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Kevin Lind

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Mar, 2026

Stories
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Library
11 Followers
32 Following

7 Stories

114 karma pts

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Promises Kept

Weekly Contest #354

It was a Tuesday evening when the wind stopped blowing. It hadn't stopped for nine straight days, scouring everything it touched with dark sand. For nine days, James had been stuffing wet rags under doors and into windowsills to keep the sand from penetrating. For nine days, his mother had been coughing in the back bedroom. Finally, all at once, the wind stopped, like a clock that had been wound down. James went out onto the porch to see what remained of his land. He had expected the air to smell of dust, but it smelled clear and clean. Gri...

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An Unfamiliar Winter

Weekly Contest #352

“You need to listen.” Elias whispered against the rotting timber of the doorway. Dmitri had placed him there to escape the pressing crowds in the street and the cold of the winter wind. “Find a paper, a decree, a church bulletin… Anything with a date on it!” His breath plumed grey against the air. Dmitri nodded as his eyes scanned the street with a predator-like focus. “I see a place,” he said. “There’s ink and vellum… perhaps a scribe can be found there.” “Go,” Elias said. “I’ll wait.” “Stay back against the door, and pull your hood...

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A Library After An Earthquake

Weekly Contest #351

The nurse spoke to me with kind eyes. I looked at his name tag, but I couldn't read it. It was just a jumble of symbols and colors. And that was when I understood that something had gone really bad. "Do you know where you are?" he asked. I thought about it carefully. It should have been a simple process, like solving a math problem; but this problem required knowledge I had never been given. It had never been taught to me; and I didn't know the equations for it. My gaze shifted from the nurse to the clock on the wall, to the telev...

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Vino, Verdad, y Vergüenza - Wine, Truth, and Shame

Weekly Contest #350

The trouble began with the second bottle of Rioja. The four were seated at a wrought-iron table on the rooftop terrace. The air smelled of orange blossoms and jasmine. Below them, the old city of Córdoba spread out in a warm, amber sprawl, and the floodlit walls of the Mezquita rose above the rooflines like a lantern someone had left burning for a thousand years. Dr. Elias Larson was forty-one, a tenured professor at Sofia University where he taught Medieval Islamic History. He was the only man at the table, the only American, the only one ...

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Promises of Dust and Ruin

Weekly Contest #349

Dodge City, Kansas – Autumn 1934 “How bad is it?” James Whitmore asked, though he already knew. “Three thousand, two hundred dollars,” Thomas Brennan said with a steady voice. He’d practiced it. “Plus the accrued interest. We received your last payment over a year ago.” James was a big man, the kind built for work, his strong forearms darkened by the sun. He wore his best shirt. The blue one. The one he always wore to church. Three years ago, on a Sunday, Thomas had unbuttoned it in the dark of the storage shed behind the church, knowing...

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The Disappearance of Rosa Ortiz

Weekly Contest #348

The day they took Rosa Ortiz, I was thinking about my grocery list. Rosa had just relieved me at the nurses' station. She was laughing at something – a joke from one of the aides, I think – and I remember thinking how rare that sound had been in recent weeks; how the hospital had grown quieter. More of us were being cut early as fewer patients sought medical care, and as a result our earnings and benefits were being slashed. But I still needed to stop for groceries on my way home, because eating is a basic necessity. I was standing at the t...

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Little Bird

Weekly Contest #348

The smell of stale beer and chewing tobacco was violently replaced by crushed jasmine, baked stone, and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. Elias gasped, his lungs filling with an impossibly dry, hot air. He wasn't on the sticky floor of The Rusty Spoke anymore. He was on a cool, tiled mosaic. He pushed himself up, his head throbbing with a rhythm that matched a distant, rhythmic clatter. Was it hoofbeats? No, it was hammers. He blinked, his vision swimming. Above him, a sky of deep, impossible indigo was pricked with stars that looke...

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