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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Aug, 2020
Submitted to Contest #312
The room is painted blue. The wooden bed frame, the quilt, the sheets, the nightstand, the lamp, the doorknobs, the window panes, the slippers by the bed. All blue. She remembers the color before she remembers her own name. Blue. Then, Clara. Is that her name? No, someone else’s. She looks at her reflection in the mirror. No, Clara is someone else. There is a knock on the bedroom door, and the door swings open. A man with a swirled mustache, wearing an early-20th-century butler’s uniform, stands in the doorway, holding a silver tray. “M...
Shortlisted for Contest #307 ⭐️
When she was 14, she learned how to tie her shoes. She was not slow, nor disadvantaged. She had simply never had a need to wear a shoe. From the time she took her first steps, the Librarian’s daughter swept from place to place on socked feet that slid over the floors of the Library halls. When she went outside, she peeled off the socks and went barefoot through the man-made lawn or the bubbling courtyard pond.She had never met a fire ant, or a thorny bramble, or a rock with too sharp an edge. She had no need of shoes. At puberty—a bit on the...
Submitted to Contest #191
The shop smells like cut stems and lemon-scented Lysol. It’s one of the few places in this decaying city that stays the same, year after year, even as the lifespan of its patrons shortens and the yellowish haze outside grows thicker. “Six pink carnations, six white daisies, and some green,” she says to the florist. With the middle-aged woman distracted, she browses the half-empty rows of overpriced plants. She detaches an arm of a miniature succulent and pinches a yellow pothos stem off the vine with her fingernails. A scrawny lemo...
Submitted to Contest #188
If Orpheus had been a sixteen-year-old girl, his tale might have had a happier ending. Unfortunately for Eurydice, few can match the stubborn willpower of a teenager with absolutely no time in her schedule for grieving. Today was meant to be her perfect birthday and a perfect birthday she would have, broken alarm clocks and ex-boyfriends be damned. “You. Will. Not. Cry.” Eliza told herself in the bathroom mirror, pointing her finger at her already tear-stained face for emphasis. Minor setbacks like a missed bus and a broken hea...
Shortlisted for Contest #187 ⭐️
In the old days, Whiskey greeted her at the front door every morning. Fourteen-hour overnight shifts were no match for the cat’s crippling separation anxiety. Now, she was lucky to get more than one glimpse of her speckled brown coat per day. “Whiskey! Breakfast!” she calls and cracks open a pink can of Fancy Feast, a feeble attempt at enticing the cat out of her hiding spot. James had never let her buy wet food for Whiskey, usually picking up one of those unappetizing orange-and-pink kibble mixes himself. It was one of the first par...
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