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Deborah Curci

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Feb, 2021

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6 Stories

101 karma pts

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The Ink Doesn't Wash Off

Weekly Contest #380

I remember the first time Dad escorted me through the press room. He was Managing Editor of the Oroville Mercury-Register, a daily newspaper in northern California, and although the back of the building wasn't technically in his bailiwick, it was most definitely part of his empire. Dad was a formidable man. A dead ringer for Ernest Hemingway, one look from beneath his hirsute brows could make a reporter cower. His suit jacket generally hung over his office chair, his tie loosened sometime during the day, probably while dealing with a recalci...

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Check Your Rearview Mirror

Weekly Contest #379

Check Your Rearview Mirror by Deb Curci I'm used to being followed vs being the follower. My first husband didn't trust me, and the thirty-minute marriage had me watchful of my rear view mirror even now, with wet signatures on the divorce paperwork. So these days it wasn't an insecure husband or a scary monster or nameless shadowy spectre that dogged my steps. It wasn't a ghostly apparition that twisted my thoughts into anger when I let it; not a ghoul that followed me to the bar on Halloween. It was Nancy's divorce. And my own. After the i...

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I know what I saw

Weekly Contest #377

Paige was about nine years old that summer night, almost 30 years ago. Our little house didn't have a porch; just a concrete step to sit on and watch the birdfeeders, or the dogs, or the sky. Mom always said sitting on concrete would give you hemorrhoids. Paige and I escaped unscathed, and that summer we often found ourselves on that step. Boys busy on their mysterious pursuits, I kept my girl company with idle chat, and then, stories. "Make this one scary, Mom," she might urge. Or "a story about the dogs on an adventure" or "what will my de...

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Gotta watch that ice

Weekly Contest #370

Gotta Watch that Ice Either my heart or the kitchen clock is loud. Oddly, the rest of me is calm as I stare past the letter and out the window at the slushy street. The three o’clock school bus passes the driveway, showering the slick concrete with another layer of dirt and more chunks of ice. So how can I hear the clock? Or how can my heart thump and pump along so loudly in my ears, but go unfelt in my chest? The envelope had sliced my finger, leaving a tiny, stinging cut. Another reason to regret having opened the damned thing. But I’m not...

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The Boring

Weekly Contest #101

By Deborah Curci, writing as Kate Kersey Boris stood at the window, looking at the tossing sea that spread from horizon to horizon. He was alone when he muttered, “I just can’t take it anymore… the, the boring…”. He twitched lightly, shoulder meeting cheek, arms wrapped around himself in a reassuring self-hug. The well drilling rig had been out in the sea for as long as anyone cared to remember. It was as much part of the view as the gulls and the waves. Deep beneath those waves was a drill so large, with a bit so huge and fierce, that it...

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Well, Whaddya Know

Weekly Contest #91

So's you know, libraries ain't my thing. I never opened a book in my life 'cept when I had to. School, right? What a trip. Goons and whores, pretending to be kids. Not the other way around. And a fucking zoo. Who could learn? I don't even really like movies, either. TV's okay if you can find a fight or some basketball. Or a classic car auction, although not many cars beat my beauty. But movies, books... just a buncha lies some sucker wrote for other suckers to buy and read. What's the point? Funny, it was my beauty that landed me in the f...

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