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Jarrel Jefferson

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Dec, 2020

Stories (42)
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49 Followers
5 Following

42 Stories

857 karma pts

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Punching Myself In The Face Again

I’m sorry, y’all, I’ve failed as a writer. I haven’t submitted a story to Reedsy since December. I wanted to end my drought this week and write a story about someone trying to do something knowing that they’ll fail, but I’ve been so busy lately. I’ve recently been promoted to team lead at KTP (Kill Them Puppies). It’s a company where we kill puppies. I spent seven years stabbing puppies, from 3PM to midnight. They would look at me with drooping heads and a whimper. Then I’d stab them through the heart. Now I wake up at 8AM every morning to m...

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Abject

Submitted to Contest #124

—an exploding key? What a terrible thing to invent. He lied on his side, in shock and in pain, and curled into a little ball.  Just then, he stood there, staring at nothing in particular. Perhaps he heard something in the background, something so close to being recognizable that he needed to stop the figure out where he heard it before. Or maybe there was something about the color of the corridor in which he walked—burgundy that transitions into black the further you look—that reminded him of a feeling he once had, but he couldn’t qui...

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How To Keep Your Heart For Christmas

Submitted to Contest #122

“Grandma, do you know where Mommy and Daddy is?” asked Susie over chocolate-chip pancakes. It was after 8 pm, when usually her younger brother, Noah, and her are watching cartoons together on the living room floor of their home. But this time, Grandma picked up Susie from school instead of their mother. At Grandma’s house, they get to eat pancakes or cereal for dinner, which Noah enjoyed without much else going through his little head. Susie, however, felt uneased the absence of her parents this December evening. “They’re getting their Chr...

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Round 3

Submitted to Contest #120

How dare you keep this from me? Because she asked you to? Because you both knew how I’d react? Can you really see into my dreams, where I’m twenty-five again, back home where the octagonal cage surrounds me? I tackle Ryan to the mat. I cling to his back to keep him from standing. My arm folds and tenses around his jaw; his screams muzzled, but the cameraman zooms in on his eyes jumping out of his skull. My shoulder pulls my arm back slowly until I feel the pop, the dislocation. Justice for my Sarah. Our Sarah. Because you were the wis...

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Liliacul Lup

“It was raw, and visceral, like…KREEEEEEAAAAOOOOOOOOOORRRRRLLL—something like that.” “What was it?” “I don’t know. Some wolf-bat creature, maybe. It was hairy, with large fangs, and giant claws, and huge bat wings under its arms. I…thiiink it wore black dress pants because its lower half was darker. I could’ve swore I saw a belt buckle.” “Uh-huh.” “I could be wrong about the pants thing. It was kinda far and it was pretty dark that night. “Would you consider yourself a very imag—" “But it did wear a gold rosary necklace. That muc...

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Mr. Bear

Submitted to Contest #117

tw: violent contentLouis the Man could not have possibly stood more still or been more quiet inside of her closet if he were to have turned into stone. He watched, with the patience of a saint, as Cynthia the Woman tossed and turned, the bedsheets over her body flowing like restless ocean waves. He watched, through the crack in her ajar bi-ford closet door, as her body began to calm until it stopped moving entirely. He watched even still until her breath settle into a little snore, when the night drifted her away into dreamland. Only when he...

8 likes 2 comments 2
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Crepe

Submitted to Contest #106

Has anyone ever told you that your eyes are expensive emerald jewels once lost underground somewhere in Zambia, purchased in an auction by your great-great-great-great-great grandfather and are now family heirlooms? I should warn you that archeologists might try to steal them while you sleep, so their many prisms can be studied until all the wonder is lost. And have you thought about when you let your hair down? It is black as the night sky, in contrast to your milky complexion. A gateway into space. I could fall through it head-first and ...

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Yeast Man

Submitted to Contest #96

I’m going to get brutalized for this.                Everyone knows the mob gave one of their main men, Carey, the nickname “Cat” because he loves cats, big and small. His big cats make it fun for him to hunt down anyone that wronged him, including their families. Lucky for me, I have no family, no car, and I’m a long way from home.                But I did pickpocket Carey the Cat tonight, in ...

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She's A Cutter

Submitted to Contest #89

TW: self harm, gore, murder         Mary decided to chop off her hand today. She ignored the voice in her head for months. That voice that told her to toss her inhibition in the garbage disposal and flip the switch. Cut your hand off. A tear dropped from her eye. She’ll miss her hand. It kept her balanced during high school gymnastics. It carried her wedding ring during her first marriage. It lifted her baby in the air that one day when the spring sun stood behind them. Mary pulled her cleaver from the...

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You Would Need Ogre Milk

Submitted to Contest #76

               Stephanie heard the distant sound of angry voices gradually growing. Worried, she walked into the kitchen to check on her husband.                “So…” she began with a hint of precaution in her tone, “you seem to be really fond of that baby ogre, huh? I didn’t know you had time to buy it little baby clothes.”            &nb...

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The Birdboy Curse

Submitted to Contest #73

December 25th:                Jonathan is the most beautiful nephew I could ask for. I would give him the world if I could, but that would make my little brother, Harry Oliver, more jealous of me than he already is. But that’s okay. I already know Jonathan would rather live with me than with his bumbling parents. And the most wonderful part about Christmas is that I can reinforce that fact.             &nbsp...

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Orange Sweaters

Submitted to Contest #70

Dolores’s shoulder rubs always relaxed me. I would breathe in the sweet, musty scent of her bedroom like it was fresh air, and gaze with dreary eyes at the ray of light between the piss-colored curtains of her dusty window. It was a warm Tuesday afternoon, even though her thermostat was turned low enough to require a sweater while in her house. But I loved Dolores’s sweaters. Her drawers overflowed with sweaters of every color of the rainbow. On rare occasions she would wear her orange sweater, which revs my engine without fail. For such occ...

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