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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Dec, 2021
Submitted to Contest #331
The thing about snow is that it makes everything look softer—until you remember what’s buried under it. By the time I turned off the highway and onto the narrow road that led to Iceveil Lake, the storm had almost erased the view ahead. The wipers dragged slush back and forth, revealing and hiding the road in equal measure. I should’ve gone straight to my mother’s house, but the wheel seemed to turn on its own, guided more by old habits than intention, to the place I’d been avoiding for ten years. The lake emerged out of the snowfall in pi...
Submitted to Contest #330
I should’ve known better than to fall for him. Not because he’d done anything wrong, but because getting attached always scares me a little more than I like to admit. Still, as I climbed the stairs to Noah’s apartment that evening, I told myself I wasn’t here to accuse him of anything. I just needed clarity. Honesty. A conversation that would steady the strange feeling in my chest before it grew into something heavier. He hadn’t been himself for the last few days. Shorter texts, distracted calls, a last-minute cancellation the night before...
Submitted to Contest #303
Mya sat in the softly lit room, her hands fidgeting in her lap. The space was neat and orderly; bookshelves lined the walls, each shelf arranged with self-help books and calming trinkets. Dr. Patel gave her a gentle smile, waiting for her to speak. "He texted me,” Mya finally said, her voice softer than usual. Dr. Patel raised her brows. “Marcus?” Mya nodded, not meeting her therapist’s eyes. “He said he wanted to apologize... for everything.” Dr. Patel leaned forward, her hands resting on her notepad. “How did that make you feel?” Mya press...
Submitted to Contest #289
Monday – 6:32 PM Natalie: E.V.A., activate Online Access and Microphone Mode. E.V.A.: Online access activated. Microphone Mode activated. Speech-to-text functionality enabled. All commands will be transcribed and processed. Natalie: Log in and display today’s notifications. E.V.A.: Welcome home, Natalie. You have five unread notifications. Would you like me to read them aloud? Natalie: Just summarize. E.V.A.: A home software update is available for E.V.A. system. Security system diagnostic completed at 4:00 PM—no threats detected. Your groc...
Submitted to Contest #288
Claire awoke, a dull ache pulsing in her skull. She tried to sit up but a wave of dizziness knocked her back against the pillows. "Easy," a voice murmured. She turned her head and found Mark sitting beside the bed, his hand resting lightly on her arm. His brown eyes were filled with concern, but there was something else lurking behind them—something unreadable. "You hit your head in the accident," he said. "Doctor said you’d be a little out of it for a while." Accident? Claire’s mind was a foggy void. She tried to recall the last thing she r...
Submitted to Contest #278
The Whitlock family gathered in the great hall of Eleanor Whitlock’s decaying mansion, their voices bouncing off the walls like clashing cymbals. The argument was as old as the family itself: who deserved what? Who had sacrificed more? Who truly loved Eleanor? Marion, Eleanor’s eldest daughter, slammed her hands on the dining table. "Mother wanted me to have the house! I was the one who took care of her in her final days!" "You mean you drained her accounts while you pretended to care," retorted her brother, Victor. "If anyone deserves this ...
Submitted to Contest #276
Thursday Night Avery leaned back in her chair, the flickering glow of her laptop screen casting soft shadows across her tired face. The online dating world had been a series of disappointments. There was Ryan, who had seemed perfect in his profile photo—until their date, when he spent the entire time texting someone else under the table. Then there was Derek, who liked to call himself “adventurous” but considered a “night out” to be watching reruns of Game of Thrones while guzzling beer. And, of course, there was Caleb, who had promised her ...
Submitted to Contest #270
Ingredients: · 1 young couple (one with intentions of proposing)· 1 remote cabin by a lake (secluded, with a dark history)· 1 diamond engagement ring (hopeful but doomed)· 1 cursed object (hidden in plain sight)· A handful of secrets (deeply buried, but ready to rise)· &...
Submitted to Contest #266
Elliot I know I'm not supposed to be aware of these things, but here I am, stuck in this ever-changing maze of words and edits. To be honest, it’s a rather peculiar way to exist, if I even exist at all. My name is Elliot, although it has sometimes been spelled with one "L" and once with two "T's". Although, there are moments when I am simply referred to as "the protagonist." Honestly, that’s not the biggest concern on my mind. What I think about most is how every few paragraphs the world changes around me. For example, one minute I’m brave...
Submitted to Contest #264
The lavish ballroom was filled with laughter, clinking glasses, and the enchanting music of a live orchestra. For Amelia and David, the world had narrowed down to a cozy little corner, away from the prying eyes of the wedding guests. Amelia clutched her champagne flute, feeling an undeniable tension in the air that she just couldn’t shake off. “I still can’t believe you are doing this,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. She glanced over at the nearby crowd, where people were chatting and enjoying each other's company as they e...
Submitted to Contest #262
Grandwood wasn’t a place one would find on any map. Tucked away in a secluded valley and embraced by tall, protective trees, it resembled a sanctuary—a haven for someone like Ava Taylor, who had a unique condition. Ava’s allergy to heat was an ailment that had shaped her entire life. Over the years, she learned how to manage the aspects of her daily routine, from the clothes she wore to the meals she could eat, but most importantly, her sun exposure. The slightest touch of warmth could result in serious consequences, so it was safe to say th...
Submitted to Contest #125
Writing now seemed annoyingly impossible. He clutched his pen for hours on end into the night, yet no words had come. The blank paged mocked him with the emptiness that seemed to only exemplify his failure. In a fit of rage, he crumbled the barren page and tossed it over his shoulder, and one after another a small pile amassed in the corner. Carter Reynolds often found himself in this state. Since a child it had been his dream to be an acclaimed writer; one who would be celebrated and the cause of effective change in thousands (maybe even...
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