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Alex Parise

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Apr, 2022

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4 Stories

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Three beginnings no middle and an end.

Weekly Contest #373

Arendel awoke, he went to his bedroom ,took his socks from his bureau drawer and drown them in the bathtub.This damped down his anxiety to a functional level. Not that everything was great .There still was the  matter of the 12 dreams from the night before. The memories from those dreams were inhabiting his house!From dream 8 5 people were sitting on his couch. The mule from dream 12 was in the kitchen. And the Rats from six were in the spare bedroom ;plotting. They were working out the details on how to murder Arend...

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The Dreamer

Weekly Contest #330

THE DREAMER The head was almost obscured by the big black bee-stung hands; but if one looked closely, one could still make out the panic-ridden face of a soon-to-be deceased...chicken. The sound that started to echo from its beak was not a shrill scream, but a dream-ending screech, that started low and continued to build, until at its crescendo, it startled me awake on a sudden turn at the 77th street subway station. Where poultry became real. I blinked once, twice, rubbed my eyes, and then muffled a sickness yawn. Across from my now semi-fo...

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The Dreamer

Weekly Contest #295

THE DREAMER The head was almost obscured by the big black bee-stung hands; but if one looked closely, one could still make out the panic-ridden face of a soon-to-be deceased...chicken. The sound that started to echo from its beak was not a shrill scream, but a dream-ending screech, that started low and continued to build, until at its crescendo, it startled me awake on a sudden turn at the 77th street subway station. Where poultry became real. I blinked once, twice, rubbed my eyes, and then muffled a sickness yawn. Across from my now semi-fo...

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The Dreamer

Weekly Contest #252

THE DREAMER The head was almost obscured by the big black bee-stung hands; but if one looked closely, one could still make out the panic-ridden face of a soon-to-be deceased...chicken. The sound that started to echo from its beak was not a shrill scream, but a dream-ending screech, that started low and continued to build, until at its crescendo, it startled me awake on a sudden turn at the 77th street subway station. Where poultry became real. I blinked once, twice, rubbed my eyes, and then muffled a sickness yawn. Across from my now semi-fo...

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