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Jonathan Page

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jul, 2023

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1020 Followers
7601 Following

150 Stories

7117 karma pts

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A Real Ham-and-Egger

Weekly Contest #222

As a kid I was obsessed with “Macho Man” Randy Savage, but macho I am not. Ever notice how we are all fascinated by stories about our opposite? Take me. I’m a pussy. Not in the sense of being a girly man, but in the sense of being a lazy coward. So, naturally, I am obsessed with Rambo, Full Metal Jacket, Pumping Iron, and any narrative involving one very jacked man fighting his way through a sea of enemies, with certainty of purpose, zero fear of death, wearing his weight in ammo, and possessing an uncanny ability to make everyone in their p...

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A Case of the Useless

Weekly Contest #222

Your blood test results have come back POSITIVE. This is something Devin has suspected for a long time. His first thought is to reject the diagnosis and prove that it is wrong. When Devin checks the notice on his iPhone it is 2:38 am. Devin turns back to his computer and continues playing the new fantasy game “Star of Remphan,” in which his avatar is a dark wizard of Druid origins whose spells require a sigil in the form of a pentagram or Star of David enclosed in a magical circle. His avatar is named Austin Osman Spare. The source of Aust...

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The Library of Disappearing Things

Weekly Contest #222

Boris Bondarenko lived in a multicolored cottage house in a one-road village in the Ukranian countryside and had the remarkable ability to read every known language. Most of the anointed were marked from birth, but Boris went unnoticed by the Library for years. It was strange then, but also appropriate, given his time in the world, that it fell on him to prevent the whole thing from burning to the ground. As a boy, Boris loved to run through the sunflower fields and chase bees. Boris’s childhood duties included cutting up cucumbers and pota...

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The Devil's Own Children

Weekly Contest #222

It was just another day in Brooklyn. The spilling of blood was an appropriate offering to the denizens beneath the city whose cries for punition were unending. Eddie “Prime” Pino was driving his Mercedes Roadster with the top down on the Belt Parkway by Coney Island in the gray November dusk when he saw the emergency strobe lights of an unmarked Gray Chevy Impala blare behind him. As he pulled over on the side of the freeway, Eddie reached into the center console and pulled out a Beretta Model 71 pistol loaded with .22 caliber bullets, whic...

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The Giant that Rose Again

Weekly Contest #221

Failure haunts me like a generational curse. And it seems that every time I glimpse a retirement from the traveling show, my fortunes go up in flames. Every time I imagine putting away my soap box and signing over my many promotions and wonders into capable hands, the world forces me back into servitude. In the days of my first traveling menagerie, my giants were all phonies, but my little people were legitimate. By the time I returned from Europe to present General Tom Thumb at the American Museum on Broadway and Ann Street, more than ten ...

16 likes 4 comments 4
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Over My Dead Body

Weekly Contest #221

I sit in the corner of the embalming room watching as the mustached man drains the blood from my corpse. The corpse lies on a metal table, covered in a white tarp. And there is a faint choker of purple bruising and checkered abrasions around my neck. The blood in the tubes is purple-colored, with streaks of black. My irises are cloudy white films, my pupils are fading black lifeless dots. As the mortician hooks me up to the embalming machine with its pump and wires, and the cold fluid enters the veins of my body, I feel nothing. I kind of s...

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Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass

Weekly Contest #220

Running along the streets of lower Manhattan, crossing over Centre Street, I kept an even tempo. The sky suddenly darkened as heavy clouds covered the blue sky like spilled ink clouding out over parchment paper. I could have turned back and avoided the storm. But I needed to get my miles in. Post the numbers. Do the work. Think of that Starbucks cappuccino and the warmed-up butter croissant that’s waiting for you. I had already gone five miles by that point. But six miles was my daily minimum. And I was hurting. Right calf cramping. Stich ...

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Hannibal the Animal

Weekly Contest #220

Nana was one of those women who was at home anywhere, but the kitchen at Popop’s house was her place. She animated the space. The pots, pans, ladle, and spatula. They were extensions of her flappy old arms. As she moved over the pans, she smelled of lavender, talcum powder, and fresh bedding—mixed with the aroma of spices, ground pepper, parsley, and red pepper flakes simmering in oil and coating the eggs. Her owl-like eyes brightened and her cheeks flushed as soon as she got busy fixing a meal. I was ready for a good meal. I’d been up all ...

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The Elephant Graveyard

Weekly Contest #220

“If civilization had been left in female hands, we would still be living in grass huts.” — Camille Paglia * * * It is odd how the ionized air of the cold desert night refracts the moonlight, which crackles with the spirits of sojourners past. They seem to still inhabit these barren dunes, trying to speak—the whispers of their urgent warning to the living just out of reach. And the bold moon itself, a dead and lifeless desert, is pockmarked with the evidence of a violent past. This shouldn’t be here. African bush elephants. Desert-dwelling...

28 likes 4 comments 4
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Oh Happy Fault

Weekly Contest #220

When I wake up, the fresh sea breeze tells me I am near the Ocean. I stretch out my hands and grasp for my gold Spanish pocket watch, but it is not on the nightstand. Seeing the sun peer through a set of heavy drapes, I realize I am no longer at sea but in a hotel suite. “Are you hungry?” she asks, coming into view with a plate of honeydew and canary melons and a lump of cottage cheese. I begin to remember why I am here. The air is thick in the dark suite with the drawn drapes, and she sits naked in her chair, knees up, feet perched, with ...

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The Washing Woman of Double Tree

Weekly Contest #219

Down in the security office, the CCTV monitors scan the corridors, stairways, lobbies, and meeting places of the Double Tree Hotel and provides 24/7, 360-degree confirmation that the hotel is an integrated whole, rather than a multitude of separate cages, each filled with its own individualized horrors. I peer out of the catacorner windows of my little night kingdom at the procession of daybreak. All of the unfolding routines bring my thoughts back to my sick wife Beth, really showing now, and the child I hope will be a boy. It is early spr...

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On Being a Bad Bitch

Weekly Contest #219

The thing about being a bad bitch, is bad bitches make things happen. Go ahead, root for the good girl, see where that gets you. Blah, blah, blah. They go on with the same predictable, lame-ass shit—doing what they’re told—getting good grades, dating the safe guy, and following all the rules. For God’s sake, they obey curfew. I can’t even! Pitiful. No one wants to read about that shit. Now, enter the bad bitch. Voila. Drama. Intrigue. Think about it, really think about it. Without a bad bitch in the story, there isn’t a story. Nothing happe...

21 likes 9 comments 9
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My Neighbor's Keeper

Weekly Contest #219

Staring out into the vacuum of space, I feel homesick for the Jordan Valley. I wish I'd been given my chosen assignment as a fighter pilot tasked with defending my homeland from the Surge. Instead, I’ve been resigned to the thankless task of hurtling through the void tending to sheep on the Bowdler Express. But I serve the House. We all do. My commander and captain, Aryeh Ross, has promised me a transfer if I complete the twelve-month term of my initial deployment. The Oculus Directive has suffocated and smothered all harmful speech across ...

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The Exodus of the Corporate Zombies

Shortlisted for Weekly Contest #219 ⭐️

I harbor a secret fantasy that the lot of us are undead zombies. Shuffling corpses. Slavish, insentient lumps of meat. Navigating the public transportation system by reflex, devoid of any signs of higher-level cognitive function. I am waiting on a train platform to board the Long Island Railroad. The platform of Riverhead Station is indistinguishable from the platforms of any of the multitude of other trains run by the Metropolitan Transit Authority. The branching arteries all lead back to the beating heart—New York, New York—the Big Apple....

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Bare White Knuckles

Weekly Contest #219

Pat’s eyes were draped with purpling black bruises and his knuckles were swollen red. The skin was torn off the peaks of his knuckles, leaving hollow pussy scabs. All throughout that first day, I can remember Pat Gardener laughing in his casual hick way, “Hey-ho.” We all noticed, but no one asked him about how he got those black eyes. That was the day when Pat ran to make the yellow bus at my bus stop for the first time. His ruddy face blotched up from running when he boarded. He laughed and said “Hey-ho” as he scooted past the bus driver a...

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