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Grace R

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Sep, 2021

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22 Followers
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8 Stories

257 karma pts

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i killed the flower and i killed the fairy

Weekly Contest #277

Sometimes a memory will hit me and I will think, ah yes. This is one of the memories that make up the snow globe of who I am. Shake me hard enough, and the memories will fall from me like snowflakes. It only happens occasionally, and whenever it does, I need to sit and think for a moment, undisturbed. I wouldn’t even be able to bear the sound of my own voice. You see, I hadn’t meant to grow up. It had just happened, like sunlight creeping through the blinds before you’re ready to wake up. I lost my nastiness. I was such an angry child, and n...

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07-18-04

Shortlisted for Weekly Contest #259 ⭐️

A burnt child loves the fire, I reminded myself as I crept closer to the writhing blue flames. I felt the heat on my chilled pale skin and exhaled. I never wanted to leave the city this weekend, but when Clarke called me, I knew I had to oblige. I’ve always thought of myself as a good friend, but just like any other human, I have my intrinsic selfish nature. I would’ve much preferred sleeping inside my apartment with the TV lulling me to sleep and a Diet Coke on my bedside table rather than camping in the middle of nowhere. But it's been fi...

28 likes 2 comments 2
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moths

Weekly Contest #151

There was so much darkness in the beginning, then suddenly, from nowhere, the window appeared. It was modest, with a peeling white frame and deep, velvety blue curtains that hung loosely from its sides. I had wanted so desperately to reach my arm out and stroke the curtains with my fingertips, but I couldn’t see my body. I couldn’t feel my body. I had no weight to myself, but I could feel the wood beneath me, the dirt above me. The window, in its modest nature, revealed nothing to me at first, as if it were sheepish. All I could see was ta...

7 likes 2 comments 2
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Silent Masterpieces

Weekly Contest #137

My favourite photograph of myself is not the one that you might think. It’s not the one that a drunk photographer had taken of me just after I had sold Katherine for over five hundred thousand dollars, the picture dizzy and filled with sudden, fantastical movement, me grinning in a suit, hair dishevelled and eyes fanatic with the accomplishment. I felt like a Roman Emperor, a true Caesar on my throne of marble and blood. My mother has that photo framed and hung in her dining room, and not a dinner party goes by where she doesn’t nod at it wi...

9 likes 2 comments 2
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Violin and Oboe

Weekly Contest #128

“A toast for us, the dreamers.” William stood to his feet, and Annalise watched his every movement. He rose the same way as he always did, slowly, as if he knew he could take his time, that he could take a century to move, and eyes would still be peeled on him. He smiled his vulpine smile, and everybody at the dinner began to raise their glasses, the sparkling liquid sloshing from side to side in each glass. “For the dreamers.” Annalise did not raise her glass, but nobody had noticed. She had been fiddling with a napkin since she had sat ...

14 likes 4 comments 4
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Elysian

Weekly Contest #116

My name is Alice. I stare down at the four words on the sheet of parchment I keep tucked under my pillow every night. The words are like eyes, staring at me, unblinking. I hold the parchment tightly, maybe too tightly, for it begins to wrinkle under my hold. My name is Alice. I thought if I wrote it down, and looked at it, and fell asleep with the words underneath my head, that it would help me remember. That I’d be able to remember myself as Alice, and not as Atonement. But now, as I stare down at those words, written with my lopsided cu...

13 likes 6 comments 6
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I and the eye

I used to have the luxury of lying to myself that I was normal before the eye appeared. Before the eye, I could look into the mirror and see a human. A misshapen, half-formed human, maybe, held together by bits of string and drugstore lipstick, but a human. And now I can’t even do that. Please don’t ask how the eye appeared. For the life of me, I can’t remember how it did. All I remember was that three weeks ago on a Wednesday, I woke up to the sound of my parents arguing in the living room and a strange sensation on my left hand. I remembe...

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where the fox grows

Weekly Contest #111

The wind chimes were going at it again. As the wind blew, they crashed feverishly into one another, a frantic dancing orchestra that woke the girl sleeping on the couch. As she blinked her eyes open and rubbed her cheek that had been pressed against a scratchy pillow all night, she glanced around the room worriedly. She began to absorb more sounds; the distant howl of a starving dog, the trees crashing together outside, rain colliding with the windows. With small, cold fingers, she pulled the sleeves of her sweater down to her wrists. Sleev...

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