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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Sep, 2025
Submitted to Contest #334
It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark. I remember that night strangely well, considering it was spent mostly in a hypothermic coma.The smell was what one might have expected from the slums of a large city with an overwhelming amount of wandering beggars who have no proper sewage outlet. The Industrial Revolution had begun to leave its mark. There was a visible haze—mingling with or, rather, encasing the smell of homelessness and destitution—of thick, choking smog in the bitter night air.I remember I tried not to b...
Submitted to Contest #329
The trees call me Eddie. You’ve sort of got to accept the name your family gives you no matter what, but I like mine. I think it’s a great one. Better than some of my friends’, I can tell you that.Living with the elms is wonderful. They’re very welcoming, actually—especially to the lost ones. I might have been a lost one once upon a time, but I don’t remember clearly enough, so you don’t have to quote me.The elms start off great and stay great. They’re gentle, gracious, lithe, sweet, they give great hugs, and they sing lovely lullabies all d...
Submitted to Contest #324
Every way I lie on this shindly splinter of tree, cold saltwater attacks. The arctic froth won’t leave me alone.“Is it so much to ask?” I shout into the cerulean void. Of course, nothing answers. Good; I’m not quite ready to go fully crackers yet.The water didn’t start out this cold. It had actually been pretty warm back at the island. But it’s gotten steadily and rapidly colder the farther away from the island I get. I think it might be somewhere near the Galápagos Islands, but don’t take my word for it. At least the sun is still trying its...
Submitted to Contest #319
(WARNING: Contains mild descriptions of gore and suicidal violence, Italian obscenities, and references to alcoholism) Brio Deiorio sat stone-faced in the hardbacked, poorly-balanced chair, staring with unfocused eyes at his wife’s coffin and wishing he was numb.He was halfway numb—externally so. He could hear the grim pitch of the speaker’s voice going on, saying individual, abstract, scrambled words. The smell of the place was nauseating. So, cloyingly, artificially sweet from the flowers and air fresheners that it only made the presence ...
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