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A.R. Eakle

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Aug, 2019

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431 Followers
43 Following

20 Stories

1399 karma pts

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Mommy's Boy is Dead

I graduated from Harvard back in the late 90s. That’s when I was officially a doctor. I traveled around a bit doing residency. First it was at a hospital in New Orleans. Then from there I was at a place in Arkansas. I wasn’t there very long. Eventually I ended up back where I had started, or at least as near to it as I could be, and still today I’m not sure if I would have been better off across the country or not. I was pushed from elementary school to be perfect, to exceed any expectations that people may have had of me. The problem with ...

22 likes 7 comments 7
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There Is No Heaven Behind the Moon

Weekly Contest #80

It was back in ‘69. My dad had me down at a bar and I was only five or six at that time. It was common back then, for kids to be in bars. The bar culture was different back then. It was just a place for people to get together, drink, shoot some pool, throw some darts, and watch sports. It wasn’t what it is today. There was a lot of cigarette smoke. It was back when you could still smoke indoors, so everybody had a smoke in their hand or their in between their lips. My dad had me in the stool in front of him pointing up to the television, bl...

35 likes 9 comments 9
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The People in the Windows

Weekly Contest #74

He’s only about fifteen yards away from us, this madman with a gun and two children standing in front of him like pawns on a chess board. The pavement is new beneath his feet and the painted lines, the pavement markers, they’re crisp and bright. There’s ten of us and only one of him and only two children. I can feel my heart beat in my throat, each pulse gagging me, punching on my uvula. I can barely hear my sergeant yelling commands like, “Drop the gun,” and, “Nobody has to get hurt,” and other things that I can’t hear over the throbbing of...

43 likes 8 comments 8
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Where the Red Trees Turn Blue

Weekly Contest #71

Grover opened his eyes as he always did at four in the morning, peering to the left side of his bed at a now-empty pillow that he still fluffed every night. It always looked the same in the morning as it did the evening prior. He slipped out of bed and grabbed his pants from the weeks before, the thighs thick with flour and sugar and the other stains of a day’s labor. On the dresser was the shirt that was just as ill fitting and gritty. With a jingle of his keys and a quick pull of the door behind him, Grover headed down two blocks through ...

46 likes 18 comments 18
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Stickers

Shortlisted for Weekly Contest #40 ⭐️

Timothy Morrison is standing in a room on a chair with a light bulb in his hand. It’s just past ten o’clock at night, and the light bulb is still warm through the faded yellow bandana. A bandana with nostalgic bloodstains on it from the time he was ten and stole it from the top drawer of his mother’s dresser. The blood is from a time he was on the river bank; a river bank his mother told him to stay away from countless times. Find me a ten-year-old that listens and I’ll find you the next Dalai Lama. He was standing there watching for the fis...

62 likes 34 comments 34
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