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Lily Finch

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jul, 2022

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222 Followers
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117 Stories

3978 karma pts

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A Grandad’s Confession To His Grandson, 1888, London, England

Weekly Contest #348

Here in my hand, lad, lies the letter of admission of my guilt for some very grave crimes that stumped law enforcement and scared the prostitutes of the impoverished White Chapel Hill and remain a mystery still to this day. On Aug. 31, 1888, Mary Ann Nichols’ body was found. The keepsake box comes with this letter; you'll find a button from her dress inside with a smear of blood, mine and hers linked forever in the annals of history that remains our family heirloom box.In the annals of time, there shall come a day when men reflect upon the s...

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In From the Cold

Weekly Contest #347

In From the ColdCordelia Lydell rode the same bus every morning.She favoured the third row from the back, on the window side, where she could observe the city without drawing too much attention. The route never changed. The passengers barely did either. Familiar people, yet strangers to her, bound together by routine rather than connection.She knew them all without knowing them at all.The man who read the same page of his newspaper every day without ever turning it. The woman who applied lipstick at every stop. The student slept with his hea...

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The Suitcase

Elsa Leibowitz, a tomboy, had always been stronger than most girls of her age.At thirteen, she climbed trees faster than the boys, carried heavier loads than Albert, her brother, and spent far more time beside her father learning how things worked than beside her mother learning how to sew. Her hands were scratched from tools or bark, and her hair never stayed tied back for long.Albert, her twelve-year-old brother, was tall for his age and forever trying to keep up with her.And then there were the boys next door.Heinrich Zimmer und Rudy Kell...

3 likes 2 comments 2
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Jury Plane

Weekly Contest #345

I stood at the airport counter holding my carry-on while the woman behind the desk flipped through my boarding pass. She stopped halfway through the motion, looked up, and said a decision had already been made:"Good morning, sir," she said. Congratulations, you’ve been chosen for a special plane ride today. Please come with me.”She slid a thin paper ticket across the counter—plain, stamped, and unsigned. Someone had paid for my airfare. My first guess was my sister. Years earlier, she’d mailed me a note and said, "Trust me," along with a pr...

7 likes 11 comments 11
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C-72: ARCHIVAL COMPOSITE

Weekly Contest #344

[Recovered Diary—Attributed to Thomas Hale]April 6, 1912 – LiverpoolI have a ticket.Cabin C-72.The paper is thick and embossed—first class.I do not remember purchasing it.My name appears twice.The second signature presses harder. The nib tore slightly through the page.Mother says I have been walking in my sleep.She says I stand by the washbasin and whisper numbers.11:40.11:40.11:40.That didn’t happen.Passenger Manifest – RMS TitanicHale, Thomas – Cabin C-72Hale, Thomas – Cabin C-72Note in the margin: duplication is unresolved. Ink compositio...

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Open Fridge Night

Weekly Contest #340

I am the fridge.I did not always know this. At first, I thought I was an appliance, the way appliances think they are furniture: present, useful, forgettable. But she named me. She stood in front of me one Tuesday night—11:47 p.m., the time matters—and said, “You. You’re cold. You know things.”When someone tells you who you are often enough, you listen.I do not answer. I open my light.This seems to be the correct response.She pays $5 a week for a short story contest. She says it the way people say "bad habit" or "curse." Five dollars. Every....

16 likes 6 comments 6
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Finding Grandma’s Piece of Heaven

Weekly Contest #338

Jeff hadn’t meant to stop. He meant to go—months in the making—but the meaning wasn’t the same as going. When he saw the welcoming sign of the town, something in him hit the brakes before his heart could think of stopping. His tires squealed to a halt in front of his grandmother’s bookstore, run by Lily Walker. The air shimmered. It was as it had been when he was a little boy—before he quit believing her stories. Back then, the stories were everything. Later, they became the wild dreams of an old woman. It was easier to text her from time to...

14 likes 3 comments 3
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Fear in the Air

Weekly Contest #336

This story explores how a single, ordinary sentence—spoken at the wrong moment—can’t be taken back, and how its consequences ripple through a relationship and an entire town. Reuben Ortiz and Chantelle Beaudoin had been together for four years—long enough for their hopes to harden and their habits to settle into something that looked like certainty from the outside. They had been prom king and queen once, the kind of couple that still photographed well, the kind that suggested permanence even when it wasn’t true anymore.Chantelle wanted t...

23 likes 5 comments 5
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Appetite

Weekly Contest #334

He first noticed her on an afternoon that should not have stayed with him. He had finished work early and stopped at a café near the bus terminal, choosing a small metal table close to the curb. Buses hissed as they pulled in and out. Someone argued on the phone. A delivery truck blocked the intersection long enough for one horn to sound, then another. Nothing about the moment suggested consequence.She stood across the road, just beyond the pedestrian crossing.She did not look at him, yet her stillness set her apart from the surrounding move...

15 likes 4 comments 4
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The Earth that Remembers

Weekly Contest #332

Where the Earth Keeps SecretsThe snow started before dawn, thin and breathy, not much more than a rumour in the dark. It came in without fuss, turning the world the way a hand turns a page. I woke to the sound of soft grit against the cabin window and knew the day had shifted. Cold held the air in a steady grip. My breath rose and stalled there.I lit the stove and waited for the old iron to stop its complaining. The cabin smelled of ash and pine and the wool I’d hung too close to the heat the night before. I drank the first mug standing by t...

16 likes 8 comments 8
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The River’s Gift

Weekly Contest #331

The river had always been a gentle whisper in the heart of our village, its waters slow and steady, carrying life as a mother carries a child. For generations, my people and I had drawn from it: cups filled, food cooked, and thirst quenched beneath the endless Arctic sky. My people and I had drawn from it: cups filled, food cooked, and thirst quenched, beneath the endless Arctic sky.Then came the albino raven.White as freshly fallen snow and silent as the frozen night, it appeared one dusk at the river’s edge, drinking deeply. After that nig...

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THE GIRL ON THE STOOL

Weekly Contest #330

Melinda waited under the bus shelter, watching the rain fall in straight silver strings. It was the kind of rain that made everything look as if it were erased and rewritten at the same time. She didn’t really care about getting wet; she just needed a minute before walking into another day where she felt like the least important person in every room.She wasn’t lonely, exactly. She’d just gotten good at making herself small. Invisible sometimes. Easier that way. Less risk of disappointment. Less chance of being the one people forgot to includ...

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Where the Snow Remembers

The snow started before dawn, thin, breathy stuff that barely looked real. The kind that comes in quietly and changes everything before you know it. Boss, my old Shepherd, was already pacing at the door, pack strapped tight, like he knew exactly what we were doing. I guess he did. Dogs remember the things we try to forget.We were headed back to the cabin that Ryan and I built. It sits behind a mess of evergreens, half-hidden from the world; no GPS ever finds it. I always liked that about the place—even before he disappeared. Now it feels lik...

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Finding Grandma’s Piece of Heaven

Weekly Contest #328

Jeff hadn’t meant to stop. He meant to go—months in the making—but “meaning” wasn’t the same as going. When he looked at the welcoming sign of the town, something in him hit the brakes before his heart could think of stopping. His tires squealed to a stop in front of his grandmother's bookstore, run by Lily Walker. The air shimmered. It had been when he was a little boy, before he quit believing her stories. The stories she told were wild dreams of an old lady. Easier to text her from time to time than to sit down in the dusty old shop that ...

8 likes 1 comment 1
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The Visitor at 3:12

Weekly Contest #326

The knock came at 3:12 a.m.—a small, deliberate sound, the kind of knock that pretends to be polite but already knows it’s being let in.Marianne surfaced from sleep as if she were enveloped in gauze. The digital clock’s red numbers pressed against the dark, holding her in that thin space between night and morning where nothing has rules.The sound came again. Three knuckles were measured. It was not the wind. She did not measure the house.She listened hard. The rain had thickened outside, sliding down the siding in uneven lines. The gutters o...

13 likes 6 comments 6
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