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Albert Bertoldi

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jan, 2025

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4 Stories

38 karma pts

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The Weight of Shadows

Weekly Contest #318

The rock walls constricted as Jessica inhaled. Her hands skimmed the walls as she briskly walked down the shadowy passage, her lantern illuminating strange carvings. Some symbols, circles in circles, spirals that seemed to rotate when she looked away. There was pain smashing into her chest. She felt like she was walking further away from her own world with every step. It had been hours since the ritual. The black shadows scored down both sides of her forearm, the music perilously low in her memories, the chant composed of sounds and syllable...

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Journey Back Home

As the bus pulled into town in the early morning, Michael stepped onto the cracked concrete of the station, carrying one backpack, with no plan, and the cold air cutting into him. He welcomed the sting, reminding him he was somewhere, still alive.Everything seemed smaller and quieter than Michael remembered. It had been fifteen years since he stood where he stood now. Fifteen years since he drunkenly stumbled into his father's garage and found him collapsed, lying on the floor, not noticing the faint rise and fall of his chest until it was t...

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The Signal

Weekly Contest #313

It began to rain just before midnight. Not the kind of rain that gently talks to the rooftops or falls softly, but a heavy rain that cloaks the edges of the city and turns the reflections into faerie dreams.Amy sat at the wide window of her twenty-second-floor apartment, fingers wrapping around a chipped coffee mug that had cooled long before. The city lay before her—thousands of windows dimly glowing like dying stars. She had not spoken to anyone for two days. She had no reason to.Her email inbox was empty. Her phone sat silent. The last me...

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Centre your story around two characters who like each other but don’t get a happily ever after.

Weekly Contest #309

Late Fall Every Thursday at 5:30 PM, Emma met Chris, no questions asked.Their spot, the café on Montrose Street, Halcyon Grounds, had been theirs for almost six years. It was situated between a used bookstore and a locksmith, the kind of hole-in-the-wall café you could stumble upon or walk by entirely. The inside was dimly lit, with warm lamplights and mismatched secondhand chairs; even the mugs were mismatched, all layered with the scent of old books. There was a vinyl player in the corner that only ever played smooth jazz records. It was n...

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