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Jonathan Page

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jul, 2023

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144 Stories

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Beating the Wind

Weekly Contest #240

When the police cruiser came to a stop by the #123 bus stop, Freddie Storm recognized the officer in the passenger seat and ran for his life. Freddie turned left on Newark Avenue and tore down the long straightaway to Dickinson High School, a fortress on the flat hilltop above. The evening breeze kicked up and buffeted Freddie’s skin, slapping his face. The wind snapped him out of the fitful thoughts screaming in his brain as he tried to work out what was happening. Freddie knew from what was happening that he’d made a terrible mistake. But ...

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Twist in the Wind

Weekly Contest #240

A black cloud blotted out the sun. The wind kicked up, and I gripped the flaps of my pea coat to cover my ears while I waited to be let in. The air was wet with a coming storm and the clouds rushed by, grumbling above the world of man like a hungry beast. Bates’s office was a few blocks down from the courthouse. It had seemed like an easy walk, but as I made my way down to Summit Avenue, I knew that I had underestimated the weather. My first day on the job was looking to be a dreary one. Dead ends. Dark skies. And a feeling of dread in my st...

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Carried Away

Weekly Contest #240

“Is it true that the winds still blow in the North?” the boy asked.“It stands to reason, boy,” I said. “But why would that matter to you now?”“Don’t call me boy. It is Jeavon. Jeavon Hanley,” he said.“Ahh, yes. Kim Hanley’s boy.”The boy was looking for a guide to the Northern lands. A commission I’d been known to accept if the price was right. But, never for such foolish reasons. Of all days, he had arrived on March 4th. The anniversary of the Doldrums. The eighteenth anniversary of the day when all the wind in Borealis ceased forever. The d...

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Lost and Found

Winner of Weekly Contest #240 🏆

On my last shift as a lighthouse keeper, I climbed the seventy-six spiral iron stairs and two ladders to the watch room, the number of steps the same as my age. The thwomp and snare of each step laid an ominous background score. Something wasn’t right. At that very moment, Richie Tedesco was pointing a fire extinguisher at the burning electrical panel in the engine room of his boat a few miles offshore.The placard in the watch room read “Marge Mabrity, Lightkeeper—First lighted the depths on March 2nd, 1985, and hasn’t missed a night.” Alrea...

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Just Deserts

Weekly Contest #239

It is impossible to resist a hitchhiker on a road to nowhere. And that was exactly what my cousin Shane’s wedding to Raven the following morning was going to be.It was strange that we all gathered to wish them well when none of us would be there in two years when the ineluctable breach of the sacrament was ratified by the divorce judge after Shane’s degenerate, pathological gambling resulted in the foreclosure of Raven’s overpriced Bungalow-style home in Boulder City, which she would naively agree to mortgage to the hilt to bail him out, set...

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The Book of Alternate Endings

Weekly Contest #239

I only met her once before she died. Rachel, with her duffle bag slung like a shield and storm clouds in her gaze, somehow found her way to the threshold of the parsonage. I often had visitors, but no one knocked, let alone knocked hard five times. So, her entrance stood out. I was close to burnt out and felt I couldn’t handle one more thing. But there she was, like a dark, unbidden angel.It was a cloudless Friday afternoon, the day she arrived. The clock hands ticked pokily above a porcelain coffee cup that stayed warm for hours, wafting a ...

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The River of Vipassana

Weekly Contest #238

I have an allergic response to woo-woo stuff, so the last thing I want to do is spend a week and a half wooing around with a bunch of woo-woos in Peru. But things are going completely off the rails. Everything is on the table.“Alexa. Brew espresso,” I say, shouting at a receiver down the hall of my luxury canal-side flat on Orsman Road in Shoreditch, London. My DeLonghi Magnifica espresso maker hums and whirs. Pulling the sheets over my head, I reach to the other side of the bed and grab my iPhone. What have we here?The notifications from th...

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Not on My Shift

Weekly Contest #238

People like me are more likely to die from suicide than in the line of duty. With Stella moving out things have gotten insufferable. The more friends and colleagues who “Exit Stage Left,” the more it seems like an option. It seems odd that those of us who answer the call to save lives at all costs, somehow can’t find a reason big enough to save our own.The emergency tones had beeped loudly from a dozen places in my apartment, startling me out of a whiskey-induced coma. Just after ten in the morning, on my day off, no less. “THIS IS A NATIONA...

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Believe It or Not

Weekly Contest #237

Ripley, man! People don’t know about Ripley. Robert Ripley. Ripley’s Believe it or Not! Spitting image of Elmer J. Fudd. Remember “Merrie Melodies?” Probably not, right? A doddering Elmer J. Fudd would say, over the radio, “I don’t believe it.” That’s how we felt about artificial intelligence for the longest time.Until we all fell in love with it. Then there was no talking to us. You can’t unbelieve in a thing. That’s a flaw of humanity. You know?Anyway, I believed I loved Katya. Even before it was on trend. I even believe she is a real girl...

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The Lottery

Weekly Contest #237

Steve says, “My wife married the wrong man.” He says it matter-of-factly and chuckles. I take a long drink and wait for them to take their seats. “I’m no good at pleasing her anymore.” He winks at Alli when he says it and pulls the chair out for her.Jane, his wife, says to my wife, Alli, “He really wanted it then. A charity case. I had to take him in. Like the way you take in a stray.” They are a good couple. They are friends. But this act is well rehearsed.My wife married the right man, and I married the right woman. We became the wrong peo...

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Be Kind. Rewind.

Weekly Contest #236

I would never have thought that Mr. Arnold was a meathead back in the day. That’s the thing about time. It’s like an Instagram post you’ve run through a hundred filters. It gets to the point where you wouldn’t even recognize where that final image started. I believe the film buffs call the story that is about to unfold a ‘romp.’ Buckle up. You’re not gonna believe where this one is going. I sure didn’t.Our story begins when the substitute English teacher drops the “C” word. The tea is that they caught the cancer late—like Stage 4—and spread ...

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Rescuing the Princess

Weekly Contest #236

Before Link could walk, he could already expertly manipulate a dual analog stick and wield a Wii remote as if it were an extension of his arm. When Link was a baby, I would hold him in my arms, swaddled in a blanket, trying to get him to sleep, while I occupied myself with a late-night session of Legend of Zelda, Skyward Sword. Sometimes I think this kid will bust out an Ocarina and jam out in B major with the number of hours he spent as a toddler dozing off to the Main Theme on repeat. Dun dun dun, dun dun dun, dun-dun-dun-dun. That heroic,...

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The Little That You Have

Weekly Contest #235

The poor in Farthing keep getting poorer. The less you have the more they take. That’s Farthing. Take Lucana and me. We live in Widow’s Mite, on the border of Fayetteville, in a boxable unit, in a stack of similar boxable units, in a dirty forgotten quarter, on a nondescript block, that forms a section of an unpaved tract, beneath a jagged palisade, where the city planners neglected to account for stormwater drainage so that it floods with every single storm, where Jackboots come and go where they please, and freely take our belongings or st...

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The Wall

Weekly Contest #235

Everyone on the high school cross-country team had the same Steve “Pre” Prefontaine poster on their bedroom walls, but I was the only one who took it literally. “The best pace is a suicide pace, and today is a good day to die.” That was the quote. And I bought it, hook, line, and sinker. During my hard runs, I would picture the “red line” as a brick wall, and the idea was to somehow gather enough steam that when I hit the wall, I would crash right through.As I vault off the grassy section of the 5K cross-country route and crash into the cove...

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Hopeless Aid Station

Weekly Contest #235

The thing about going the distance is that it is non-negotiable; you must take every miserable, unrelenting step on your own steam—like it or not. David had his hands on his knees, dry heaving, at the foot of the highest mountain pass in the Colorado Rockies. Dry heaving was nothing new. He could handle dry heaving all day long. David’s Garmin Sportswatch displayed the elevation: 9,983 ft. 2,617 feet to the top. The saddle was 12,600 feet. Should take about an hour and a half, he thought. If he didn’t collapse first.As his stomach eased, Dav...

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