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Kylie Powell

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jul, 2026

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3 Followers
2 Following

4 Stories

81 karma pts

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the Burner and the Singer

Weekly Contest #368

Ishmael was a burner, so he jangled while he walked. Beneath a crust of thin spring snow, between the cracks of ice, sprigs of purple crocus flowers fought to reach the light. They bent away from Ishmael’s boots, influenced by his power as he strolled across the city park, following his nose. He walked upright with head thrown back and swaggered as he went, hands stuffed deep in pockets jammed with bits of this and that. A marble here amidst the lint, a little purple rock, a feather there, a piece of string, and clumps of citrus peel. H...

14 likes 7 comments 7
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On Belay

Weekly Contest #367

In the eighteenth century, a dreamer named Edmund Burke found the perfect word to describe epic paintings made to portray the awesome power of nature in comparison to the finite might of man. Images such as those of helpless man-made ships at sea, dwarfed by towers of cumulonimbus and waves about to crash upon them. Explorers standing atop mountains, looking out at a skies full of weather that seems indifferent to the human condition. Something about those works of art inspire a mixture of awe, horror, wonder, and fear as we humans consider ...

10 likes 8 comments 8
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Hope

I should have known better than to think I was going to make it out before the clock struck 5. The moment the door swings shut behind our last patient, the phone rings. Looking at the wall over our hazy office fish tank, I groan. The white and black clock reads 4:55. Still technically business hours. If I let it go to voicemail, I’ll get a judgemental comment from the Therapist and just have to deal with it first thing in the morning, and I can already tell by the way my lower-back aches and my eyes pulse in front of a pounding hea...

3 likes 2 comments 2
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The Whinfield Witch

Weekly Contest #365

Flinching across the misty downs towards the tree line, Simon’s heart beat as fast as the pounding of his muddy buckled shoes as he ran bent double under the burden on his back. As he ran he prayed, and his ragged whispered words slipped from his breathless lips in tufts of vapor in the chilly morning air, mingling with the scent of wood smoke and wet autumnal foliage from the rain the night before. “I beg you, dear Lord, let no man look beyond the village wall! And if any man does glance this way upon his morning patrol, then let him mista...

14 likes 9 comments 9
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