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Nick Matsas

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Apr, 2025

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45 Followers
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63 Stories

898 karma pts

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Without Fear, Picking Grapes

Weekly Contest #354

Dear Professor Dertouzos, I am angry, and it has been a long time since I recognized that. I think I deserve a better life, and if it is predetermined or a matter of choice, my choices have determined that I lead a lonely existence. Sometimes I think it is because I want to, because I believe it is easier. Every time I make a bad decision, it is out of an effort not to be a burden, and so I lie, which is much worse. Sometimes I believe I am paying for my crimes, and I see those who have done much worse and are surrounded by people, or at lea...

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Glorious, For a While

Weekly Contest #353

Darkness is the home of our vague fears and anxieties, but it is also the home of the Gods. Our lives contain “accidents,” which only exist in our heads. What proof is there that the five senses, together, allow us to participate in all possible experiences? We turn to Mother Earth and see her, but have long ago stopped listening, and even what we see, we filter into what we want to see; blooming California poppies, a newborn, and clear ocean waves, but only late at night, after beer, while you are woken up by Sarah Mclachlan’s “Angel,” that...

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"We're an American Band"

Weekly Contest #353

In 1874, the Owosso Argus-Press printed the headline:WHERE ARE THE TEETH OF JOE FOURNIER?The newspaper had a daily circulation of 1,000 copies, but it printed 1,000 more that morning, asking, “Where are the teeth of Joe Fournier?” and sold out by noon. Joe Fournier bought one copy on his way to Flint, Michigan. His fame had reached a fever pitch, and three months earlier, he had been charging $5 to see the rows of teeth in his mouth. The loggers had gotten a glimpse of his hyperdontia for just a quarter when Joe Fournier was a lumberjack. Re...

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The Aegean Sea is Blue Again

Weekly Contest #352

If the Devil did not exist, it would be necessary to invent him, as with taxes. How else could we afford bombs to drop on brown children who speak a language I don’t understand? Our leaders tell us, “Without bombs, pilates classes and rifle ranges will close,” and then what would we do? The only thing without an end is the present, and living in it, I have found eternity until I can no longer ignore the rain clouds of guilt that gather and give me a bath that is neither cleansing nor warm. I touch my forehead and can feel the distance I have...

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The Killer

Weekly Contest #352

A dull reddish glow emanates through her skin, enveloping her womb in light and shadow, a razor love that invites you right in.Myra Gayle Brown’s husband is on tour, and she is ready to join him. When she meets him at Heathrow Airport, she is hounded by the press. The Killer, her husband and cousin, Jerry Lee Lewis, says she is 15, even though she is actually 14. It causes a storm. He is a Great Ball of Fire and 22.The gossip columns call her the teenage tomb, and America no longer wants to boogie-woogie with Jerry Lee. Their baby is born. H...

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"Wouldn't You Consider it a Privilege to Associate Yourself with Such Fine-looking Men?"

Weekly Contest #352

The moon and stars, unaware of the hills and grass, glisten in the dew drops that fight the darkness in the woods that surround the property. A place no light can penetrate, and from the kitchen window, where the moonlight shines off the shards of her heart, stuck in the grout between the tiles, the night, seen through her eyes, is an open wound, clear as any tear that rolls down her face, just like the dew and dying petals amongst the hard bark and long limbs of the spruce trees.Her feeling of inadequacy at the kitchen sink and her desire t...

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A Point of View

Weekly Contest #351

I do not know whether it is the fact that I have to go to the bathroom, or the fact that that the faster my boots come off, the quicker I can get into the shower, relieve and clean myself, put on clean clothes and sit down at my desk if it is dark or gloomy, and if it is sunny or cold, I sit in my reclining leather chair, but never recline it. I put a blanket over my legs on the ottoman, and my portable desk over the armrests. Either way, we start with a blank page, but more often than not, the leather chair will be in longhand. If that port...

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Lou (Part 2)

Weekly Contest #351

Against his will, Lou was forced by his parents into the museum of his past and current feelings—a place located below his chin, and above his crotch. A place where everything could be touched, and what academics considered intangible was tangible to everyday people. Not to say academics aren't people every day; there are just some days when their heads are so far up their ass that they miss the sunset, where the past and present meet on Tuesday afternoons, or at least that's what Lou thought, waiting outside on the steps amongst those on th...

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Projection

Weekly Contest #350

They never spoke to me, but I was always right behind them, and depending on which way they were heading, I could be at their side. Sometimes I looked like one of them, or both. I don't have the vocabulary to describe what they look like or who they are, but I could mimic them. They noticed me right away and talked about me with the same interest I had for them. They said I’d be around for a few more hours, unless they went downtown, in which case I'd follow them there. They sat in a park and spoke of 'old times,' and I quickly picked up wh...

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they might steal The Son Because The Priest is bunting

Weekly Contest #350

I hope one day they’ll raise the draft age and I can die somewhere outside Tehran, as a conscientious objector, subjected to helping the wounded of the current administration's policies, which is why I believe life is already carved out for you when you’re born. I will not die in Iran, though I wish to, and though I will do what I can to make that happen, I will continue to live in Southern California, in a beautiful house with a garden, and the weather that suits my tan. Sometimes I have 10 dollars, and sometimes I have 7,000, and I have ne...

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Robert George

Weekly Contest #350

I don’t see much, and I can’t hear a goddamn thing unless they yell at me, which they rarely do, I think. My thinking’s good. Real good. The best. That’s all I really do, and I like it. I had a Burmese neighbor, Hein, who was Buddhist, and he told me that some people get stuck between living and being dead, and that's sort of where I feel like I’m at now. It’s peaceful, to tell you the truth, which I always do. The last thing I heard clear as a Daisy was that my Granddaughter was flying first class to Japan with some guy named Joe. I remembe...

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b to b

Weekly Contest #349

“Today is April 31st.”“I need laundry detergent, food, and how about a… you’ve been so good to me. I’ve been so sick. I’m sorry.”“Then why are you sorry?”“Cause of what I’m putting you through.”“You’re sick. You don’t need to apologize. I can leave if I want to.”“Do you want to?”“No, I want to be right here.”Her hair is blonde with a tint of strawberry, her eyes are crescents of clear ocean, and the rest is Texas prairie on the most beautiful day, when there’s money in your pocket, no one is after you, and the sky is a canvas that cannot be ...

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Sam God & Safeway Groceries

Weekly Contest #349

Fog pervades the hills and trees, shaping an atmosphere where one is lost in every way one can be, in an orgy of flame that towers over the land like a satanic lighthouse rising from the soil, and covering it with ash. Everyone is thirsty despite full water bags against their hips. The water never depletes, but neither does their thirst. They sleep, but they are always tired. They eat, but are always hungry. The sky is covered in oil, and no one has seen the sun or the moon in months. There is one man with plenty of hair. It is dark and sl...

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and we miss it

Weekly Contest #348

Once upon a time, we died when our sun died, and there is nothing but our words to say that we ever existed. Our sun is a black hole, and our memories are lost in tears of cosmic rain. We loved and lost, worried and found things we deemed higher than ourselves: Gods, corporations, medications, and meditations, but by the end, none of us or our thoughts, hopes, and passions would make it. A whole history locked between the stars, becoming a mystery, which, like wine, is fine over time.Mallory Weathers was the last person on Earth. She had ast...

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Oasis, 1979

Weekly Contest #348

Light pours through the motel windows, creating an illusion of solid blonde, obtuse triangles that will either eat your arm or burn it off. The A/C is on, and the scars across his face are hairless and dry. His hair is naturally curly, but in this arid climate, he straightens it with a bit of pomade. The only thing that moves is a fan that is not on, and when the room attendant knocked on his door, he said very little, but enough for her to continue down the carpet hallways of Monk's Motel 9.He gets up and looks out at the desert with a glas...

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