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CC CWSCGS

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Nov, 2025

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25 Stories

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The Odyssey Vanguard

Weekly Contest #354

1. Time Elias Vale ran barefoot along a cold New England beach beneath a gray May sky. Wind whipped against his face as waves crashed beside him. He kept looking over his shoulder though the shoreline behind him was completely empty. No footprints but his own. Still, panic tightened in his chest as if something unseen was closing in around him. “Hello?” he shouted into the wind. Only the ocean answered. Then the world vanished into white. —- A violent hiss filled the air as the stasis chamber opened around him. Bright artificial light flood...

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The 6:56 Train from Penn Station

Weekly Contest #354

John Mercer sat on the same New Jersey Transit train he had taken home for the past twenty-three years. The 6:56. Same car. Same side. Same window seat if no one had beaten him to it. The fluorescent lights hummed above him. The floor was flecked with dark spots of dried coffee. A forgotten MetroCard trembled near someone’s shoe each time the train lurched forward. The car smelled of hand sanitizer, and the tired end of other people’s days. Two women in their twenties sat near the doors, office badges still hanging from their necks, replayin...

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Rose, the Mother, and the Leaf That Fell at the Blessing of the Animals

Weekly Contest #340

This piece follows Mishka, the Twenty-Year-Old Maltese Mix, and the Blessing of the Animals, which I submitted to the prior competition, Contest #339 in response to the prompt, “Write a story with the aim of making your reader cry.” The original story can be read here: https://reedsy.com/short-story/st0tuf/ *** I wee. It happens while Rose is holding me. She lifts me higher and turns me away from the people behind us. Then we stand there quietly together. “It’s okay, Mishka-girl,” she says. Her voice is level. It is the only voice I know. I ...

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Mishka, the Twenty-Year-Old Maltese Mix, and the Blessing of the Animals

Weekly Contest #339

Mishka tinkles without noticing. A warm spot spreads through the fabric of my sleeve, and I adjust my hold, turning slightly away from the people behind me. Mishka is a Maltese mix, over twenty years old, more than a hundred in human years, and so light I sometimes forget she’s there until I look down. She fits into the crook of my arm without effort. “It’s okay, Mishka-girl,” I say into her ear. She lets out a small yawn and a quiet bark afterward, more breath than sound, like a whisper she wasn’t sure she meant to make. Her fur is thin and...

27 likes 12 comments 12
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Concordia

Weekly Contest #338

Dr. Thomas Whitaker stood beside the narrow examination table and listened. The patient sat on its edge, jacket folded neatly on the chair, a blue tie draped over the back. His shirt was open at the collar, his feet not quite reaching the floor. There was, in his posture, something boyish, a grown man waiting to be told he was all right. The room held the familiar blend of antiseptic and tobacco. Somewhere beyond the door, a typewriter struck a few efficient keys, then fell quiet. The stethoscope was cool against his chest and the pulse was ...

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I Wake Facing the Ocean

Weekly Contest #337

I wake facing the ocean. My name is William. Or at least it once was.I was born to kind parents. I fell in love and married my wife. We had two children. They gave my life weight and direction. At 44, I fell ill, and three months later I died. In my final days I grew weak. My body no longer did what I asked of it. I grieved for what I was to miss but I was not afraid. Near the end, I returned to my faith. It asked little of me. I held it quietly. My breathing slowed. Then it stopped. There was darkness, and then a sudden intensity that is ha...

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Borrowed Time

Weekly Contest #337

Stillwater was the kind of town that didn’t change unless something broke. Main Street was three blocks long, paved uneven, its storefronts looking much the same as they had a hundred years ago. Joe’s Barber Shop still had its red-and-white pole spinning, though Joe himself had died years back and Joe Jr. cut hair the same way: high and tight. Kessler’s Pharmacy still wrote labels by hand and sold milk from a back cooler like it was a general store from the 1950s. The diner still served early-bird prime rib on Tuesdays. Houses in Stillwater ...

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November 8, 4016

Weekly Contest #336

TRANSMISSION LOG Timestamp: November 8, 4016 / 03:17:42 UTCTransmission Number: 1,241,850System ID: TYSONFunction: Autonomous Biosphere Survey - Segment 12Operational Status: NominalPrimary Receiver: ARCHIVE NODE A-0Receiver Status: No response recorded STANDARD ENVIRONMENTAL REPORT Atmosphere:Composition stable within post-detonation baselines.Residual radionuclide traces present.No atmospheric signatures associated with respiration or combustion. Ocean:Thermal and salinity profiles stable.Isotopic markers consistent with historic fallout.N...

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Differential Gravity

Weekly Contest #336

Captain Williams woke before the alarm. He ran two and a half miles, showered, and dressed. By the time the sky began to pale, he was steady, breath slowed, body prepared. He stood at the counter and watched the clouds gather as rain began to fall. Captain Murray came down long after she had started her day, hair loose, coffee poured and forgotten.“Morning,” she said.“Morning,” he answered.They stood a few feet apart, accustomed to the space between them.“You should take an umbrella,” Williams said.“I’ll be fine,” Murray replied, a half-smil...

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Strawberry Shortcake

Weekly Contest #335

I’ve always loved the days between Christmas and New Year’s.As a kid, it meant time off from school, sledding at the park, and playing with whatever new toys had taken over the living room floor. Now, it’s something quieter. A pause between the chaos of the holidays and the resolutions of the year ahead. The decorations are still up, but the pressure is gone.I’ve never been one to take time off during this stretch. This week, work feels manageable. Almost peaceful.A few weeks ago, I was promoted to Vice President of Human Resources for ZG&am...

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When 119,595,959,595 is Called

Weekly Contest #335

I don’t know what I am, exactly. I’m not breathing. I’m not blinking. I’ve never done either. But I know I am… something. Trying to explain it to you would be impossible - your mind isn’t built for what I am right now. I exist outside your categories.Not alive, not dead,You may describe me as “supernatural” - not earthly.I simply am - a presence that has always existed,far beyond the reach of clocks, seasons,or anything you would call time. Just… me. And I have a number.119,595,959,595 I like the sound of it - nineteen-five-nine-five-nine-f...

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The Ogre, the Witch, the Prince and Mira

Weekly Contest #334

The Witch March 12, 1964 The lambs woke me again before the light came up. The smallest one kept crying like it thought someone would answer. I named him Jonah. Bess, the brown cow, chews loudly. I like listening to that. They made a place for me in the barn when I came here. It isn’t really a room, but it has boards and a door that leans the wrong way. The cot is narrow, but it’s a bed. I keep a tin horse Mama gave me on the shelf and a book with the cover torn off. The blanket smells like hay and I don’t mind that. Before this, I lived wit...

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Half an Eggplant

Weekly Contest #333

“Let’s EEEAT!” Joey Bites leaned into the camera and tore into a wing like it had personally challenged him. The lights above the table were harsh and white, flattening the colors of the sports bar into something shiny and disposable. Neon signage buzzed behind him. Flatscreens lined the walls, each tuned to a different game no one was watching. The place was called Firebox Wings, a campus-adjacent spot built for volume and turnover. Joey Bites chewed loudly, nodding with exaggerated concentration, eyes half closed as if parsing something sa...

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Hungry to Feel

Weekly Contest #333

I’m hungry to feel. It’s been exactly one month since Skye died. Gone as quickly as she came into my life. People talk about time stretching after something like this, but mine has stayed rigid, measured in appointments and thank-you notes and the quiet efficiency of days that continue whether I want them to or not. Skye had jet black hair that never stayed neat, no matter how carefully I brushed it. She smiled with her whole body, as if joy were something physical she had to carry. She was small for her age, quick to laugh, slow to sleep, s...

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Thomas and Henry

Weekly Contest #332

The calendar hangs crooked by the stove. I lean in to stir the kettle and my eye catches the date: Thursday, January 12, 1888. I don’t give it much thought. The fire’s going, the house is warm enough, and through the window the morning looks plain and still. A few light flurries drift down, the kind we’ve had off and on all winter, the air calm and quiet. Thomas stands where I tell him to, nine years old and already serious about it, while I button his coat clear up to his chin. Henry won’t keep still. He’s six and full of motion, hopping fr...

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