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Bob Ferrari

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Feb, 2026

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4 Stories

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Hang On

Weekly Contest #343

The sunset is magnificent. One of those stand up and shout ones, like on the west shore of Maui. It wings out from the horizon, soaring above and behind, enveloping the rock and snow with energy and life. It is like the perfection of a pair of figure skaters exploring and complimenting the pentameter of the other, swiftly, line by line, yet in dogged unfolding waves of color and silent song. I lift my arms. I joy in wordless sounds of perfect fulfillment enveloped in the pink of the snow’s response to the poetry of sky. As my partner and...

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The Ghosts of Loss

Weekly Contest #342

We are ghosts, we who grieve, and we dwell among the spirits. I thought I heard your voice today. You were upbeat in your “How’s it going” way. But you weren’t here. Well, not exactly not “here”. You are always here, somehow, just to the side, but when I turn to look, to sense you, you’re not there. I hold you within me though I no longer have form. That nighttime call. Could you feel it when she said you were gone? Were you floating near me but I couldn’t sense you? Did you also shatter? You must have. This known universe was torn. It ...

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I See You

Weekly Contest #341

I See You“Sawubona”. It means, “I see you and you are important to me”, in Zulu. I didn’t know Zulu. We were married at 19. I knew her for five weeks prior. I loved her with all the depth of a teenage boy. And she loved me as a teenage girl will. From most contemporary insights, this was not a good idea. Our first year was hell. She soon realized this man was no bargain. And I wasn’t. No job skills or education. I’d been wandering since I left home at seventeen. I’d been hit by the Jesus Revolution and ended up on a commune in east Texa...

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Make My People Go

Weekly Contest #340

Make My People GoIt was hot as hell in the desert despite the wisp of cloud. Tents of precise shape, in precise rows, lacking any of the artistic originality of the old country, lined up like cornfields in Iowa. The people were the seed crop for the new production, swiped from their former bosses in a hostile takeover. There was enough food at least, and a little stream for water. About as exciting as a sleeping pig. They gathered the gluey shit the Owner spread out each morning on to mortar boards, vainly trying to keep dirt out. Nice. Yeah...

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