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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jun, 2020
Submitted to Contest #51
I promised you I wouldn’t be like her, that night when we drove across town and back, trying to borrow a few more minutes just for the two of us. You drove, you talked, you cried, but only a little. And I promised. She’d clung to you, dug her nails in deep and held tight, even when it hurt you. Maybe she even liked it, liked making you feel something about her, even if it was pain. She felt herself falling, sinking under the weight of herself, and so she tried to drag you down with her. I think she really did love you. And you l...
You could say Gavin was something of a demon-summoning expert, but you’d be wrong there because he’d never done it before in his life. He’d done quite a bit of research, though, on some new privacy browser he’d downloaded onto his mom’s wheezy old desktop, so he knew he had the appropriate number of candles, in a decently spooky shape, with the right chalk lines connecting them. He was pretty sure his blood sacrifice was sufficient (he hoped Mrs. Melontine wouldn’t miss her dog too much; he was a little beast anyway, who loved nothing more t...
Submitted to Contest #50
His name would eventually fade like old jeans. We grasp at memories, squeeze our brains until they hurt, but the details, the faces, the moments all eventually slip through our fingers like water. But I will try, for your sake but mostly for mine, to remember. Our parents decided to organize our “date” mostly because they thought it was adorable. “He’s like your little boyfriend,” Mom teased as she tied my sneakers. But I knew what we had was real. We held hands at recess, sat next to each other during storytime, sharing the co...
He offers me a final smile, a moment of solidarity from this boy I’ve never met who is competing to take my spot, then tucks his binder under his arm. Shiny dress shoes, perfectly styled hair, and hopeful eyes disappear through the door. It makes a dull clunk when it closes. In. One. Out. Two. Through the door, I hear the rustle of sheet music, murmuring, as he goes over his tempo with the pianist. My finger taps a tempo against my knee, a bodily manifestation of the hammering in my chest, but it is too fast, my song doesn’t go that f...
Shortlisted for Contest #48 ⭐️
“Is that yours?” Her eyes are wide, so big they might look like they were bugging out of her head if they weren’t so beautiful. I guess, technically speaking, she could be referring to the sketchbook. Is that sketchbook yours? Or the charcoals. Or even my shoes, for that matter, almost the same shade of dingy gray as the sidewalk beneath. But I know she’s referring to the drawing, which of course no one is ever supposed to see ever, and yet she’s looking at it like it’s nothing. Well, she’s looking at it like it’s something, whi...
Submitted to Contest #46
The murderer was the neighbor, spurned and misguided, hiding in plain sight as Steelworth looked everywhere but right next door. Of course. Genius. No point in telling Patty that, though. It wouldn’t make her very happy, at this very moment. Better to wait this out — no, get out of this as quickly as possible so I can get to keyboard again before the idea gets away. David set about coming up with the best possible combination of words to get away from his wife, who seemed to be either having the worst time or the best time of her life chew...
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