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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Aug, 2024
Submitted to Contest #329
Sensitive Content: Child loss I’m already in bed, just approaching that point of no return, that tipping point between drowsing and dreaming, when the phone rings. The bedside clock glows 10:10 as I fumble to answer."Mom?"It’s Travis, my son. He’s crying, I can hear it in his voice."What is it, what's wrong?" Instantly awake, I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed. The air conditioning that had made this Midwestern August day bearable now chills me as I sit there in a twisted mess of nightgown, heart pounding a terrified rhythm ...
Submitted to Contest #328
"I know what you did." On the other side of the slatted confessional wall, Father David drew back reflexively, head swiveling in surprise toward the voice of the hidden penitent, whose confession was to be the last of the day. The voice was feminine, young, carried a hint of formative years spent below the Mason-Dixon line. "Excuse me?" he said. "Do you wish to confess?" Performing the Sacrament of Reconciliation was relatively new to the novice priest, and he still felt a certain unease about the process, a fee...
Submitted to Contest #269
*** Prologue *** Special Agent in ChargeFBI – Kansas City 11180 NW Prairie View RoadKansas City, MI 64153 To whom it may concern: While still of sound mind and body, I provided this letter to my attorney with instructions to mail it in the event of my death. Since you’re reading it now, we can only assume that said event has occurred. Though likely long forgotten, during the late 1950’s to the mid-1960’s, there was a spate of infant abductions across the Midwest. The fact that these were seemingly random abductions with virtually no clue lef...
Submitted to Contest #268
“You going to meetings? Following the steps?” My parole officer glares at me over the top of his black-rimmed reading glasses. Jack Conrod sits behind a messy wooden desk that takes up most of the space in the small office. He’s aged since the first time I met him, the first time I got out. Now I’m back, and let’s just say he’s not happy to see me. “Yeah, man, I’m going to the meetings. Fifth Street Church.” “And the steps?” Jack insists; he lets nothing slide. I shift in my chair, wipe sweating palms down the legs of my worn jeans. “I’m k...
Submitted to Contest #267
Number ten is beautiful. When I first saw her running in the park four months ago, I knew it was time for number nine to leave. Getting them to go is never easy, and always messy – although, granted, by that time, there’s not much fight left in them. But I knew immediately; it was time. I had found my new someone, the one who would love me forever. Out with the old, in with the new. When I first spotted her from where I sat on my park bench, I was no longer much of a runner. Although I ran track in college, my sedentary job had taken its tol...
Submitted to Contest #266
“The pen is mightier than the sword: wield it wisely,” reads the whisp of paper pulled from my fortune cookie. “Well, Cissy, that’s a profound load of drivel.” I speak aloud to my empty kitchen as I crumple the bit of paper and let it fall into the detritus of my General Tso’s Sunday night takeout. Days later, though, I would be forced to reconsider. ---------------------------------------------------------------To: gloriaherrit@nevabank.comDate: Mon, Feb 5 at 10:43 AMFrom: ceceliaprobest@nevabank.comSubject: Meeting follow-up D...
Submitted to Contest #264
Contains rape reference Ten fucking attendants. Who needs that many attendants for their wedding? But there they stand to the left of the bride-to-be, all dressed to the nines for the rehearsal, complete with fake eyelashes and sequins. It’s clear now why Josh’s presence was needed; if the bride has ten, so must the groom. A month earlier, Josh had come in from work, mail in hand. “You’ll be my plus one, won’t you babe?” He blithely passed me an opened envelope as he dumped his keys into the catch-all bowl by the refrigerator and heade...
Submitted to Contest #263
“Wake up, big sister, I have news for you.” A man stands before me, insistently poking my shoulder with a sausage-sized finger. He is huge, Andre-the-Giant huge, incongruously wearing cerulean blue tights, a matching T-shirt with the letter “C” emblazoned in white across its front, and white running shorts. He looks at me with a wicked sneer, his breath horrid. “Uh, what? Who are you?” I’m groggy, my neck stiff from sleeping in the waiting room chair in the medical cente...
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