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Meadow Hill

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Nov, 2024

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60 Stories

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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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The Weight Of Smoke

Dr. Elena Vasquez had spent thirty-one years studying the dead.She preferred them that way — contained within their dates, their causes, their consequences. Nero fiddled (or didn't). Rome burned. Historians argued. The past stayed past. That was the arrangement, and she had built her life around its reliability.She was sixty-two when the arrangement broke.It began on a Tuesday in July, the same week her book The Anatomy of Catastrophe was released to polite academic applause. She had been celebrating alone in her office — a glass of Barolo, ...

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Echoes of the Crime

Detective Sam Rourke had been on the force long enough to stop believing in coincidences. Still, when he stepped into the small, half-lit studio apartment on East 17th and saw the crimson arc staining the wall above the couch, that tightening in his chest didn’t feel like disbelief. It felt like déjà vu.The air carried the damp chill of rain-soaked brick, the faint sweetness of cheap perfume, and something metallic—a smell that, no matter how many scenes he stood in, always dragged up the same ghostly sensation in his nose and throat.He stoo...

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The Do-Over

There's a thing that happens to women in their late thirties where the universe, apparently bored with its other projects, decides to completely blow up your life and hand you a coupon for a fresh start. The coupon has fine print, obviously. There's always fine print. My name is Dana Kowalski, and I am, by any reasonable metric, a disaster. Not a *charming* disaster, like a raccoon in a party hat. More like the specific kind of disaster that involves accidentally cc'ing your entire company on an email that said, and I cannot stress enough ho...

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“The Emergency Meeting That Could Have Been an Email”

LINDA: Okay, everyone, let’s settle down. I called this emergency meeting because—GARY: Is this about the printer again? Because I told you, it can smell fear.LINDA: Gary, no, this is not about the printer.GARY: Then why is it staring at me?KAREN: Printers don’t stare, Gary. That’s your guilt.GARY: I recycled one paperclip wrong in 2009 and I will never be free.LINDA: Focus. This is about the office holiday party.MELISSA: Oh thank God. I already put on shapewear under my work clothes just in case.LINDA: It’s June.MELISSA: Shapewear is a life...

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The Sentence That Broke the Case

Detective Mara Quinn stood by the window of her office, watching snow drift over Lakewood’s quiet streets. The morning had that muffled stillness that always came before bad news. She’d been waiting for the captain’s call when her phone buzzed instead — an unknown number, downtown area code.“Detective Quinn,” she said.A shaky voice answered. “You don’t know me, but I—I think someone’s been murdered. Room 412 at the Elmwood Hotel.”Before she could ask for details, the caller hung up.Mara grabbed her coat, tossing her half-drunk coffee in the ...

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