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Rebecca Lewis

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Oct, 2023

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47 Followers
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150 Stories

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The Brother’s Face

Ani had long since stopped searching crowds for her brother’s face. Three years was enough time for the instinct to dull, to sink into the ache she carried only in quiet moments. Still, on the subway platform that Wednesday morning, when the man turned his head just slightly, she nearly dropped her coffee.It wasn’t just the cheekbones or the dark hair in need of trimming. It was the tilt of the jaw, the way his shoulders slouched against the metal pole, even the small scar at the edge of his eyebrow — an echo of the one Arthur had gotten whe...

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What the Bottle Remembers Part 1

The library always smelled faintly of dust and paper, as though the walls themselves were built from forgotten years. Lavanya loved it for that reason — timeless, safe, a place where secrets could settle into silence and never be disturbed.That late afternoon, sunlight poured through tall windows, striping the tables in gold. Stillness lay heavy, broken only by the turning of pages and the faint creak of shelves that had borne their burdens for generations. Lavanya slipped into the farthest corner, clutching her backpack as though it carried...

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The Smile She Kept

The Smile on Every Screen Belinda Jasmine never wore her own smile. The one the world knew — on billboards, perfume ads, glossy spreads — was practiced, luminous, a smile that turned strangers into believers. Her real one — crooked, too quick, a little lopsided — almost never left her apartment.By thirty-three, she was the most recognizable face in New York. Not a movie star, but a lifestyle brand. The tabloids called her “the last true socialite,” though she was the daughter of a schoolteacher and a dental hygienist from Ohio. She had b...

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The Weight Between Us

I stir my coffee though I haven’t tasted it. The spoon clinks too loud, brittle as a bell. No one looks, but heat still crawls up my neck. I set the spoon down fast, steadying my hands in my lap. Jovon’s talking about her boss again, her hands slicing the air, bracelets chiming with every gesture. She doesn’t notice the tightness in my shoulders or the way my eyes won’t stay still. To her, I’m unchanged — the same friend who hauled boxes up three flights, the same one who baked her a cake when no one else did. She thinks she knows me. But ...

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Ashes of a Hero

The Price of Truth Ashwood’s Hero The Weight of a Name Kelly Largent had grown up in the long shadow of her father’s reputation. In Ashwood, the name Bryan Largent wasn’t just respected — it was revered. To the townsfolk, he was the man who had saved hundreds during the fire that nearly gutted the manufacturing district three decades ago. His face adorned murals. His name echoed at parades. His bronze likeness stood in the town square with eyes turned toward the horizon, forever noble.Kelly learned early to smile when strangers told her ...

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A Place to Keep You

When Mikki moved in, the super handed her the keys like he was passing on a burden. “Bikes in the basement,” he said. “And don’t knock on 4B’s door.”He didn’t explain why. He didn’t have to. His eyes had the worn glaze of someone who’d told that same warning before, and seen it ignored.The building was one of those half-forgotten brownstones, all warped floorboards and radiator groans. Hallways smelled faintly of dust and something sweet, like old paint. Her apartment was small but sunny in the afternoons. She’d told herself it would feel li...

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What You Carry, What You Leave

The Weight of the Restart It began with a box. Not a cardboard box, but the kind made of years — a box of habits, routines, and choices that had grown too heavy to lift. Martin had been dragging it through his thirties, convinced that if he just kept moving, one day it would stop feeling like a burden and start feeling like a life.It didn’t.The truth was, the box wasn’t full of anything worth keeping. An apartment in a neighborhood he had never liked. A job that had once been exciting but now felt like a never-ending loop of the same ema...

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Through the Black Window Part 1

The clock read 4:13 a.m. — that strange, brittle hour when the world feels like it’s holding its breath. David sat at the kitchen table, elbows braced on cool wood, eyes fixed on the phone in front of him. It hadn’t rung yet.He’d been awake since two, pacing between the window and the sink, sipping bitter coffee that did nothing but keep his hands from trembling. Outside, the street was empty except for a single streetlamp that buzzed like an insect.Somewhere out there, his sister was either still driving toward home or lying in a ditch. She...

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March 3

March 3, 1987 The phone rang twice before Tony answered, the long spiral cord stretching across the counter. Snow hissed against the kitchen window, falling in slow, heavy flakes that blurred the streetlight.“Tony?” Keri's voice was careful, like she was stepping over thin ice. “You should come to the hospital. Dad’s asking for you.”Tony glanced at the calendar. March 3. The day his father had left in 1974 — half a mug of coffee cooling on the table, engine oil in the air. Tony had been eight.“I haven’t spoken to him in thirteen years,” ...

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The Network File

The Stranger in the Station Shauna Sledge had a knack for bad timing. The train doors slid shut just as she reached the platform, leaving her in the stale warmth of the underground. She cursed under her breath, checked the clock — 12:03 a.m. — and settled on the cold steel bench.The station was nearly empty. A janitor swept at the far end, his broom scraping against the tiles. A vending machine hummed. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like a swarm of lazy insects. Shauna pulled out her phone and opened her messages, but there was nothi...

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White Lies and Lemon Bars

The Party Next Door It was the third Saturday in August when the new neighbors threw their first party. The kind with paper lanterns, music that floats just loud enough to rattle blinds, and people who laugh like they’ve never had to pay rent.Kim watched the whole thing from her second-story window. She hadn’t planned to. But once the first laugh cracked across the backyard fence, her curiosity latched on like static.She told herself she was just checking out the noise. Then she told herself it was fine to keep watching — just for a few ...

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Marked by the Hour

I moved into the old farmhouse in late October, just before the clocks fell back. The days were short, the nights colder than they had any right to be, and everything creaked — the floors, the windows, even the shadows. The air inside smelled of old paper and extinguished candles. Dry and bitter, like something unfinished.The house came cheap, and I knew why. Not haunted exactly, but unsettled. The kind of place with too much history and not enough insulation.The real estate agent had said, “You’ll hear things. It’s an old house, that’s all....

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Held

The Still Hours Nobody really noticed when Julie stopped moving.It began subtly — fewer emails, fewer replies. Meetings missed. Dishes stacking in the sink. Her neighbors chalked it up to burnout, another casualty in a city that mistook motion for meaning. But after weeks passed and she remained on her fifth-floor balcony — barely shifting, eyes pinned to something far away — they began to wonder.She still ate, just enough. Took sips of water. Her cat, Pita, meowed for food and sometimes curled on her lap. But Julie only moved when absol...

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Watcher of the Dead

The Dog at the Gate They call me Cerberus, but that name’s too clean. It sounds like marble statues and old men in robes. Out here, they just call me “the hound.”I’ve got three heads, yeah. Used to have four, but one rotted off during the Long Silence. Don’t ask. I don’t miss it.I was born from monsters — Echidna and Typhon. You don’t need to know them. They birthed hydras and chimeras and worse. I came out barking.My job? Guard the gate. Keep the dead in. Keep the living out.Easy enough.Most days, I just pace. The River Styx hums low be...

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Chain of Custody

It was the hottest day of the year, and the pavement shimmered like it was trying to disappear. Catalina stood on the edge of the gas station lot, sweat sticking her shirt to her spine, holding a paper cup of melted ice and bad coffee.Across the road, the desert stretched out like a dead ocean. No trees, no birds, no sound. Just wind and the occasional hiss of a tire over sun-baked asphalt. Her pickup was dead, the radiator wheezing steam like a dying animal, and her phone showed one bar and 12% battery. Perfect.She hadn’t planned to stop in...

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