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Rose Lind

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jun, 2021

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45 Followers
68 Following

51 Stories

891 karma pts

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The Wanderers.

Weekly Contest #359

Trigger warnings: Murder, extreme violence, swearing, violence, drug psychosis, mental health, sexual and supernatural themes. Part 1: Dropped StitchesHawk gazed at the sky. It looked like an inverted ocean. Mesmerized, she positioned her camera to catch where the fiery waves stratified into sullen grey and blue foam. Click. Checking - Yes, the photo popped that clouds' violent freedom. Perfect, she thought, as the town clock chimed four.​​Her phone buzzed. Dad. She didn’t need to read past the preview: We need to talk—​She swiped it away. "...

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The Milo Tin.

​Part I: Bus Route 27E​Soren was late. Shoving a hand into his pocket, he pulled out a square handkerchief to wipe his brow. His brain absolutely refused to stop replaying the rotten footage of his morning: that gate swinging closed in slow motion, the finality of that click. He tried to distract himself by putting on his headphones, but he continued to ruminate, slipping right back to that sudden breeze from the backyard which had come out of nowhere.​Click!​The bitter sound echoed in his ears, piercing right through the classical strings. ...

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Bremer's Edge

Weekly Contest #355

Trigger warnings:Depiction of child drowning, dead cat burning, menstruation and violence. Also swearing and mental health themes. Part I: 1980It was Sunday. Ingrid leafed through her Social Studies textbook, lying on her stomach on the mat as the fan swung its head from left to right and back again, like it was saying a huge parental NO!Chloe, arms stretched out, stared at the ceiling. The transistor radio played the cricket.“Hey, Chloe?”“Poor old Fizz,” Chloe answered. “He didn’t hurt anyone.”Ingrid rolled her eyes. Chloe was two years you...

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Smarty Wombat Nose.

Weekly Contest #354

​At the threshold of the bridge, light rolled over velvet orange. A petal. A fire-streak. A wing pulled by the tide. I didn't know what I was seeing at first, so I looked harder. I don’t think I was meant to see her. Or, if I think about it now, I don’t think she wanted me to see her. I had to look her up on Google: Australian orange-ringed butterfly. She was so small, maybe three centimeters. But there she was, landing low near the clumps of grass held from falling by rocks stacked towards the creek—very small, like an orange dot.​I shouldn...

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Where the Bridge Ends.

Weekly Contest #353

Trigger: Suggestions of Adults healing from child abuse.The Sanctuary Canvas​At first, I want this scene as a painting for you. Please, let me hum softly while my left eye finds the color and my right eye gazes at the structure. Now, breathe. Can you feel it? Hey, can you feel your lungs fill with the fresh, misty air around you? Its ok, you can breathe here. I nod to reinforce my statement. I speak slowly; I’m looking deep into you, wanting you to enjoy your breath in this temple. It’s my temple of peace, which I have opened for you.​Hey, l...

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The Cry of the Drop Bears.

Weekly Contest #351

References to an animal being slaughtered for food, as well as war, homelessness, addiction and poverty references. Jane A1, John C47, and Angie 19 were the three most typical types one might encounter. For the sake of nostalgia, we shall disregard their codes and call them Jane, John, and Angie.​Jane sat on a train, the rhythm of the tracks rocking her to sleep. An hour ago, she had dropped a brick at the grocery store checkout. It was oily and so disruptive that customers had to veer their trolleys around it. John was driving home, feelin...

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The House Spirit.

Weekly Contest #341

​Trigger warning reference to death. My body jolted. I inhaled sharply, rubbing the grit from my eyes as I rolled away from the wall and into the flat grey of the small room. I fumbled for my phone, the screen light flooding my face: 3:00 AM. I let out a heavy huff, my back hitting the mattress. Too early.​I closed my eyes, waiting for sleep to reclaim me. Nothing. Instead, fragments of a dream ebbed and flowed: a winding road, rolling hills, and grass flattened by a relentless wind. I felt the cool, black window rubber under my chin and th...

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Hello. Goodbye.

Weekly Contest #340

The first thing I heard was the rustle of paper. I didn’t stir; it wasn’t the first time a mouse or a cockroach had snooped among the crumpled newsprint. I simply yawned, wondering vaguely what the hour might be.​Then, the world split open. A shaft of blinding light was followed by a rush of bone-deep cold air that smelled of eucalyptus disinfectant. Before I could find my bearings, I was yanked rudely by the arm and hoisted into the sky.​"What on heaven’s earth is happening?" I shrieked. Fine spider silk twisted around my girth as an imbeci...

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Tea

Weekly Contest #339

Warning Gore and horror. ​I think the bush is primordial. In the dark, damp pre dawn hours, it begins a meditative breath: a deep inhale followed by the low, earthy exhale of humming cicadas. This wave of sound swells in the belly until the kookaburras laugh at its peak, bursting the sound barrier, only to ebb back into a sultry, waiting silence—like the collective giggle of schoolgirls at the port racks after a handsome boy has passed. That loop repeats with the persistence of a practicing band until the first rays of the sun haunt the ho...

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Dust.

Weekly Contest #338

Iris Thorne wiped her hand over the donated book, the grit clinging to her skin like sandpaper. Outside, the wind hammered the glass, trying to force its way in, but Iris was elsewhere—lost in the slow-motion realization of the sheer time dust requires to claim a thing. Receiving such a relic felt like gazing into an antique mirror. She rubbed the cover again, as if summoning a spirit from a lamp, and a fine grey puff caught her nose.​"Ah-choo!" Under the disturbed veil, a tainted gold-leaf title emerged: The Murder of Crows.​Unthinking, she...

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Longing.

Weekly Contest #337

The last time I visited, that photo was still on the coffee table. I remember trying to keep the conversation going, but my eyes kept drifting to the frame—to the wind in my salty hair and the earring he gave me glinting in the sun. It’s my eyes in that shot that haunt me; they’re half-shut with that heavy, liquid trust cats have when they know they’re safe. He was laughing, holding me from behind, until his breath seemed to move the very air around us.​Now, I text and get nothing. I call and hear only his voicemail. I want to just show up, ...

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The Walk to the River.

Weekly Contest #323

​Home. “Sun’s up!” James yelled. He stood shivering in a white singlet and corduroy cargo pants that sat crooked on his tiny hips.Lyra set down her coffee and pulled a bright red skivvy from the dryer, quickly yanking it over his head. The snug neckline made his cheeks flush as he popped out for air and hurriedly pushed his arms into the sleeves while Lyra tucked it in.Imitating a racing car, James zoomed to his room and rummaged his drawer for a pair of thick, dark-green socks. Lyra quickly rinsed her mug and followed.​“Ahh, the green ones ...

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Australian Bush.

Weekly Contest #320

Sensitive mentions divorce. Echo's name was a cruel joke. Her smile, though wide and generous, never quite reached her eyes. She didn't have the energy, nor did she try to hide herself completely. Instead, she was smart; she offered them glimpses: the tight muscles in her neck, the sallowness of her skin in direct sunlight, the crushed t-shirts with faded stains, the patched jeans. It was her simple trick to avoid fools - an open invitation for the shallow, the preoccupied, and the selfish to escape. "Mummy," ​Echo responded to her son's out...

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Monster

Weekly Contest #319

Warning. Theme of Violence. In the past, a special bond often formed between children who celebrated their birthdays on the same day, marking not just a date on the calendar but an immediate happy bond that only children can do well at. But as adults, sharing the same birthday might bring a smile, maybe cause a temporary connection but we move on. Life feels pretty grim as I now confront the haunting reality that two people I have known for most of my life now share the same death day. My sister and Matthew, a boy I grew up with, both passe...

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My Story.

Weekly Contest #311

Warning: Swearing, Violence and Political suicide. I imagined myself as a myrtle tree. It wasn’t difficult to envision having roots, a wooden trunk, and branches that spread out with spiky leaves and soft pink, crepe flowers. That part was easy. I belong to Generation X, and being identified as an intangible criminal within that classification is the norm. If God were to erase a generation, it would be us—Generation X: the wayfinders, the truth-tellers, the healers, the artists, the visionaries, the jokers, the outcasts and Mavericks. Yes, w...

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