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Author on Reedsy Prompts since May, 2022
Submitted to Contest #188
“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 accents of gold leaf adorned its...
Submitted to Contest #183
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 have to huddle close to the coffin. My aunt’s passing hung like a burden on all our shoulders; we pulled our black coats ti...
Submitted to Contest #181
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 sometimes it makes me regret things. Wonder if I’m on the right path. I mean, everyone doubts themselves from time to time, an...
Submitted to Contest #172
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. Lying is of fiction, of fantasy. Then imagine that someone decides to break this rule. Imagine – what would happen if someone were t...
Submitted to Contest #170
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 when the sky cries. The ground becomes slippery, but not only that – when the sky cries, its tears are infectious. To be pois...
Submitted to Contest #169
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 daylight. Nobody switches on much more than a weak bedside lamp if they have intention to move. It may seem like a strange world to you, but for us it’s reality, and reality is what you grow to live...
Shortlisted for Contest #168 ⭐️
One moment, I breathed freely and healthily. The next, my feet were pounding on a substance I could not identify, and I was desperately trying to sprint faster than humanely possible. I ran on something that was soft and delicate all at the same time as being hard and gravel-like. I didn’t breathe, and I felt no exhaustion, but yet it was still difficult as ever to run much faster than an overweight dog. At first, I didn’t really register why I was running, then I noticed the train beginning to slowly move along the tracks not far away fro...
Submitted to Contest #165
“Guilty.”A strangled gasp escaped my lips – Lilia! My own sister – a murderer? The idea made no sense to me, no sense to me at all. None of the evidence had seemed to fit… Lilia had always been sweet, a kind and considerate older sibling I would have never changed for the world. And to kill Maverick, so unexpectedly? They’d been married four years, had dated since sophomore year of high school and were inseparable. Or at least they had been. If Lilia had been a murderer, and had wanted rid of her beloved, she’d had many opportunities before....
Submitted to Contest #163
Disclaimer: sorry if any facts are not historically accurate. I tried by best to research to support the story and apologize if anything is incorrect! Joan let a sigh escape her lips, swiping the brush gently across the door with a soft swishing sound. A dominant red “X” now glared back at her – the symbol that implied her father’s sickness. She placed the bucket of paint down that horribly resembled watery blood, and ducked swiftly inside, pulling the heavyweight door closed behind her. She knew quite well that she may have just been out...
Submitted to Contest #162
Jim’s life relied on cheese. * He woke up this morning like usual, trudged downstairs, made himself a cup of coffee to jet-start his brain, and leant lazily on the counter, sipping slowly. He hummed a perfect beat late to the familiar wake-up call of the Uber Eats advert and dreamily mused to himself about the shopping order that would arrive soon at his doorstep. He’d have the ingredients to chicken alfredo, and he’d tell himself he’d finally make it, until he found himself in the armchair at nine at night having fallen asleep five hours ag...
Submitted to Contest #161
“How long do you think you’ll be?” Mikael surveyed me with a look of concern on his half-shaven face. In fact, he was still holding the razor, white foam plastered across the right side of his face, the left smooth and shiny. He stood in the doorway to the bathroom right at the top of the stairs, staring down where I was, by the front door, just pulling my coat off the stand and swinging it on. I’d just shouted up to let him know I was leaving and that he was to be in total responsibility of our toddler, Tate.“I’m just looking through it to ...
Submitted to Contest #160
The irritable whistling always seems to pound my eardrums. I say we should get a modern one – forbid, it’s 2022, it’s not that difficult to get your hands on a kettle that doesn’t sound like it’s about to blow someone’s brains every time it comes to the boil. But no, Roommate only makes the very best tea if the water is stewed perfectly, and for some reason the exclusive technological kettles on the market these days won’t do. Roommate acts oh-so precise, yet Roommate has no care in the world for precision. It’s always bugged me, their habit...
Submitted to Contest #157
Whether your ex is a psychopathic lunatic who can’t treat you right to save their life, a player who lives off people’s heartbreak like some sort of beast, or just the average lover who ended it with a friendzone (so also someone quite insane), nobody wants to be seen as worse off after a break up. It’s embarrassing, frankly, and if you don’t want to resort to moping around watching soppy romance movies and sobbing over a tub of stiff ice-cream – “That could’ve been us!” – then read on! (If not, then you should probably think about your self...
Submitted to Contest #156
Don’t you remember? The way her betrayal stung you like a wasp to a rash, the way you swore furiously under your breath in the chilled midnight air that you’d never forget the feeling. And you meant it – don’t you remember looking up at the stars, your eyes glossy and threatening to shut from exhaustion? I begged you to sleep, but you insisted you count each one and swear upon it that you’d never forgive her. You promptly moved out of the city to nestle in the countryside, and you swore you’d never fall in love again. You wrote in your tatte...
Submitted to Contest #155
“Ugh, my mom says I have to be back by six.”The swing groans underneath my weight, although I don’t believe myself to be heavy. Perhaps it's that thirteen is too old for a kid’s playpark, and the four of us should be somewhere else. Perhaps we should be swearing, blasting rap music dripping with slurs, scribbling inappropriate graffiti onto the zipline and the picnic table in an array of colors. I feel as if my age label – thirteen – does not resemble who I am, who I want to be.“Same,” I mumble in reply. My friends don’t seem to take any not...
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