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MJ Brewer

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Apr, 2024

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18 Followers
8 Following

19 Stories

277 karma pts

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God Works in Mysterious Ways

Being raised in a larger than average family of twelve was normally a pretty big deal—if you didn’t live in Utah. But we did. Nine girls and two boys. The boys were the youngest. One prayed for and the second a “slip of the dick,” I heard my father refer to him as one time. At least it wasn’t another girl. Somehow, despite there being nine of us, we were all a burden. Turns out, I was the biggest burden. Not the substantiated bread winner, according to my religion, nor could I produce any new followers of Christ. A barren woman. What good w...

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The Second Yes

The sleek black Porsche pulls up to the curb, and a guy in his early thirties climbs out. With a quick check in the sideview mirror, he whisks a hand casually along the hair above his ear and grins with a not-so-subtle wink. Standing tall, he makes his way toward the apartment complex across the sidewalk. “Mr. Gibson, how are you?” a middle-aged woman greets him as she leads her poodle toward the driveway. Giving her a courteous pause, he tilts his head and blows her a kiss. “Mrs. DuPont, thank you so much for keeping an eye on Vicky while I...

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The Unthinkable

Weekly Contest #325

Just another boring day. It seems like the past week has been the inevitable wake up, go to work, come home, turn on the television while I eat my frozen dinner, and get on the computer. After I watch a few TikTok videos, I go to bed. There’s gotta be more to life than this. But to get through the next shower, the next traffic light, the next boring meeting and the next time I have to select one out of 300 frozen meals, someday I may come to appreciate my life. At least that’s what I used to say. Right now, I’m tucked away from society in a...

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My Lips are Sealed

The ballroom glittered with chandeliers and champagne flutes, every corner humming with the chatter of silk-draped women and boastful men. The women gathered in jeweled clusters, gossip fluttering like sparrows. From the opposite side, the men lounged in tailored suits, recounting expeditions that had clearly grown more glorious with each telling. A sudden cackle burst from the women’s circle, turning heads. One man smirked. “Women could fill a library with nothing.” That was when the groom, Dan, lifted his glass and said, “Then let’s put it...

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The Eye of the Beholder

Weekly Contest #309

The royal proclamation unfurled beneath the noonday sun, gilded and grand, declaring that the king—ruler of three provinces and protector of five rivers—would host a contest to find a suitor worthy of his only child. The princess was said to be the very image of harmony between kingdoms, carrying her father’s sky-blue eyes—twin mirrors of the sky itself, and her mother’s fair curls, bouncing in tendrils about her waist. From the skybound towers to the village wells, the news spread: on the eve of her eighteenth birthday, the princess would b...

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The Loose End

Weekly Contest #308

The road stretched out like a half-forgotten and frayed ribbon—curling, dipping, and dragging me through the vast void between farmland, ditches, and fence posts. My Prius purred along. The faint crinkle of a plastic bag—housing styrofoam food containers—shifted on the passenger seat, offering the only faint sense of purpose. Another FoodDash delivery. Yet another stranger with a superhero name, waiting on lukewarm Pad Thai and those sad little chopsticks that never break clean—because nothing says “cultural appreciation” like a 2-star cravi...

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Let the Music Play

An exotic dancer having a godforsaken day can’t wait to escape to the quiet of home. Applying makeup eight times a day? No wonder we refused it off-stage, living in comfortable sweats and flip-flops. Back then, I practically wished for things, and they appeared: men, food, drink, clothing, cars—and drugs, for those who indulged. Friends? Never enough, but that never seemed to matter. I had everything. You know, it’s not like I was some dancer in a smoke-filled room with drunken jerks ogling me, either. I was a fantastic dancer with all the ...

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A Social Faux Pas

Weekly Contest #284

Attending a party without a date is a tragedy of Shakespearean proportions—or at least it seemed. For most, it’s embarrassing, but for me—social suicide. Skipping the event crossed my mind, but I’d spent a mint on the dress, shoes, and accessories. And don’t forget the clutch—perfectly matching my shoes. That kind of synchronicity doesn’t happen accidently. Every feminine shopper knows it’s the call of serendipity. Todd, my guy, enjoyed me on his arm like an accessory. He loved my strategically timed giggles, as he regurgitated his ridiculo...

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… And This is Now

“Ahhhhhhh!” My five-year-old brother’s wail pierced the air, breaking into sobs as he scrambled from beneath the kitchen table, hands clamped over his head, and tears pouring down his cheeks. Matchbox cars abandoned behind him. Both of my sisters, several years younger than me, quietly turned their attention from the television. Their mournful expressions as my father entered the room, a mix of relief while they watched the scene unfold, grateful it wasn’t them. Levi kept crying, his finger jabbing first at our youngest brother, then at th...

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What Goes Up…

Weekly Contest #280

“So, what’s a single guy gotta do to get rejected by a gorgeous girl like you?” The question caught her off guard. Bree tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, her fingers brushing the unruly curls she hadn’t bothered to tame. She glanced up, her eyes meeting a tall, confident man in a crisp navy suit, his grin as sharp as his tailoring. They stood alone in the office building elevator as the doors slid shut, sealing them off from the world outside. Flustered, her brows knit together as indignation bubbled up. “You can start by not a...

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No Comment

Weekly Contest #280

“What do you think? Do you think he’ll like it?” “Like it? Girl, he’s gonna lose his freakin’ mind. That dress is on fire. Now, what’s the plan for this— hair? You can’t just throw it in a ponytail and call it good. It needs style to really show the true you.” “I was thinking of pulling it up, sort of loose but elegant. Like this. You know what I mean.” “Mmm, I think I see it, but you know what would really set it off? Some flowers. Right here behind your ear. Add a little surprise pop. Trust me on that.” “Flowers? That’s… actually sort ...

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Like it was Lester Day

*SEXUAL VIOLENCE*SUICIDE* The stadium wasn’t as packed as it should’ve been. It was the last game of the season, after all, but the bleachers were only dotted with small clusters of fans. Their cheers felt thin, barely making a dent in the cool evening air. Palmer Duke stood on the mound, his jaw tight as his name stretched across his back like a brand. You know the type—it wasn’t just a name; it was legacy. His brother? Star pitcher in three years ago. His father? Practically a legend at South Ridge High. But Palmer? Let’s just say the fa...

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The Hippocratic Joke, er, Oath

Science is a powerful persuader, asserting that people are innately good. I once believed wholeheartedly in humanity’s goodness, convinced that people were born good and stayed that way—unless something so terrible happened that they were left with no choice but to turn bad. The Hippocratic Oath is one of history’s oldest recorded documents, a solemn vow that obliges physicians to prioritize their patients’ welfare above all else. It honors the practice of medicine, emphasizing the duty to act in the patient’s best interest and to avoid cau...

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The Stripping Princess

Weekly Contest #276

Growing up in an extremely sheltered environment becomes dangerous when that coddled bunny rabbit is turned loose in the woods and expected to survive. For me, this was my beginning—the start of clinging to life after my divorce. Even my husband had sheltered me from responsibility. Earn the money and hand my check over to him: bills paid, problem solved. Need money? Just ask. That is, until we divorced. Unaware of how to turn on the utilities in my new apartment, I remember sitting in the corner, knees drawn up, head down, and profusely so...

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The Scars that Make Us

Weekly Contest #275

Thud. Thud. Thud. For the past eleven years, it was the same frantic race for the same minuscule amount of time. One hour. Then, she’d have to wait another 8,766.82 hours—an entire year—for the chance to funnel back to her again. But that wasn’t the worst part; with time slipping away, her opportunities were dwindling. She had exactly a dozen chances—not a baker’s dozen; twelve. She wasn’t sure how she arrived at that time-constraining conclusion, but she had, nonetheless. After that, the rest of her existence would echo in her ears, mingli...

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