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Rebecca Lewis

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Oct, 2023

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60 Followers
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150 Stories

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Hands Tell the Truth

I remember the first thing I ever heard.Not my own voice. His.“Again,” he said, somewhere above me, tired and stubborn and still full of hope. “One more time.”There was the scrape of a chair across stone, the clink of metal tools, the hiss of rain against the workshop windows. I did not yet have eyes, but I knew the rhythm of his footsteps. Slow when he was thinking. Sharp when he was angry. Silent, somehow, when he was afraid.For three winters, he built me.I know this because he told me, though he thought he was speaking only to the walls.T...

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Brass Key, Bad Timing

Laura had rehearsed the conversation all week.She stood outside the little bakery on Pine Street, watching the fog press against the windows. Inside, Greg was already there, hunched over a coffee he probably wasn’t drinking. He still tapped the side of the cup when he was nervous.She pushed the door open.The bell above it gave its usual cheerful ring, completely out of place.Greg looked up and smiled too quickly.“Hey. You made it.”“Of course,” Laura said, sliding into the seat across from him. “You said it was important.”He nodded, then reac...

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The Shape of a Wish

On the first Monday of every month, Holly cleaned out her desk.She sharpened pencils she never used, untangled charging cords that belonged to no known device, and threw away sticky notes with cryptic messages like “Call Ladonte???” and “DON’T FORGET THE THING.”At the very back of the bottom drawer, beneath an expired passport and a fossilized granola bar, she found a notebook.It was small, bound in dark blue cloth, with no title on the cover. The pages were thick and cream-colored, and on the first page, in her own handwriting, were the wor...

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Line by Line

Zac used to wake up with sentences already forming.They would arrive half-finished, like someone else had started them in the night and left the rest for him to solve. He kept notebooks everywhere — by the bed, in the kitchen drawer, in his coat pocket, bent and soft from being handled too often. Words were never the problem.Until they were.It didn’t happen all at once. At first, it felt like fatigue. He would sit at his desk, fingers hovering, and nothing would come. Not even a bad sentence. Just a flat, silent space where something should ...

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Only What Matters

The first time Lola noticed it, she thought it was a trick of the light.She was standing in her kitchen, rinsing a cup she didn’t remember using, when something small and pale slid off the counter and landed near her wrist. It didn’t make a sound. It just… arrived.She dried her hands and looked down.It was a thin, translucent strip, curled like a shaving of wax. When she touched it, it was warm. Not hot, not cold. Familiar-warm, like something that had always belonged in her hands.The moment her fingers closed around it, she saw it.Not with ...

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Left on Read

I should’ve known.That was the thought that finally landed, heavy and late, like a storm that waits until you’ve already left your umbrella behind.The message had come in around midnight. No name, just a number I didn’t recognize.“Hey. It’s been a while.”I stared at it longer than I should have. Long enough for old memories to start creeping in. The late drives. The quiet laughs. The way things ended without really ending at all.I told myself not to respond. I even set my phone down, turned off the light, and closed my eyes.Then it buzzed ag...

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I Tried to Wake Up Early and Created a New Identity

I once decided to become a morning person. Not slowly, not responsibly — just all at once. Five alarms. A motivational water bottle with times printed on the side. Three friends notified so I’d feel socially pressured into success.Day one started at 5:00 a.m., or at least that’s what my alarm claimed. My body disagreed. My soul filed a formal complaint.The first alarm went off. I woke up confused but optimistic, like a woman who thinks she might jog. The second felt more aggressive. By the third, I had entered negotiations.“Okay,” I whispere...

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You Stayed

Today is April 31.Everyone else called it a mistake.Clocks rolled from April 30 straight to May 1, phones updated overnight, calendars corrected themselves without asking. But when I woke up, the date on my kitchen wall still read April 31, written in thick black marker from a month ago.I hadn’t written it.At first, I assumed I’d forgotten. That happens more often than I like to admit. But the handwriting wasn’t mine. Too neat. Too careful, like someone trying not to be noticed.I left it alone and went about my morning. Coffee. Toast. The qu...

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They Collect Here

I used to think maps were honest.Lines meant roads. Dots meant towns. A little blue squiggle meant water you could drink if you were careful. It all looked so certain, laid flat under your hand. You could trace a path with your finger and believe the world would follow it.Out here, nothing follows.The road I’m on now isn’t on my map. It’s a thin strip of cracked asphalt cutting through a valley that smells faintly of metal, like old coins. The sky has that pale, washed-out look it gets before a storm, except there hasn’t been rain here in mo...

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Measured Life

TW- themes of death, end-of-life care, and grief. thump… thump… thump…They told Barbara the machine would keep him alive, but they never said what that meant for everything else.The room smelled faintly of antiseptic and warm plastic. Monitors hummed. A soft green line pulsed across the screen in steady rhythm, translating something ancient and human into light and sound. She sat beside the bed, elbows on her knees, watching that line rise and fall as if it were breathing for him.Her father had always been louder than this.He used to la...

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Meaning Emerges

Jenny noticed it first in small, forgettable moments.She was standing in line at a grocery store, watching the cashier scan items with mechanical rhythm. Beep. Slide. Beep. Slide. The woman ahead of her laughed at something on her phone, a sudden, warm sound that seemed to ripple outward. Jenny tried to mirror it. She lifted the corners of her mouth, let out a short breath.It felt correct. It sounded correct.But it didn’t feel like anything.That was new. At home, Jenny stood in front of the bathroom mirror longer than usual. She examined ...

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What It Cost to Keep Going

He got the call at 3:17 in the morning.For a second, he just stared at the phone, letting it buzz against the nightstand. No one called at that hour unless something had gone wrong. Or finally gone right.He answered on the fourth ring.“Is this Mikael Soderlindh?”His throat felt dry. “Yeah.”A pause. Papers shifting. Then- “I’m calling to inform you that your proposal has been approved. Full funding. It’s yours.”Silence.He had imagined this moment for fifteen years. Long nights, missed birthdays, empty apartments, cold dinners eaten over a lap...

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Learning to Stay

Adelle had always believed the town siren was meant for her.It sounded every day at 6:00 p.m. sharp. A long, low wail that rolled over rooftops, slid down alleyways, and settled into the bones of anyone who heard it. Most people barely noticed anymore. It was just the old factory signal, a relic from when shifts mattered and whistles told workers when to go home.But Adelle noticed.She first heard it when she was nine. Sitting on her front steps, swinging her legs, she felt it more than heard it. The air seemed to pause. Then came the sound, ...

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Let's See Who Notices You

No one in the village remembered when the stone first appeared.It sat at the edge of the old road, half-buried, as though it had grown there rather than fallen. Travelers passed it without much thought. Children climbed on it, then forgot it. Seasons moved around it — snow softening, rain polishing, summer heat baking it until it felt warm as skin.Only Deborah paid attention.She noticed how the stone never quite looked the same twice. Some mornings it seemed smooth and pale, almost silver. Other days it darkened, rough and pitted, like it ha...

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I'm Still Here

Voicemail – 8:12 AM Hey, it’s me. I know it’s early. I just… I found your note on the fridge. “Gone for a bit.” That’s not really your style. Call me back when you get this. Text Message – 8:47 AM You-What does “a bit” mean? Email – 9:03 AMSubject- Did you leave on purpose? I’m trying not to assume anything dramatic, but you took the good coffee beans. That feels intentional.Also, your plant is still here. You never forget the plant.Please just tell me where you are. Missed Call – 9:25 AM Text Message – 9:26 AM You-Okay, now I’m worried. ...

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