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Rose Lind

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jun, 2021

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50 Followers
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56 Stories

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The Tenth Mirror

Weekly Contest #368

Triggers: Occult, Mental health, drug and dsyfucntional family themes. ​Part 1: The Veranda​"Shh, the water's stopped," Genevieve warned. She crept toward the screen door millimeter by millimeter, her eyes locked on the hallway.​Alerted, Phineous swivelled in his chair, casually swinging a leg over the armrest. He opened his camera app, angling the lens toward the hallway, ready to hit record while pretending to type.​"Oh my goodness, 2:08," Phineous muttered. "She managed to get up by 2:00 PM?"​Wynfryr's face went white. Her hand shook as a...

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The Damned

Weekly Contest #367

Trigger warning: Themes of societal abuse, isolation, occultism and misfits. Also swearing. The Damned​Part 1: The Childhood​Lavinia belonged somewhere else. Nobody knew where, exactly, but most agreed it wasn't here.​She was a most unusual child; everybody noticed. From around the age of two, at exactly 4:00 pm, she would eat a quick snack—a banana or a piece of cheese—step onto the makeshift kiddie stairs at the bathroom sink to brush her teeth, go to the potty, and snuggle into bed fast asleep before the sun had even gone down.​By the age...

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Inherited

Weekly Contest #366

Trigger Warning: Supernatural and ancestral trauma themes. Part 1: The Appointment​I took six sharp steps along the worn, shiny path in the linoleum, intentionally letting my boot heels sound out the same controlled tap, a subliminal, authorative rhythm, my mother used to make.​It had been drilled into me: always pause before unlatching the door. Wait long enough for the customer outside to feel the quiet authority of the shop. Then, flip the sign sharply to OPEN, draw back the bolt in one decisive slide, and let the tarnished brass bell chi...

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A Time to Speak.

Weekly Contest #364

Trigger warning:Sexual references and relationship gaslighting.Swearing.Biblical and Hindu Religious texts. Part I: Sun in the 8th House​Some paths lead to nowhere—or perhaps, if you want them to, they are all just transformations.​Friends tried to warn her, but I stayed out of it. I was never really sure of her real name, but for the sake of the telling, let's call her Shelley. So be my guest as I swamp you with a whole sea of similes to justify her name: She has those light, sea-coloured eyes—the kind of blue that sparkles like Ceylon sapp...

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There's a Bear in There.

Weekly Contest #360

Trigger warning: Supernatural themes. Soft horror. Part 1: Roadside Treasures​Leaving Woolies with groceries in hand, Liv took the scenic route home. At the far end of her street—a corner she rarely walked—one of those new flexible blue skips blared out from the nature strip.​Is it that time of year already? Liv visualized the council clean-up brochure stuck to her fridge, its bold red lettering insisting: July 1st.​“Early birds,” she murmured wryly.​She slowed her pace, warily listening for a dog's bark. There was a camouflaged mongrel that...

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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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