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Laura Specht

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Apr, 2024

Stories (7)

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38 Followers

4 Following

7 Stories

252 karma pts

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The Witch Who Loved Me (A tale of devotion, delusion, and one superior cat)

Laura Specht

Submitted to Contest #327

I wasn't always this intelligent. Once, I was merely clever: clever enough to pry open stubborn cupboards, twist doorknobs with precision, and feign sleep during ridiculous human arguments about bathwater temperature. But cleverness is ordinary in my species. What I am now is something else entirely.It began, as most catastrophes do, with love.My witch, Lucy (though I've always called her "She Who Trips Over Her Own Shoelaces"), decided one gray morning that I didn't love her enough. I had apparently failed to purr with sufficient enthusiasm...

29 likes

The Crossing

Laura Specht

Submitted to Contest #324

The first thing is the silence. But it’s not empty. It's full, thick, humming in my teeth like the pressure of held breath underwater. It’s not pretty, it just is.I wake up and there's sand everywhere. It goes on forever, or maybe it doesn't, maybe I just can't see the end because the light is so weird. Is it morning? It doesn't feel like morning. It doesn't feel like evening either. The sand is pale, an extravagant, crushed-pearl white. The sea does nothing but breathe. In and out.There are people here. They’re moving around and weaving thi...

30 likes

July 32nd

Laura Specht

Submitted to Contest #314

The heat. God, the heat. It's like being wrapped in wet towels, except the towels are made of air and you can't take them off. The asphalt's doing that shimmer thing again—no, wait, that's not right. It's night. Why would asphalt shimmer at night? Unless the streetlamps are hot enough, which they probably are. Everything’s hot here, even the moon looks like it's sweating.The moon looks tired. Like it couldn't be bothered to show up fully tonight.Del pushes through the back door and immediately regrets the wine. She doesn't really regret it. ...

13 likes

Terms and Conditions Apply

Laura Specht

Submitted to Contest #312

Sixteen months. Sixteen? God, has it really been that long? Eli stared at the cursor—that smug little line just... blinking. Mocking him, like it knew something he didn't, something he couldn't grasp."New Novel – Final Draft." What a joke. Final draft of what? Nothing. Air. The great American void.His hands were shaking again. God. Coffee? No, anxiety. Definitely anxiety. And the cold brew wasn't helping, though he kept chugging it. Fourth one today. Or was it fifth? Didn't matter. Nothing mattered when you were— "Clock's ticking, Eli." God...

18 likes

The Echo Deal

Laura Specht

Submitted to Contest #310

Tamsin uploaded her video at 2:14 AM. She stared at the screen, holding her breath..Seven views. Seven.It was excellent work too - those vintage overlays took hours. The story about that Prague subway station where people vanished? She'd researched for weeks. Added her own field recordings. Analyzed the folklore.But seven views.She cracked open warm cider, took a swig. Her eyeliner had smudged under her eyes. The ring light made her look half-dead."I'd give anything for people to finally hear me," she muttered into the can.She laughed bitter...

29 likes

Something like Grace

Laura Specht

Submitted to Contest #302

Miles Harrington was not accustomed to confusion.At twenty-four, he was the youngest senior acquisitions analyst at Ryland & Keane, a financial firm so elite it didn’t advertise, didn’t recruit, and didn’t tolerate delay. He moved through life with the same clipped efficiency that he brought to his spreadsheets: swift, clean, confident.Which is why he found the entire situation in the Marrakesh medina so intolerable.He told his driver to wait outside the souk, arrogantly assuming he’d be in and out in ten minutes. Instead, Miles stood in...

26 likes

The Guardian of Forgotten Things

Laura Specht

Submitted to Contest #285

The Guardian of Forgotten ThingsI used to be the king of the living room. Every family’s cherished companion. My sleek black casing reflected the glow of afternoon sunbeams and late-night lamplight. My buttons—a small row of proud, functional soldiers—clicked with the authority of progress. I was the gateway to worlds, the bridge between mundane days and epic adventures.I was the VCR.But now, I sit in the shadowy depths of a cardboard box, my glossy surface dulled by dust. The world doesn’t need me anymore. A streaming stick dangles smugly f...

27 likes