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Jethro Pili

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Aug, 2021

Stories
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30 Followers
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150 Stories

335 karma pts

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The Lamb’s Lost Angel

I. The Boy Who Wouldn’t Hurt a Fly Reilly Chong was the kind of boy whose teachers used words like tenderhearted and gentle soul. His mother would catch him setting out little bowls of sugar water for bees on the back porch, or scooping worms off hot sidewalks after a rainstorm. At fifteen, his biggest concerns were passing algebra and saving up for a secondhand guitar.Then the Lambs of Jesus came to town.They called themselves a ministry. They wore white robes with a lamb stitched over the heart and wandered through neighborhoods handing...

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Step Nine: The Bridge

Brandon Cole stared at the name on the folded piece of paper in his hand as though it might catch fire if he opened it again.Dad.Two weeks ago his sponsor, Jorge, had said: “You’re ready. You’ve done the writing, you’ve done the praying. Now go make it right. Not perfect. Not pretty. Just right.”Brandon didn’t feel ready. His palms still sweat through his sleeves at meetings. He still dreamed about bourbon at least twice a week, sometimes waking with the taste of it in his throat like a ghost. But he was on Step Nine now, and if he kept putt...

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I Regret…

The café smelled like roasted almonds and honey, and the late afternoon sun cut through its broad windows like a golden blade. In the back corner, away from mortal ears and eyes, sat two women who didn’t quite belong in any age but had learned to wear whatever century they walked through like a silk scarf.Aphrodite stirred her cappuccino with a lazy finger, watching the foam swirl, her long lashes lowered. Across from her, Athena sat upright, all crisp lines and calm precision, wearing a dove-grey pantsuit, a small notebook resting beside he...

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Children of Olympus

Elliot had always felt the pull of the ocean, though he lived a hundred miles inland. The way waves crashed inside his chest whenever he got near water… it was strange. But nothing was stranger than the note he found waiting on his apartment door one Monday afternoon:“To Elliot, Son of Poseidon.Your presence is required at the top of the Chrysler Building at sundown.Do not be late.”He’d thought it was a prank. Until he met the others in the elevator lobby.They were an odd bunch: a dark-haired boy standing stiffly in a leather jacket, arms fo...

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Son of the Sun

It was a Tuesday afternoon when Jamie Marquez’s life cracked open like an egg.He was standing in the back garden of his mother’s house, glaring down at the shriveled tomato plant he had accidentally killed the week before. The summer sun blazed overhead, but the plant’s leaves were brown and crisp, curling like tiny fists, as if they were angry at him.Jamie sighed and rubbed his face.“I swear I didn’t mean to forget to water you,” he muttered to the plant, feeling foolish.His mom always said he had “too much of a heart for a boy,” and she wa...

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The Angel of Sunset Boulevard

"For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?"— Matthew 16:26 Los Angeles in 1925 was no place for the faint of heart. It was a city of mirages, painted desert backdrops, and endless opportunity—provided you were willing to play by rules no one ever wrote down and to pay prices no one ever mentioned.Celia Hart had been in the city for eighteen months, and she still hadn’t made it past playing “third flapper from the left” or “girl in the crowd.” H...

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Six Months in the Dark

Petty Officer Brent Young stepped out into the sunshine.It was like hitting a wall made of light and fire. Six months underwater had turned his skin pale, his eyes sensitive, and his soul a little darker. The sky—obnoxiously bright and impossibly blue—offended him. He shielded his eyes, squinted, bared his teeth, and hissed like a vampire climbing out of a crypt.“Whoa!” laughed Gonzalez behind him, emerging next from the sub’s hatch. “We got a Dracula over here!”“You alright, Young?” piped up Henders, already halfway down the gangplank. “Sho...

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Back to the Now

The buzzing started faintly.Not the buzz of an iPhone. No vibration alert from a smartwatch. Not even the chime of some sleek Bluetooth speaker.No—this was the sound of a plastic-encased alarm clock, red digital numbers blinking 7:00 AM, ticking over to life with the screech of a radio trying to tune itself through static.“—and that was Ace of Base with The Sign! Coming up next—Alanis Morissette, and later, some classic Friends trivia before the school bell rings, kids!”Nate blinked. His eyelids felt like they were covered in molasses. His f...

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Hidden Hollow

Nestled at the edge of an ancient forest that never appeared on any map, surrounded by misty hills and veiled by forgotten magics, lay the town of Hidden Hollow. Travelers rarely stumbled upon it. Those who did claimed their GPS glitched or that the road seemed to unfold rather than appear. If they stayed a night at the town’s quaint B&B and pub, they usually left with the distinct impression of a dream half-remembered.And that was exactly how the residents of Hidden Hollow liked it. 1. The B&B and the Exiled PrinceThe heart of th...

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Many Summers Ago At Innside-Out

Sam Ihle sat on the front porch of the Oldtown Brownstones, a cold bottle of ginger beer in one hand and a distant, nostalgic look in his bespectacled eyes. The early evening sun splashed the sidewalk in amber, and the scent of grilled onions wafted from a neighbor’s window. It was one of those golden June evenings where the past tiptoed in, warm and unexpected.Inside, through the screen door, Jodie could be heard folding laundry and humming an old Dusty Springfield tune. The twins, Clark and Kara, were already down for their nap, and the si...

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The Seabrook Marathon Afterparty

Sunlight shimmered on the freshly chalked finish line of the Seabrook Marathon. Every June, the little coastal town woke up early, laced up its running shoes, and pounded the pavement—for charity, for pride, for the joy of tradition. But while the marathon brought out the determined and the athletic, it was the Afterparty that stole the show.Set up along the pier, with carnival games, raffles, brunch tents, and more fried food than any nutritionist would condone, the Afterparty was a celebration of community, sweat, and serotonin.“Burn all t...

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The Tower Test

I. The Benevolence of OrderThe Tower cast a long shadow over the city, like a judge's gavel about to drop. Tower City, the last civilized bastion in a wasteland of ruins and sand, was ruled by Chancellor Magnus—our so-called Benevolent Dictator. “Benevolent,” they taught us, because he saved our ancestors from chaos. “Benevolent,” because he gave us laws, food, safety. And most of all, order.But no one ever forgot the price of that order.Every spring, when the blue banners fluttered and the exams were administered, the entire city paused. Ch...

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The Nocturne of Corvus Black

Corvus Black was not his real name.His birth certificate said “Elliot Greene,” a name too pale and pedestrian for the kind of stories he wrote. Under the name “Corvus Black,” his words sold by the thousands, sometimes millions. His books—leatherbound, blood-inked things—lurked on the shelves of indie occult shops, on the nightstands of disenchanted teenagers, and under the beds of people who swore they didn’t believe in ghosts.Corvus Black was a brand. A mask. A shrine. And no one ever saw him in the day.He lived in a narrow Victorian...

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The Wordsmith’s Forge

For the sixteen aspiring writers gathered at The Pines Writing Retreat, the week promised more than crisp mountain air and coffee strong enough to stun a charging bear. They came from New England, New York City, even Canada—drawn by one name:Professor Philip Leavenworth.A former science and tech writer for the Seabrook Viking News, Leavenworth had, in his early days, penned exposés on everything from municipal AI experiments gone rogue to defense contractors testing neural implants in soldiers. But he became famous—infamous—when he shifted t...

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Upper Hand by Heather L. Knightly

1. The PseudonymThe name on the manuscript cover read Upper Hand by Heather L. Knightly—a name that didn’t exist six months ago.Jodie Williams, political reporter for The Seabrook Viking News, adjusted her tortoiseshell glasses as she stared at the galleys on her desk. She’d written countless articles—on voter suppression, intelligence leaks, Capitol Hill scandals—but nothing quite like this. Nothing fictional. Nothing this… charged.Her husband Sam Ihle peered over her shoulder, eyes twinkling behind his Clark Kent glasses. “You know, if any...

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