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David Ader

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Dec, 2020

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46 Followers
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58 Stories

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A Serious Lucky Streak

Weekly Contest #349

The barn smelled of its occupants—a cow, a pig, half a dozen piglets, some chickens, and a swayback horse whose eyes stayed shut as if sleep might come if he insisted. There was also the sweet-sour tang of fermenting hay kept for the winter. They weren’t bad smells. Farm smells. Smells that carried Willie back to a day years before, when his parents had taken him on a bus to the Catskills. They’d visited a farm, picked apples, and eaten hot donuts. That felt like forever ago. A farm, a barn, they were good places. They might be safe places. ...

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The Last Veteran

Weekly Contest #344

CW: References to war, poverty, illness, and historical racism. The bubbly aide didn’t bother knocking. She barged in shouting, “Rise and shine, Colonel!” She didn’t need to shout – Wilbur Bell’s hearing was just fine. And she didn’t need to wake him. It was already 7:30, and he’d been up for hours. He was always up before dawn. On this day especially, he hardly slept a wink. “My now, look at you!” Bell had used the toilet and dressed himself. Two of the remaining indignities the Old Soldiers’ Home had not foisted upon him, though they tried...

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You’ve Got the Time

Weekly Contest #339

Michelle was not being judgmental. Hadn’t she said that, oh, a million times? “I’m not being judgmental. I’m just offering an opinion.” So when she said it for the million and one time, surely she meant it. I’ll give her this much. She was a psychologist; her job was to be judgmental. Diagnosing people was her career. Shrinks are supposed to listen a lot and talk very little. Not our Michelle. When offered a penny for her thoughts, she’d put in her two cents. That might explain their financial problems. The most recent episode came at yet an...

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The Secret Hideout

Weekly Contest #338

At the persistence of his father, Cliff Skinner, his mother attempted a breathing technique to slow her labor enough to push her soon-to-be-born baby out at midnight. Clifford heard that the first child of the new year would get all sorts of prizes, including a front-page photo in The Banner. Wilce was born on December 31st at 11:56 PM. Cliff also contrived that the local Chevrolet dealer, the largest in Vermont, would give him a new pickup, something he wanted more than a newborn when he couldn’t afford the other three kids, or the alimony ...

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No Place Like Home

Weekly Contest #331

Whittaker walked up Pilgrim Road, deliberately splashing into the puddles left behind by the night’s downpour. He enjoyed the rain. April showers and all. He smiled at that. He also enjoyed the lightning and thunder that had accompanied the storm. Despite his age, Whittaker never felt wet, even shrouded as he was in the cold mist. Come to think of it, he didn’t feel cold either. Still, he was keen to get home. Oscar, no doubt, would be hiding under the bed just waiting to curl up in Whittaker’s lap -- no small feat for a fat old lab. Some ca...

17 likes 8 comments 8
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Sealed With a Promise

Weekly Contest #329

It was the stamps. Church Sheridan wasn’t in the habit of noticing stamps, and he rarely got letters anymore. Nearly everything he received had those pre-stamped things that read “PRESORTED FIRST-CLASS MAIL”. If there was a stamp, it was one of those soulless “FOREVER” stamps. Little wonder that stamp collecting had gone out of fashion.It wasn’t just the stamps. The small package was yellow with age, the address handwritten in neat script. Still, the stamp showed the black silhouette of a soldier. The words read, Appomattox, With Malice Towa...

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A Light in the Forest

Weekly Contest #321

Jakob crouched inside a thick, thorny bush. The sharp points pricked his skin through what was left of the rags he wore. In another time, another place, he might have given a yelp. Not now. Now, he kept very still. If the thorns caused any bleeding, it wouldn’t be too much. He’d bled before, under other bushes, and squeezed into places not meant for little boys like stinky barns and even stinkier outhouses. And once in a chicken coop. In those, sharp nails scratched him and ripped his clothing. It was alright. It was best that he stay hidde...

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You Are So Very Welcome

Weekly Contest #306

Ellen Berliner offered the caller a ready excuse that her system was incredibly slow that morning. What with the holiday coming up and Covid going around there were simply an awful lot of calls coming in. It rolled off her tongue like the lines from a well-rehearsed play. Ellen also rolled her bored eyes. “We’re experiencing unusually high call volume,” a quote taken directly from the Post-it permanently taped to her monitor. She apologized, per another Post-it, and moved to the topic at hand. “Now what date was the claim again?” An aggrava...

18 likes 5 comments 5
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No One Wanted to Be a Hero

Weekly Contest #304

No one wanted to be a hero. Not now, anyway. It was over, pretty much, or would be soon enough. That's what everyone was saying. That's what newspapers were saying; the last one most of them saw was yesterday's news two weeks ago. It was true. You could taste it. You could see it in the slouch of prisoners marching back; kids mostly, and old men. They looked more relieved than depressed, more exhausted than anything else. And all those white sheets hanging out of windows? Everyone knew.The Army was so sure it was over they assigned one GI fo...

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The Pit

Weekly Contest #301

Hoffman only stopped because he fell over the thick root of an ancient oak. He wanted to get up, to be back on his feet. He had to go on with his exhaustive run. In that moment though, he welcomed the rest. The cold, soft, ground comforted him. Hoffman didn’t realize how hot he gotten running, how exhausted he was.He gasped so deeply all he could hear was his breath and pulsing heart. They were so loud he feared he could be heard from miles away. After a while, his breathing slowed down, his heart had settled, and he listened. He listened fo...

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Forsooth Sayer

Weekly Contest #299

Harry made suggestive gestures around the voluptuous crystal ball, his eyes rolling back into his head revealing only the bloodshot whites. He chanted words that could have been Arabic with a smattering of Hebrew recalled from a Bar Mitzvah. Most of the words were gibberish. The teenage trio at the table tried to hold back, but one couldn’t manage. “Dude, it’s like you’re grabbing a boob!” Hysterics ensued. Harry’s eyes rolled forward to glare. “It’s how I connect with the spirits,” he said, any trace of an exotic accent gone. “Do you want ...

11 likes 3 comments 3
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No Place Like Home

Weekly Contest #284

Whittaker walked up Pilgrim Road deliberately splashing into the puddles left behind by the night’s downpour. He enjoyed the rain. April showers and all. He smiled at that. He also enjoyed the lightning and thunder that had accompanied the storm. He never felt wet, not especially cold even at his age. Oscar, no doubt, would be hiding under the bed just waiting to curl up in Whittaker’s lap which was no small feat for a fat old lab. Some candles glowed inside of his neighbors’ homes. That would be a legacy of the storm no doubt. He could...

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The Old Guard

Weekly Contest #281

Rufus woke with another itch. It was the weather, of course, and the room. The room was too hot, the weather too dry, and he itched. He itched to the point of scratching away skin, bleeding on his bed, and feeling embarrassed by it but not nearly as ashamed as when he fell asleep on the couch. Incontinence. That wasn’t the first time; there’d been more “episodes” as the others would say. Poor old codger. Rufus wasn’t getting old; he was already old. It must have been yesterday surely when he’d had the energy to play with everyone. Laugh when...

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Greener Grass

Weekly Contest #277

The realtor hadn’t yet removed the white post from the front lawn when she hooked on a new ‘for sale sign’ to the arm. Another commission on this house was on her mind, two in as many years and the price had risen 10% since she’d last sold it. She didn’t question the seller’s motivation; it wasn’t her business. She was, however, curious as to why Marvin Kaminsky would want to sell it.           “So soon?” she commented when he called her. She’d expected some insight.  &nbs...

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C’est la Vie

The ancient vendor lifted a plastic sheet from his wares that lay on top of an even more ancient, if that was possible, olive-drab blanket. Ashes fell from his reeking Gauloises onto the faded US initials in one corner of the blanket. The old man looked up, his eyes hooded in the sort of contempt you’d expect from a dusty peasant trying to eke out a living with a display of mostly junk to a goofy smiling, and obvious, American tourist.  “Hi,” said Mark. “I mean ‘bon jour’” At least he was trying. The tourist guide said the French apprec...

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