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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Aug, 2025
Submitted to Contest #328
My dear son, I made this journal for you in case I am ever gone. May the journey within these pages offer you comfort and guide you in seeking the truths of our past. I love you deeply and always will. As you read, ponder this question: “What truths lie beneath the surface of what we know?”“A person who never made mistakes has never tried anything new.” Never try to be perfect. Make mistakes. As long as you learn from them, you will keep growing. I remember when I was around ten, desperately trying to build the perfect treehouse with my fath...
Submitted to Contest #325
I felt like I was being watched.From my own easel it stared at me. The eyes were still wet with the last coat of varnish I applied the night before. I wasn't sure what I was thinking with that expression. It was like something between curiosity and accusation--- but there it is. Fixed and breathing in the northern light of my studio. As I looked at it, I could smell the linseed heavy in the air. I liked it. I liked being an oil painter. All the smells are rich and maybe a touch romantic.It makes me nostalgic.I digress.I put my brush down and...
Sunday was a hard day.It was Brad's birthday—Butch, as I always called him. I remember the first time I used that name. We were tearing apart the dining room in our first house, him on the far side, hammer in hand, tank top clinging to his back, jeans frayed at the knees. Sweat shimmered on his skin, making him look glazed, like a cake fresh from the oven. His arms and shoulders were sculpted, football-player strong. He was short, bald, muscled, inked.I loved to look at him.“Hey, Butch!--- Can you pass me that rag?”He was bent over doing som...
Jesse stood there.Dust danced in a ray of sun.“He remembered,” he said into the quiet space. Words tinged with longing, he lifted the cover, recognizing his face. Peace returned. Light wavered. A shadow crossed, leaving footprints painted on his heart. Peace settled.His light burned.The barn's vastness embraced him.He belonged here.In this place.He knew the reason.Love was the right choice. Elliot lost his breath.He took off his cowboy hat. It fell from his fingers. Smiling, the sun cast amber and softness over the man. He didn't breathe. He...
Submitted to Contest #324
Elliot stood there.Retreating foam hissed against his feet, grounding him in the moment."But I don't even know you," he said, his voice barely audible over the crashing surf. Elliot's words slipped out before he could stop. He looked at the ocean, its beauty pressing against his heart. The sea was dark, shifting, alive with salt and time.The chill crept over him.The sun glinted off his buckle.Cowboy hat in hand.Despite the sea's vastness, he felt tethered, yearning for something just out of reach, a longing mixed with hope, fear in the salty...
“Please, Uncle Manny, you just have to come with me,” she pleaded, her voice rising in a dramatic whimper.He looked down at his niece's angst-riddled face.“ I know you will love it, it's immersive.”“Wait, does that mean I’m going to get soaked?” he teased, flashing a mischievous grin.She giggled.“I haven't been to an art museum in ages. What do I know about art?”She sighed. “You are still my sophisticated Uncle, even if you play with chickens and tractors all day.” Manny was a country boy now. The mud still clung to his boots, leaving prints...
Submitted to Contest #323
Oscar was the embodiment of precision. Words like meticulous or fastidious barely scratched the surface. For him, being called difficult was the highest praise, a badge of honor earned by demanding perfection. Beneath his relentless pursuit of order, a quiet ache lingered, a hollow space he tried to fill with control. Each morning, he moved through his ritual with the focus of someone defusing a nuclear warhead. Disturb his process, and chaos would surely follow. First, the coffee cherries. Not beans!“Coffee plants grow fruit,” he would alwa...
(This is a scene of a sex worker and what he feels after completing the job.) The sharp snap of his laces pierced the stale air, evoking the lingering odor of exertion in the room. Kye maintained a facade of composure, his bare chest pressed against the headboard, a loosely draped sheet his only cover. Beneath this exterior, humiliation stung. He avoided letting the man see the flicker of repulsion in his eyes as he watched him struggle with his laces over his ample stomach. With a grunt, he buttoned his shirt, the fabric stretching over hi...
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