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Kelsey R Davis

Author on Reedsy Prompts since May, 2025

Stories (15)

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77 Followers

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15 Stories

881 karma pts

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String Cheese Steeples

Submitted to Contest #333

They began treatment together a few years ago, chubby Dr. Dan and sick, twenty-something Mary-Kate, who came to him with repressed memories and a fascinating sense of taste. Immediately, she became his most exciting patient. At the time, Dr. Dan, a therapist specializing in eating disorders and addiction, couldn’t fix his own marriage or his lonely, late-night weakness for food noise. His wife, Selena, showed increasing disinterest, or decreasing interest, in him. Selena was a thick-haired, bisexual polyglot art professor (whom he was certai...

2 likes

Would ASMR stream of consciousness about randy dogs at the dentist be unexpected, or sick, enough? P.S. It is raining outside...

Submitted to Contest #332

Author’s Note: This piece was read by an ASMR professional at last night’s poetry slam. She walked out on stage cloaked in an adult x-ray apron (with collar) and had jumbo-sized bite tabs in both sides of her mouth. Meanwhile, a nearby underweight “hygienist” in a full hazmat suit kept emerging from offstage, ramming the tabs deeper down the professional’s throat—triggering her gag reflex—then fleeing back offstage, only to return, still adjusting the tabs even further back in her mouth as she tried to read. Therefore, as a courtesy to the ...

4 likes

Snowed in Palm Springs

Submitted to Contest #331

Your baby wasn’t a baby no more the year it snowed in Palm Springs. You remember that year, don’t you? Your baby had just learned to pull baby pants up or down over that little juicy baby bum and squat on a potty, how to escape a crib, and how to hold a fork. Damnnear grown. Your baby still needed to go play outside, be around other kids, you know what people say about you two being lonely. That year it snowed all yous parents ditched the playground, now way too frosty and icy and slick or “dangerous” and went over to one of the courts with ...

21 likes

Aloha, or: Written all over

Submitted to Contest #330

Aloha Timmy. That’s how I first started the letter I’d write you. But then I’d second-guess myself, toss that. I’d rewrite, start over. I’ll figure out the beginning in a later draft. So, Timmy. It’s been a long time. What I read in the papers referenced you by your full name now. I read a lot of course, as I’m sure you can imagine. Quite the emotional journey you all had. In my mind, you’re still Timmy Denello from elementary school, whose family moved all the way to Hawaii. Who I never heard from again. Right, Timmy? Back then, boy, did I ...

13 likes

Cement Mixer

Submitted to Contest #329

They’d come to a darkened bar in the city where they were laying over between shifts, ostensibly gathering for one of their birthdays or workiversies or some other celebration that was happening, or had already happened, or would soon happen, back on whatever day it was wherever they called home. “Shift work disorder,” Sean, one of Match’s spicier coworkers, had called it. The bar was little, divelike, named no-name bar, with a roulette wheel in the back someone had hand-painted black and red. Everyone in Match’s group was voluntold they’d b...

12 likes

Authentics

Shortlisted for Contest #328 ⭐️

Dad, I remembered something I thought I’d share with you. I forgot plenty, these past ten years or so, however long it’s been. I forget all that I let myself forget. Like… I forgot what it used to be like when you’d take us to those reenactments, those fairs in the middle of nowhere. Pile us all into the Volvo (the safest car out there, you’d say), Match always getting carsick in the middle seat (so she can look ahead, you’d say), and puking into empty bagel bags or whatever bag or cup we could find in the chaos of her announcement (“ithinki...

28 likes

Primo

Submitted to Contest #326

“You quiet today, man.” “Not quiet. Just not talking.” “Exactly, man, too quiet.” “I can talk Pri, just nothin’ to say.” “You wanna drive?” “You want me to drive?” “Nah man, forget it.” “I mean, I can drive.” “Nah, I said forget it, let’s go. Get this over with. I just need to change the seat and mirrors from your midget settings. Gimme a minute.” “‘Gimme a minute.’ I’m not going anywhere, my midget ass. Stop trying to piss me off, sayin’ things like that.” “Like what?” “Oh fuck off.” “Alright. Are you ready, man?” “...

17 likes

Wild Wordle Woman

Submitted to Contest #325

And so, after decades of bunko and wine coolers, cruises and cosmos, country clubs and kaftans patterned with raindrops or kittens, we’d arrived together again, all tangled up and crinkly-skinned, at the age of puzzles and pickleball. We leaned harder into each other’s company, albeit remote and elastic, as all of our husbands—one another’s brothers or friends—had begun to bore us to death in their age of retired careers, brains, and dicks, like limp old rubber bands ready to shrivel, no bouncing back there. Conversations with my husband, Ji...

34 likes

The Water House

Winner of Contest #324 🏆

Halloween here had always been pretty typical before the Water House. It’s been the Packer House before, up on top of our street. Out front, the Packers grew basil beside wild blueberries, kept hummingbird feeders full and dangling from their cedar-shingle porch, right above crayola-colored old buoys everyone flanked their exterior railings with. You could make out the Packers heading to the pool each morning by sound: their screen-door’s spring stretching, their flip-flops smacking downhill like clucking tongues, their long swim parkas swoo...

83 likes

Papers

Submitted to Contest #323

Their new beginning. They were so excited. “I do—I fold, babe.” And then he adds, as she pushes his hand away. “I mean. Yeah, for the first one’s name, at least,” he says, winking at her. “You fold that easily?” She is not convinced, but keeps his hand on her. “Fine with me,” he laughs. In the big picture, he doesn’t care if there are extra letters, so long as it’s the name he’s always wanted, that had been in his family. “I’m the one having her… it’s really my choice how we spell it, right?” With his hand on her stomach, Dave asks, “We ever...

8 likes

Close

Submitted to Contest #316

My night with the rapper fucked me twice, give or take if you’re counting. *** “I know you,” he smirked at me, holding champagne in one hand, his cummerbund pressed against by his other. He was also staring up at the available portrait, an image of a face seemingly photographed, but when you looked closer, approaching the canvas, it became something else entirely. Nothing but a mosaic of colorful swirls and squares, textured tiles transforming the image. It was just us huddled closely near the artwork, everyone else fading in our rear, takin...

12 likes

Birthstones

Submitted to Contest #308

“Hey.” I see him in the street. I go into his personal space, and slowly bend down to reach for one of the pieces of chalk at his side. When he doesn’t say no or grab the chalk back or yell at me, I feel like we are almost friends. I sit by him and the chalks. I start to draw a jellyfish on the ground. I like the way it makes powder on my fingers. Tentacles all bloopity bloopity bloop bloop. So funny, jellyfishies. I have finished the face (smiling!) and body and two (out of eight!) tentacles when I break the silence. “Um, can I ask you some...

41 likes

Graffiti Cave

Submitted to Contest #307

“Are you coming to Graffiti Cave tonight for Anderson’s send-off?” Davis almost whispered, bumping my shoulder as he leaned in. We were walking across campus together. My feet kept moving, but my mind stuttered after what he just said. He wasn’t serious? But Davis never spoke in a quiet voice like that. System overload. “Wait what? You can’t… you mean you’re actually going?” Couldn’t bring myself to whisper it back. Graffiti Cave. Davis’s dissertation was on euphemizing violence, working title: “It’s only Horseplay: Rape and Sexual Assault...

26 likes

Poured Over: Sylvan Esso’s Recipe

Submitted to Contest #306

You will need:Water.Fresh Ground Coffee. Remember the first date with Ryan where he took you to Blue Bottle, back before it became what it is now? He asked if you knew what a siphon was, pointing to the blown glass exhibition. You did, but couldn’t spell it if prompted by that follow-up. Someone probably tired of cleaning the brown film from inside that coffee-marble-run, all its loopdeloops. The bow, the dip, the woo. Dating him was like that. First crushing on someone in the sunshine, at a day-date, down an alley, inside a place that echoe...

21 likes

Underground Storage Tanks

Submitted to Contest #305

Into the guardrails. Through the metal. Everywhere into the sky. I’ve thought about it before. Haven’t you? Over the edge. I look down at my phone, vibrating with an incoming text. “Idgie, you’re gonna kill me but I can’t meet you tonight! I’m so sorry, I hope you haven’t already left!” No. Of course not. Then I’d be on time for our plans to have drinks. And you’re always fifteen minutes late, Serena. Obviously I haven’t left twenty minutes before our meet-up tonight. For me to tell you how I’ve been. Oh thanks for asking...

25 likes

Author bio

I’ve been encouraged to write for years, and finally finding the means to do so now. I’d love to publish my work in the near future, but first I need to murder all my darlings.

I love to write in layers, and ideally use these creative efforts to speak to some greater issues. I don’t feel suited to package things perfectly or result in happy endings, as I feel more drawn to the journeys than the destinations.

Coming here and flexing my writing (and reading) muscles is a part of that journey, for now at least.

1 winning story 🏆

Contest #324

The Water House – read story

1 shortlisted story ⭐️

Contest #328

Authentics – read story