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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Mar, 2022
Submitted to Contest #265
Jantara paused at the foot of the ladder, looking across the open … woodland? … prairie? Neither description fitted. The strange, scattered mop-topped trees and tussocky grass shone purplish in the morning sunlight: sunlight with too much red. This landing breaks every first footing rule and protocol. Her eyes swept out to the horizon and its hint of mountains. But we have no choice. There could be no cautious exploration and environmental testing – with instruments they did not have. Unloading the Pericles would take every available drop of...
Submitted to Contest #234
I remember it all: the incessant questions sometimes yelled, others whispered into my ear, the beatings, the suffocations, the rapes. But the details don’t matter. What matters is … I held my silence. During each session, I drifted from my body to watch and not speak. The interrogation was days long – two, three … four? I lost count. In the grey dawn of a morning, the cell door crashed open. A guard threw down beside my naked body striped pants and a jacket with a large red X on the back. “Dress.” The material was coarse and grated acr...
Submitted to Contest #206
The wind’s susurration in the abandoned streets, the distant hiss and drag of the shingle beach are my world. The long dry fountain in the square hosts no bird, no lizard. Through the drowse days, the sun chases limping shadows through my laneways, beneath my arches. Still sleeping, a shiver rouses me partway from the doze; recognition trembles at the edge of consciousness, but sensation sinks to emptiness. The breeze fades and the moon pursues softer shadows. Lulled by the steady breathing sea, the fleeting itch fades, a phantasm of lonelin...
Submitted to Contest #164
Return to Ravensbrück I looked down at the letter inviting me by name, Frida Schmidt to the rededication of the Ravensbrück Concentration Camp memorial. The letter’s edge wobbled, exaggerating my trembling hand. I groped behind me, seeking the chair back, and fell on to the seat. As a sixteen-year-old, I had run from those gates into the spring of 1945 when the SS guards herded several thousand German nationals out of the camp. I’d never returned; nor did I wish to: I knew its miasma of suffering, cruelty and evil. It had drained the life ...
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