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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Aug, 2025
Submitted to Contest #333
(italicized dialogue=speaking in Chinese) They’ve been playing chess for about fifteen minutes before Ishmael realizes Stone’s been gone for too long. Another ten minutes go by, and his inward fretting gives Mei the opening to take two of his pieces. He stands up. “I’ll be back,” he says, and Mei smiles at him knowingly. “And don’t you start moving pieces around.” He checks the downstairs bathroom first and finds Stone sitting at the piano, hunched over and plinking at the keys. Ishmael takes a seat next to him on the bench. Their sleeves b...
Submitted to Contest #330
Iago Otho had been Master Blacksmith for the kingdom of Letrell for decades. He revolutionized armor and weapon designs, worked on his own inventions and was developing possible methods of flight when his luck turned for the worst. The problem with living in a prosperous kingdom is other nations end up getting ideas. And for all his work, he could not prevent Letrell’s downfall- they had superior technology. The other nations that allied against them had the numbers. Iago never felt much loyalty to the kingdom he grew up in, so he packed hi...
Submitted to Contest #321
Ishmael spent most of his life as a human. Grew up an orphan, collected PhDs like comic books, built and invented and perfected. Machines are the future, his creations will outlive them all, and he had an inkling of plans for world domination. After all, shouldn’t the smartest be in charge? Shouldn’t that be the natural order of things? He gets recruited for the government, agrees because the contract comes with a fancy lab and funding and all the building materials he could want. He regrets that now. Maybe he would still be human, still be...
Submitted to Contest #319
The world ends like this. There’s a small town deep in the woods. It’s a harsh, cold winter. A terrible sickness is spreading, a young mother and her child succumb to the fever in the night. A voice reaches out to the villagers. It speaks into their very minds, their hearts, their souls. “I love you,” it says with an otherworldly hum, “I don’t want you to die. Come home. Come to me. Or all of you will die of a disease with no cure.” Who are you? They ask. Are you an angel? God? “I am someone who loves you. Isn’t that all that matters? I ...
Submitted to Contest #314
“We were all angels, once,” Morteziel says wistfully. A mere shadow of her former self, golden wings blackened by what she’s become: Death, one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse. The horse she sits on is white, pale as- well, her. How I hate the dark cowl that obscures her face, hides her silver hair that shines with moonlight. “You linger too much on the past, Death,” sneers War. They are unrecognizable now, scarred and burned head to toe from countless battles over the centuries. Once they were one of the most beautiful angels with pr...
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