever heard stories of their strange human yet inhuman likeness. This particular one had long, silky hair the color of green apple; its skin a waxy, pale color, like an apple’s flesh; and red lips just a shade too deep to be natural, bold against the drapes of its hair. Little ac...
We met at a funeral. The sky was thickly overcast with clouds, dribbling miserably all day and forcing the huddle of mourners to shelter in clumps under a few black umbrellas. There was a chill in the air: not only from the strange, deathlike radiation the graveyard gave off and the dismal atmosphere set by the people, but an eerie, watery mist drifted amongst us all, snaking and curling at our fingertips, causing us to ...
Why does the night before of important or special things always have to feel like forever? It gives you too much extra time to think and to doubt myself. I fall into that strange phenomenon where I have so much I should be doing I’m overwhelmed into feeling as if I have nothing better to do than slouch around thinking. And thinking gets me nowhere. Sometimes it just makes me anxious or impatient for dawn to come, but som...
Imagine people are always honest. Imagine it’s the law, it’s the norm, it’s what the government enforce and what they have always enforced. Nobody lies. It’s not a question, it’s a fact – nobody does. Ever. They never have. Imagine that. Imagine it as clearly as you can, and that world is so strict but so open simultaneously, when someone speaks to you, you know they’re telling the truth, it’s not even doubted. ...
When the sky cries, the clouds thicken and multiply to create an impenetrable sheet that disguises how unattractively it sobs. The farmers are grateful for it: the end of the drought is a moment for rejoice, for they will have produce to sell soon, their land nourished with the tears that fall in heavy pellets. The children hate it. It makes them miserable, stuck up inside because everyone knows it's dangerous to play wh...
And it was there – inches from me – I let out a scream and felt as if I rotted into the mystery – I couldn’t see – I swung wildly with it in my grasp and then – and then – then… * We’ve learnt to live in darkness. For years now we have faced little light and have adapted our ways to fit the safety precautions. Nobody leaves their homes in the...
Passionate writer of a range of genres. Hopefully you can find something you enjoy reading here! :) Feedback is appreciated, even on older stories!
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