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Anna Soldenhoff

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jul, 2025

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99 Followers
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27 Stories

706 karma pts

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Knock at the Door

Weekly Contest #317

The sun had just begun to dip behind the limestone cliffs of Cavtat, painting the sky in molten gold and amber, when Ana noticed him. She had come down to the small, stony harbour to escape the stale air of her apartment and the ceaseless hum of her own thoughts. The town was quieter now, the tourist buses gone, leaving only the low cries of gulls and the gentle slap of waves against the boats. He stood by the edge of the water, motionless, his figure almost blending with the shadows cast by the tall cypresses lining the promenade. Ana first...

22 likes 7 comments 7
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The Silence of My Voice

Weekly Contest #316

I never thought silence could feel like a punishment. Yet here I am, in a villa perched on the cliffs above Cavtat, listening to the Adriatic stretch itself endlessly before me, and realizing that the silence I have chosen is not freedom—it is a sentence. I used to sing. Not casually, not for the faint appreciation of a café crowd. I sang in halls where chandeliers glimmered like captured stars, where the audience held its breath at every note, and I gave them all I had. My voice carried joy, sorrow, longing, despair—everything a heart could...

11 likes 5 comments 5
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Beneath the Cypress Shadows

Weekly Contest #315

I arrived in Dubrovnik at the end of September, when the air had that peculiar mix of summer's fading warmth and autumn's crisp promise. The tourists had thinned; the Stradun was quieter. The locals, freed from the constant rush of summer, moved more slowly, chatting in doorways, their voices mingling with the scent of coffee drifting from the cafés. I had come here not as a tourist but as a translator on a short freelance contract. A week of work, maybe two, helping a small museum near Cavtat prepare an exhibition for English-speaking visit...

17 likes 4 comments 4
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Paws of Fire

Weekly Contest #314

I'll say it right from the start: **I do not do well in heat.** I am a delicate tabby flower, designed for lounging gracefully on window sills during mild spring mornings or doing Olympic-level pouncing in cool autumn breezes. I was not—let me repeat: **NOT**—built for 34°C with humidity levels so high even the curtains gave up and stuck themselves to the walls like sweaty towels. But do my sisters listen to me? Nooooooo. Because Spurka thinks she's some kind of dark, mysterious jungle panther who thrives in tropical conditions, and Kitka—d...

21 likes 12 comments 12
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Lavender Season

Weekly Contest #313

It started with the scent. A gust of late summer wind rolled down the slopes of Hvar's hinterland and drifted into the small coastal town of Stari Grad, stirring dust, salt, and memory. But above all, it carried the unmistakable scent of lavender—thick, sharp, and nostalgic. It crept through the open shutters of Kuća Šime, the old stone house on the edge of the olive grove, and settled over Lina's skin like a question she hadn't asked in years. She stood barefoot in the kitchen, her fingers deep in a bowl of dough. The texture was sticky—wro...

18 likes 11 comments 11
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Split Frequencies

The sun rose, flooding the Dalmatian coast with gold and indigo. The city of Split stirred like a sleeping giant, waking slowly, drowsily. From the hill of Marjan to the gleam of Diocletian's Palace, life emerged in cautious morning rituals—bakers with flour on their forearms, old men sipping espresso and arguing about football, and ferries yawning into motion across the water. The city was itself. It always had been. But beneath the calm veneer, something new pulsed in the veins of this ancient land. In the port, hidden behind the bulk of a...

7 likes 0 comments 0
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Salt in the Circuit

Weekly Contest #312

The sun broke across the Adriatic like spilled honey, light glinting off the sea with a shimmer that made the stones of Split's old city glow. Tourists ambled between the marble columns of Diocletian’s Palace, licking gelato, snapping photos, brushing past the quiet ones who didn’t belong to any crowd. There were two figures on the Riva that morning, sitting across from each other on a bench flanked by lavender bushes and the soft rustle of palm leaves. One had a notepad in hand, the other a small, silver earpiece tucked behind their ear, bl...

16 likes 9 comments 9
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The Day the Angels Quit

Weekly Contest #311

The sky rained feathers the day the angels decided to quit. It wasn’t gradual, like a fading light or a whisper slipping into wind. It was sudden, vast, final. At 4:17 p.m. Zagreb time, the clouds opened — not with thunder, not with fire, but with a hush. A hush so deep it silenced traffic, halted footsteps, and left a little girl holding her mother’s hand at the tram station, blinking at the first white feather that drifted down onto her outstretched palm. Then another. And another. And then it was a blizzard of softness, a snowfall of resi...

34 likes 12 comments 12
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Fold the Right Shirt

Weekly Contest #311

The first time Paula met Miro, he was throwing breadcrumbs to pigeons like a pensioner auditioning for sainthood. He wasn't a saint, not even close. He was barefoot, sunburned, and had a face that looked like it had been both kissed and punched by life. She had just sat on the stone bench outside the Franciscan Monastery in Dubrovnik, where the sea wind smelled of rosemary and tourists, and a cat was trying to unzip her backpack. "Careful," Miro said, pointing at the feline thief, "that one took my last sandwich yesterday. Prosciutto and all...

17 likes 8 comments 8
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The Cypress Manuscript

Weekly Contest #310

It was the kind of story she never meant to tell—let alone publish. When Petra Barić uploaded the manuscript to Amazon KDP late one sleepless night, she assumed no one would read it. She even used a pseudonym—"Mira Dalma," a name that held just enough shadow to comfort her. The book's cover was an abstract blur of sea green and rust red, a template she'd tweaked half-heartedly. The blurb was vague, poetic, promising introspection and mystery, revealing nothing of its actual content. And that content was… raw. "The Cypress Manuscript" was nev...

20 likes 9 comments 9
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The Inherited Sentence

Weekly Contest #310

The midday sun scorched the ancient stones of Dubrovnik's Old Town as Eva Perković dragged her suitcase down a narrow alleyway off Stradun. Her sandals slapped against uneven flagstones, her shoulder ached from her laptop bag, and sweat rolled freely down her back. "This is it," she muttered to herself, stopping in front of a modest stone building with wooden shutters painted sea blue. It had taken her years — and the complete meltdown of her life — to get here. Once a rising star in the Croatian literary world, Eva had published a debut nov...

37 likes 20 comments 20
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The Years the Tide Took

Weekly Contest #309

The sun was dipping low over the Adriatic, its last amber rays scattering like brittle shards of glass across the water. In Cavtat, the small Dalmatian town where time often felt like it was folding over itself, Lara stood at the edge of the old stone pier, watching the sea swallow the horizon. The scent of salt and pine was heavy in the air, but inside her, an emptiness echoed louder than the waves crashing against the shore. Her fingers clutched the thin silver chain around her neck, cold against her skin. It was the only thing she had lef...

10 likes 8 comments 8
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