Menu

More apps built by Reedsy

Assemble a team of professionals

The writing app for authors

Writing courses, events and memberships

Get your book reviewed

Weekly writing prompts and contests

Menu
Prompts
Contests
Stories
Blog

K.C. Terra

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Feb, 2025

Stories
Comments
Library
5 Followers
3 Following

8 Stories

129 karma pts

?

Dear Caleb,

Weekly Contest #303

This house still smells like you. Not your cologne (not like you never wore any) or that weird deodorant that you swore by all throughout high school. It’s more like the laundry my mom would pull off the line, and a trace of cedar from that carved box you made in woods class and kept under your bed. It’s been years, and your room still holds its breath like it’s waiting for us to finish the conversation we never did.I sat on your bed today. The quilt’s still rumpled in the corner, like your feet had to kick free while you slept. I remember s...

7 likes 0 comments 0
Read story

The Great Hair Catastrophe of Room 305 (The Extended Cut)

Weekly Contest #299

Here’s the thing about trying to give yourself bangs at 2:17 a.m.—it never ends in success or emotional stability.I blame YouTube. And hormones. And maybe Madison Blake, whose face somehow looks perfect under fluorescent lighting, which should honestly be illegal. Like, how does she look like a porcelain angel in the same lighting that makes me resemble a raw chicken nugget? Madison has these perfect, wispy little curtain bangs that whisper things like “Paris in spring” and “I own three types of lip balm.” Meanwhile, my hair whispers, “Pleas...

14 likes 2 comments 2
Read story

Hey Big Bubba

Weekly Contest #294

T.W. mentions of suicide and heavy with mental health and grief. Hey Big Bubba,I still hear your footsteps on the moonlit floor. Not loud, not sharp—just a soft shuffle, the kind you used to make when you were trying not to wake anyone, even though your laugh would give you away every time. Sometimes I catch that sound late at night when I’m sitting up thinking of you, and I wait, just for a second, to see if it’s really you walking through the door. My chest lifts like I’m holding my breath without meaning to. But it’s just the wind, or may...

9 likes 2 comments 2
Read story

Phases of Pink

Weekly Contest #292

The first time Mira saw the color pink, she was five. Her mother had placed a small plastic tiara on her head, its tiny pink gemstones catching the bedroom light like captured stars. Princesses wear pink, her mother had said. So Mira twirled in her too-big dress, beaming as if she ruled a kingdom of stuffed animals and bedtime stories.At thirteen, pink became the color of embarrassment. It started subtly at first—a shift in perception, a quiet unraveling. The soft pink of her childhood walls began to feel too childish, too bright, as if they...

12 likes 6 comments 6
Read story

Forged in the Fire

In a small, coastal village nestled between towering cliffs and the endless ocean, there lived a sculptor named Lyra. The village, though picturesque, was harsh and unforgiving, the jagged cliffs and roaring waves serving as a constant reminder of nature's unrelenting power. The tides crashed violently against the rocks below, sending saltwater spray into the air, the sound of a deep, thunderous rhythm that echoed through the narrow cobbled streets and tight alleys. It was a sound that never ceased, like the relentless demands of the world o...

0 likes 0 comments 0
Read story

Molded in her Image

Abigail sat still, barely breathing, watching the way Violet’s fingers moved—how they pinched, smoothed, and carved the damp clay with practiced precision. Her wife’s hands were beautiful, slender, and sure, coated in a fine layer of dust that had settled into the grooves of her skin, softening the glow of the late afternoon light that streamed through the studio windows. The golden haze caught on every delicate motion, turning Violet’s fingertips into something almost ethereal, like an artist born of the sun and earth. Abigail had always lo...

0 likes 0 comments 0
Read story

My Father Shares Fruit

Weekly Contest #290

My father shares fruits with the family. Every morning, he leaves me some on our kitchen counter. Sometimes it’s one slice from the fruit he was eating that day, or an entire bowl full of something from the fridge. It depended on where I was in my life.  One time, he left half an orange for me. I always had a strange relationship with him. As I collect my memories of him, I have conflicting viewpoints on whether or not he was a good man. If I look towards my mother, I see him yelling, screaming, and berating her. I used to shake in fear...

7 likes 5 comments 5
Read story

Begging the Heavens

Weekly Contest #290

Malachi stood at the precipice of the mortal world, his presence both commanding and otherworldly. The night was thick with the scent of burning wood and distant echoes of chaos. Haniel’s handiwork, no doubt. He had been sent to apprehend the demon for disrupting the balance, for spreading discord among humans. But when Malachi found him, he was nothing like the bloodthirsty fiends he had battled before.Haniel stood like a figure carved from dusk itself, his tall frame radiating an aura of quiet power. His eyes, a piercing golden hue, gleame...

15 likes 3 comments 3
Read story