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Jonathan Page

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jul, 2023

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Running

Weekly Contest #218

I can smell the salt of the sweat on my brow and neck, with hints of bug spray–the bouquet of harsh metal, lime, and kerosene. The hot concrete burns through the soles of my shoes. The residue of the chocolate gel I took fifteen minutes ago still covers my gums and coats my throat, which catches wafts of pollen and car exhaust, temporarily choking me as I gasp for air. The rush of cooling wind on my face and bare chest, the dopplerring woosh of cars passing, the caw of a raven, or the screech of a hawk. The scooting shuffle of startled deer...

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The Bridge to the Grail

Weekly Contest #218

We wandered the wasteland with empty stomachs, shaking and sweating from hunger. Our guts were soured by the unused acids that churned like mortar. We sang as we trotted along to keep our minds off of the stomach grumbling: “Here’s to the grog, boys, the jolly, jolly grog / I’ve a-spent all my tin with the lassies drinking gin / Then come morning I’ll be sleeping like a log / Here’s to the grog, boys, the jolly, jolly grog.” Pinot was an absolute waste of a squire but was a first-rate singer if there ever was one, and I suppose tha...

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The Newly Dead

Weekly Contest #218

It’s 1:13 a.m. on a Monday night when Bob sends me a pro bono assignment, and I am too dead inside to spare an ounce of compassion. I am being appointed counsel to Arles Ortega and Christina Lima Ortega and their daughter Anabel who are seeking asylum from Ecuador. Another thankless task—Ecuadorians are almost always denied asylum—all they can ever prove is vague government persecution, but it’s impossible to put meat on the bones and show personal stakes.I’m still in my office on the 32nd floor of Lexington Avenue. For the pa...

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Rescuing Holly

Weekly Contest #217

From the age of twelve, Holly had been confined to the three-story Tower House of her mother’s Southampton Estate on Olde Towne Lane—a veritable prison lined in gold, restricting her every move. Her mother Rose was in San Diego selling a historic Southern California mansion—the “Coronado Castle” on Coronado Island, the Old Hollywood haunt where Marilyn Monroe filmed Some Like it Hot—and she wouldn’t return until after Labor Day.  This was Holly’s chance to escape and see the world. Although Holly, at the age of 22, was alrea...

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Jimmy the Giant

Weekly Contest #217

I am godless, but I still pray just in case. Every time I walk into a courtroom, I am afraid I’ll be found out to be the fraud I really am. But I am the genuine article baby. The second I appear on the record, the man I am fades into the background and a much better man shows up. I don’t know much about him. But he is a force of nature. And he is the only reliable thing in my life.So, when John McArthur asked me to show him how it was done, I honestly didn’t have anything for him. I just said, “You want to ...

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The Case of the Devil’s Helmet

Weekly Contest #217

I was working on a sim corpse when I was called to Professor Sheehan’s office on urgent business. Never in a million years did I think I’d find him dead when I got there. As a criminology student and graduate lecturer at Limeridge University with an internship with major crimes at Limeridge PD, the last thing you expect to be doing is investigating a crime scene in which your own mentor is the victim.When I arrived, Christina Papadakis, the Professor’s TA, was already on site. She wore a sharp pantsuit over a thin, wiry frame....

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Waking up Poor

Weekly Contest #217

All the treasures this land offers lie below the burning sands, hoarded by yellow dragons. In Sakasanda, it is the enormity of the bareness that is awesome—that poverty can be so abundant. It is not even sunup and Scor comes running into my room.“Momma, momma, are you going to market?” Scor asks.“What do you want?” I say, turning back over and pulling the sheets over my head.“Fig jam, dragon’s blood pudding, and sweet sausage. And funnel cakes,” she says, pulling up a corner and whispering her list under the top sheet. He...

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The Mating Habits of the INTJ Female

Weekly Contest #216

I want to state for the record that it wasn’t love at first sight— we’d been doing the e-mail thing for six months. And it wasn’t the first date. That didn’t seal it either. It was the sexy born yesterday thing that eventually got me.“It’s so good to finally meet you in person,” I said, standing up to greet Aubrey. “Yeah,” Aubrey said.I reached out my arms to say—I’m gonna hug you now. Aubrey remained glued to her corner of the table. So, naturally, I tried to close the distance. After all, we’d been sittin...

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You Can’t Find Me

Weekly Contest #216

You are called to the Roxy Hotel at 10:13 pm on a moonless Thursday, on reports that Maeve Rhidian has been missing for 5 days. The first thing you should know about me is that I am a New York Times bestselling author of my debut novel, “The Last Check-In.” The second thing you should know about me is that you cannot trust anything I say. The last thing you should know about me is you can’t find me.The last person to see me alive was a Delta stewardess from Italy named Octavia who met me to catch a showing of Django Unchained ...

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Waiting Up

Weekly Contest #216

Norm had waited out in the drizzling rain before the slightly hungover young woman opened the shop late—a full eight minutes after the advertised six o’clock open time. In Norm’s line of work as a pastor, waiting was his stock-in-trade and he had grown quite used to the fact that things like opening times and scheduled meetings were more suggestions than anything you could rely on. Standing under the awning, huddled under his umbrella, the morning rain had come sideways and caught in his gray beard and wet his face. He panted ...

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The Identity Thief

Weekly Contest #216

“This is the hunter's badge of glory - That he protects and tends his quarry, - Hunts with honor, as is due - And through the beast to God is true.”--Jagergmeister, by Oskar von Riesenthal (taken from the back of a Jagermeister bottle, half-full).* * *I am left to imagine the circumstances of a most unusual case, which has the Grimlace’s handiwork written all over it. The Grimlace has stolen another victim’s visage and memories, leaving her a withered amnesiac. She was wandering ghostlike amid the streets of Frankfurt with no idea ...

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The Barber’s Pole

Weekly Contest #215

Oscar sits in his barber’s chair, reading the Trentonian on his iPhone, cataloging the day's stories for the early rush. Oscar pays special attention to the stock charts and the upcoming highway projects. People love to talk about making money—and to complain about traffic.The bell rings and Michael walks in. He is a tall, well put together, trader type in his early thirties, wearing a crisp white button-down and expensive men’s Oxford shoes. Oscar yells, “Maria, Maria. Customer. Get in here—I need a wash.”&nbsp...

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Garita Del Diablo

Weekly Contest #215

Methoughts I saw a thousand fearful wrecks;Ten thousand men that fishes gnaw’d upon;Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,Inestimable stones, unvalu’d jewels,All scatter’d in the bottom of the sea.Some lay in dead men’s skulls, and in the holesWhere eyes did once inhibit, there were crept –As ‘twere in scorn of eyes – reflecting gems,That woo’d the slimy bottom of the deep,And mock’d the dead bones that lay scatter’d by. Richard III, Act 1 Scene 4On San Clement’s Day, my lagoon front building project encounters an unexpected and...

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The Grotesque

Weekly Contest #215

My scaly flesh is hard as stone. A natural armor. I have always had a tough exterior. But I fear I have reached the point where I will petrify completely and be arrested in an eternal prison of stone if I do not cast off my armor before it is too late. I feel my soul, like a firefly trapped in a jar, buzzing about, and smashing against my concrete ribs—encased in a dark stone prison. I feel my essence suffocating and gasping as I become solid.Evil words echo from the flying buttresses and stained glass. The dust...

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The Haunting at Barr Camp

When I wake up in the dead of the night, I hear a door slam shut in the lodge house. I shoot up in bed. My hair is damp with sweat. Floorboards creak. Or is it just the groaning of the lodge in the winter storm? Lights flicker in the foyer, then the bunkhouse. Could it just be a surge?  I struggle to swallow and clench my jaw as I hear the hinge of a cabinet. I forget to breathe and hold my breath until my face grows warm. Maybe it is just my imagination. Then I hear the scrape of cans b...

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