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Lisa Lange

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Mar, 2020

Stories (4)

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139 Followers

14 Following

4 Stories

1041 karma pts

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On Saturday

Lisa Lange

Submitted to Contest #331

Her mother came from money, Grandma Kappus said. The Kappus’s told her she was a lucky girl to have a mother who could pay to keep her in a real home, the Kappus’s home, with gentle rules and five other lucky Kappus foster kids. But Lara didn’t feel that way. She was a penny dropped tail side up that no one dare pick up. Not a penny that made anyone smile, or a penny that someone would put in their pocket and want to keep safe. She was a penny that people sidestepped, that they walked around carefully to avoid. Recently, because she’d turne...

0 likes

A Fixer Upper

Lisa Lange

Shortlisted for Contest #217 ⭐️

Am I a Jonah or a James Bartley, I wonder? It’s my own fault. Too much wine, some pot, an allergy tablet. I fell my way into this old Victorian–my friend Emily’s house–during our lady’s book club sleepover. I thought I was headed for the bathroom at 3 a.m., but I stepped off the widow’s walk. Emily and her family moved out. I don’t belong to anyone in this house. I shouldn’t belong to this house. But when you die in a house, it has a way of holding onto you, or rather, you let it hold onto you. You get complacent, you find your niche, you s...

27 likes

Apples and Trees

Lisa Lange

Winner of Contest #172 🏆

Mom works. She never picks me up from school, and two miles is too close for a bus pickup, which is fine by me because I like cutting through the woods. Especially on autumn days, when the air is cool, and the flies and mosquitos are gone, and basketball practice hasn’t begun. I like the quiet. I like the wordlessness of the walk. A pretty sugar maple dressed in vivid orange frills beckons me off the path. I stand to look at her. I sound like a weirdo, I know. A sixteen-year-old boy calling a sugar maple pretty. It was Dad that taught me to ...

240 likes

587 comments 587

Amelia and the Beautiful Big Red Handbag

Lisa Lange

Shortlisted for Contest #126 ⭐️

           Our first encounter was on New Year’s Eve. I was picking up a few last minute good-luck foods for the evening – black-eyed peas, cornbread, pickled herring, grapes – walking from my apartment to the grocer. It was cold. That’s what I remember first when I feel the memory in my senses, when I feel the depth of the memory. I feel how cold it was, how the sharp absence of smells in the air precipitated my noticing the details.I remember I noticed the last brown leaf hanging from ...

29 likes