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Meadow Hill

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Nov, 2024

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50 Stories

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Spilled Wine

Sarah had meticulously planned the evening for weeks. It was a special occasion—the two-year anniversary of her first date with Mark, the only guy she had ever truly clicked with. In the whirlwind of busy schedules, fleeting moments, and brief texts, she fought hard to make this milestone memorable. As twilight began to blanket the city, Sarah found herself in the kitchen of her small apartment, glancing over the details one last time. The flickering candlelight softened the small space, and her favorite playlist hummed gently in the backgr...

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The Characters Strike Back

The email arrived at 2:13 a.m., which was rude for several reasons, not least of which being that Martin Kessler had not given any of his fictional characters his email address. Subject line: URGENT: COLLECTIVE BARGAINING REQUEST Martin stared at it through one half-open eye, thumb hovering over his phone. He assumed, reasonably, that this was either spam or a deeply committed prank from his writing group. He opened it. “Dear Mr. Kessler,” it began, “We, the undersigned characters of your current manuscript, hereby notify you of our intent t...

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Gerald and the Symphony of the Squirrel

Once upon a time, in a quaint little village that could only be found on maps made by overly optimistic cartographers, lived a delightful child named Gerald. Now, Gerald wasn’t just any ordinary child; he had the remarkable ability to find adventure in the most mundane activities, an impressive feat considering he spent most of his mornings trapped in a rather tedious routine. Breakfast usually involved something that resembled soggy cardboard—what his mother affectionately referred to as "high-fiber fuel" (which Gerald was convinced had bee...

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The Man Who Should Not Be Traveling Alone

I like to think of myself as a seasoned traveler, though the evidence suggests I am more of a “seasoned liability.” Still, every few months I convince myself that solitude is good for the soul, and that I—an adult with a driver’s license and a Costco membership—am perfectly capable of navigating the world alone. This is how I ended up at Gate C27 in the Denver airport, eating a pretzel the size of a deflated basketball and trying to look like someone who absolutely meant to arrive three hours early. I’d read somewhere that lone travelers app...

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Today Is April 31st

Weekly Contest #349

“Today is April 31.” That’s what the note on my refrigerator said, written in my own handwriting, which was concerning for several reasons. First, because April does not have 31 days. Second, because I don’t usually leave myself notes unless they involve groceries or reminders to stop buying groceries. And third, because the handwriting was definitely mine, but the tone was not. It had the confidence of someone who knew what they were talking about, which is not a quality I typically bring to calendar-related matters. I stared at the note wh...

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The Great Sourdough Stand-off of Apartment 4C

The Great Sourdough Stand-off of Apartment 4CThe world was ending. Or, at the very least, the local artisanal grocery store had run out of yeast, which to Barnaby Finch was a distinction without a difference.Barnaby was a man of logic, spreadsheets, and a moderate-to-severe allergy to social confrontation. But three weeks into the "Great Stay-Inside" of 2020, Barnaby had reached a breaking point. His neighbor in 4D, a professional parkour instructor named Chad who wore headbands even while sleeping, was currently practicing his "precision la...

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The Interest On Survival

To meet your requirement, I have expanded the narrative, deepening the psychological tension in Oakhaven and detailing the high-stakes "digital chess" played during the final confrontation.The Interest on SurvivalThe rain in Seattle didn’t fall; it vibrated. It was a low-frequency hum that resonated in the marrow of Elias Thorne’s bones, a constant reminder of the invisible forces he spent his life manipulating. As a lead data architect for Aethelgard Dynamics, Elias was paid to find the elegant order within chaotic datasets. But six months ...

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The Last One Left

The storm rolled in long before anyone realized something was wrong. The annual Ridgeway Company retreat had always been a chaotic mix of team‑building exercises, forced enthusiasm, and too much boxed wine. This year, the executives chose an aging lodge deep in the San Juan Mountains — a place with no cell service, no nearby towns, and a single narrow road that wound through miles of forest. It was the perfect place to disconnect. It was also the perfect place to disappear. * When the final night of the retreat arrived, the staff gathered i...

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Flamingo's Actuarial Audit

The morning of June 12th began like any other for Arthur Pringle, which is to say it began with a mild sense of disappointment and a very stubborn piece of sourdough toast. Arthur was a man of precise habits, a mid-level actuary at Standard Risk & Liability who viewed the world not as a playground of wonders, but as a series of manageable, quantifiable risks. His life was a beige masterpiece of calculated safety.Then he looked out his kitchen window and realized his risk assessment models had failed to account for a seventeen-foot-tall n...

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The Weaver Of Oak Haven

The rain in Oakhaven didn’t fall; it vibrated. It was a low-frequency hum that settled into Detective Elias Thorne’s joints, reminding him that he was fifty-four and still lived in a walk-up with a broken radiator.Elias stood over the body of Julian Vane, a man who, until two hours ago, had been the wealthiest philanthropist in the city. Julian lay sprawled across the Persian rug of his study, a single entry wound decorating his temple like a misplaced dimple. A silver-plated revolver sat inches from his limp hand."Classic case of the 'gilde...

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THE ADMINISTRATIVE AFTERLIFE OF MARGARET P. BLIGH

1. Monday, 9:12 a.m. – Voicemail From: Unknown Number Transcription (automated): > “Good morning, Ms. Bligh. This is the Department of Transitional Logistics. We regret to inform you that you have died. Please report to Afterlife Processing Center B at your earliest convenience. Bring two forms of ID and any outstanding library books. Thank you.” Margaret Bligh replayed the message twice, then once more for the cat, who seemed unimpressed. She had not died. She was quite sure of this. She had just made tea. --- 2. Monday, 9:17 a.m. – Out...

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The Fracture Point

1. The Moment Everything Changed The first time Alex Mercer teleported, he didn’t even realize it. One second he was standing in the middle of the robotics lab at Helix Dynamics, staring at the experimental quantum core humming on the test bench. The next, he was outside the building entirely, standing in the parking lot with the taste of ozone on his tongue and a ringing in his ears. He blinked at the sudden sunlight. “What the—” The world tilted. His knees buckled. And then everything went black. When he woke up, he was in a hospital bed w...

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Echoes

Echoes. That was the only word Mara could think of as she stepped into the abandoned research facility, her flashlight slicing through the stale darkness. The building had been sealed for twenty‑three years, ever since the “incident” the government pretended never happened. But Mara wasn’t here for the official story. She was here for her brother. Jonah had vanished two weeks ago after telling her he’d found something “world‑changing” buried in the old facility’s blueprints. He’d sounded excited, breathless, almost feverish. Then he stopped...

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The Forgotten Letter

Evelyn Harper stood at the edge of Cedar Lane, staring at the old, decrepit house that once belonged to her grandmother. It had been years since she had set foot in Willow Creek, the small town where her childhood was spent. Now, drawn back by an unexpected letter sent from her grandmother’s estate, she felt a mix of nostalgia and unease. The letter had been peculiar, urging her to return and uncover the truth about a secret buried long ago. As she approached the house, the wind howled through the trees, echoing the whispers of a past she th...

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The Final Stop

The train rattled along the fraying tracks, a mechanical dinosaur pushing through the twilight mist that hung thick in the air. Clara sat by the window, a worn leather suitcase resting at her feet. She had heard tales of Hurtwood, a sleepy town barely marked on any map, where shadows whispered and old secrets stirred beneath the cobblestones. Tonight, she would step into that mystery, just as she had stepped away from her old life in the city. She glanced down at her ticket again: Hurtwood, the last stop. The name felt heavier with every pas...

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