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D. Grimes

Author on Reedsy Prompts since May, 2022

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83 Followers
56 Following

14 Stories

596 karma pts

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I’m Doing This for You, My Love

Weekly Contest #347

[CW: swearing, blood/body horror mention] I know you want me, Jay. Even though you won’t admit it yet. Even though you keep playing coy, telling me to go away, to leave you alone. What a fun, silly game we play. A game I’m growing rather tired of. You don’t need to keep pretending, my dearest. We are meant to be—maybe you just don’t realize it yet. What else can I do to convince you? I’ve tried every little thing to show you I care. I made you a playlist of love songs—but since you’ve never seen Heathers the Musical, “Meant to Be Yours” cre...

11 likes 0 comments 0
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Something Rotten, Something Buried

Weekly Contest #330

Mike knows where to find me: out back behind my cabin, in the garden he helped me build. After I mentioned wanting to upgrade from in-ground gardening and showed him the galvanized tubs I picked out, he insisted on constructing above-ground wooden planters. He made one before abandoning the project. The squash’s palmate leaves swallow my ankles as I stand in the berms—sneakers sinking into the loamy soil, machete in hand, sweat running into my eyes. I can only take my gaze off this for a moment. Behind the garden gnomes, he stands at a safe ...

17 likes 2 comments 2
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Rebuilding What's No Longer Mine

Shortlisted for Weekly Contest #284 ⭐️

My entire world collapsed and I don’t know how to build it back up correctly. I’ve been in a daze. Even on the drive home from school, the town looks different. Another sprawling field torn up, littered with cranes and huge piles of dirt and signs advertising the Coming Soon $500 thousand dollar homes. Another Sheetz has sprouted up, plus a new Sprouts. Or were they there before? Maybe my memory’s shot—my brain does feel like Swiss cheese. Or maybe being away changes how you view things, and my lens has already changed after one semester. It...

24 likes 5 comments 5
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The Devious, Despicable, Dastardly Dr. Doomsday

Weekly Contest #263

From the apex of the Doomsday Tower, an explosion thundered out over Cranhattan, over the skyscrapers glimmering red in the sunset. A cloud of smoke settled, and ash flurried down on Dr. Doomsday, whose shoulders slumped with defeat. He gaped at the decimated machinery—the twisted metal, the exposed wires sparking—the name “DESTRUCT-O-NATOR” in Impact-esque font melting off the side. Did Special Agent Double Eleven know how long it took him to hand-paint those letters? Perhaps that should have been a job for a minion, but Dr. D took pride in...

10 likes 2 comments 2
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Fae Touched

Winner of Weekly Contest #220 🏆

Siobhan awoke to the Irish sun spilling in the open doorframe of their single-room cottage. Her back pressed against Sean’s, and she moved carefully so as to not wake him on his day off morning duties— today, she would feed the cattle and chickens. She rolled over, a stray mattress feather poking her side, and saw Aoife’s small body in her basket, enveloped by a blanket. A surge in Siobhan’s chest shot her awake—Aoife hadn’t cried once through the night. Siobhan scrambled to her feet, bare soles pressed into the cool packed dirt, no longer m...

140 likes 52 comments 52
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What's at Stake

Weekly Contest #218

[TW: body horror, death] You crush fresh marjoram between your fingers and roll the piney, citrusy oils into your skin, before dropping the herbs into a mug. Another pinch goes into the simmering groats. You continue stirring, unbothered, even though you should be. There are no fat drippings to add. No mustard or mushrooms or meats. Marjoram is one of the only luxuries left that you have, because you grow it yourself. Or maybe, it’s the only thing you have left at all. Your mother grew medicinal herbs in the kitchen window. She’d snip off sp...

9 likes 2 comments 2
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Maximillian Braveheart the Brave

Shortlisted for Weekly Contest #217 ⭐️

Agnes sits in her stone hut, entirely unaware that she is about to receive a visitor. One side of her hair is knotted into a cloud, and a raggedy dress drips ripped hemming around her bony knees. However, this is how she always looks. If she had known someone is coming, she may have teased a second knot into the opposite side of her head, and donned her classic cloak and pointy hat. A black cat, Mr. Nightmare Sr., purrs and rubs against Agnes’s ankles. A cauldron boils in thick bubbles over a fireplace that warms the room. . Ducking under ...

24 likes 7 comments 7
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Our Little Secret

Weekly Contest #216

Mom’s picking me up from school instead of the bus. I got a note from the office an hour before dismissal that said so. I couldn’t pay attention all through silent reading time, but that’s okay, I usually can’t anyway. I run to her side of the car and fling my arms around her before she can bend down. She squeezes me back with one arm and combs my head with her nails. If I don’t pull away, she’ll maybe never let go. “I’m so happy to see you,” she brushes her hair out of her face. It’s longer and turns blonde at the bottom. I wriggle into the...

8 likes 1 comment 1
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Devilish Dealings and Ice Cream Sandwiches

Weekly Contest #215

I’ve closed my fair share of deals. Some may say that I’m the original, the greatest businessman. The oiliest, sleaziest, the best at taking advantage of vulnerable people. But that isn’t wholly true. I feed the greed festering within people. I tempt their darkest desires, and you’d be surprised how quickly they bite. You’d also be surprised at how monotonous it gets to witness people’s bleakest hours. It’s my 9-5. Even a human would become desensitized after dealing with it regularly. There are only so many things that a person will sell th...

8 likes 2 comments 2
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How to Develop OCD

Weekly Contest #205

There’s a broom in the corner of the kitchen with a pile of unbuttered popcorn (1) behind it, swept from where it’s spilling out of the trashcan. I’m making dinner and have already paused to wash my hands five times—they peel and ache. Every night, the same meal. Steam-in-bag zucchini noodles (2) with half a can of Hunt’s diced tomatoes (3). A few of the six foods that I can still eat. The microwave door is left propped open as I wash my hands until I can’t feel the handle stuck to my palms. I lift the faucet lever with my grimy fingers, and...

17 likes 5 comments 5
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A Kid Can Dream

Weekly Contest #196

Mayzie screeched her nightly serenade of Crazy Train, shook coins from the register for percussion, and waggled her golf pencil at Brian. The tradition started when he forbade her from playing Ozzy Osbourn in the store, despite how many of his sleeves hung on the dulled cyan walls. Brian stopped at the register, expectant. Mayzie held his gaze and continued singing, keeping him hostage until the end of the verse. “You’re already making me regret this,” Brain said. As if against his own will, he explained Rad Record’s managerial training prog...

10 likes 1 comment 1
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Discordant Double Feature

Weekly Contest #147

The movie concludes and everyone is hollering, except for Marc, who decides that the old saying is flawed: an audience full of folks in their underwear is awful, actually. He looks over to Benji, his dark beard scruff, his soft cheeks, his deep brown eyes behind round frames—he’s hollering as well. It clashes with his gentle air. Marc dumps the last of his popcorn in his mouth, and spits out the kernels like watermelon seeds, licking the salted butter from his lips. With oily fingers, he brushes back the blonde fly-aways caught at the corner...

11 likes 2 comments 2
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Tranquil Torrent for the Moderately Neurotic

Weekly Contest #146

Mom and I hiked out from the wooded path to where the calico-bark beech trees and overgrown ferns began to thin. I’d picked a particularly smooth stone from the trail, and continued to roll it between my palms. The land gave a wide berth to the reservoir, which flooded my peripheral. Peninsulas splintered into its circle, and miles ahead, pinched the lake to a narrow flow. They were all unoccupied on this quiet day, aside from the one we took perch on. In a few weeks, with the warmth of late spring, the waterside would bloom with day-tripper...

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Mother Bother & Baby Booties

Weekly Contest #145

[content warning: death] Sarah sat in a powder blue wingchair that matched the color of the walls, bouncing the one-month-old Noah on her knee, looking into his scrunched red face. The lamp on the nightstand spilled soft light onto the block-color carpet, and illuminated the white cloth clouds swaying above the crib. She gently fought Noah’s squirming legs and pulled the knitted booties from his feet, revealing pink splotches on his wriggling toes. She tugged the booties off and tossed them onto the floor. A wave of warmth pushed behind her ...

11 likes 4 comments 4
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