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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Aug, 2025
Submitted to Contest #334
Rowan and Isabella had never seen anything like it. The playroom smelled faintly of crayons and dust, mixed with the dry warmth of old wood and plastic toys left out too long in the sun. Blocks lay scattered across the floor, toppled like cities after a storm. Dolls slumped against one another, glassy-eyed and quiet. Stuffed animals leaned into corners, watching. The afternoon light slipped through half-open blinds, painting pale stripes along the carpet and climbing slowly up the walls. The boy, four years old, sat cross-legged near the cen...
Submitted to Contest #333
The plate in front of the regular was empty, a smear of sauce on its edge. The warmth lingered, stubborn, like it didn't know it was supposed to be gone... or maybe it knew and didn't care. The ceramic still held the shape of what had been there. A few crumbs clung near the rim, forgotten. The pizzeria was old in the way places become old without trying. Its walls were chipped and uneven, painted over too many times, the color somewhere between yellow and beige, like someone once wanted it to feel cheerful and then gave up. The light hung lo...
Submitted to Contest #332
The storm arrived before either of them did. It rolled over the town in a low gray shudder, dragging its weight across the sky like something tired of being misunderstood. Rain pooled at the edges of the clouds, unsteady, like something that had finally decided to let go. By the time the first drops hit the pavement, the storm already knew their names. It had known them for years. Across the wide, flooded street, two figures stepped out of the opposite doorways and stopped at the same moment. They hadn’t seen each other in years, but storms ...
Submitted to Contest #331
Snow had just begun to fall when my youngest climbed into my lap, her mittened hands still dusted with frost. Outside, the world was turning quiet and white — the kind of stillness that makes secrets feel heavier. It felt like the whole house was holding its breath. She looked up at me with a seriousness that didn’t match her small face. “Mama… is the Collector of Almosts real?” The question settled over the room like another layer of snow. The fire cracked softly. Her siblings lifted their heads from their blankets, watching me with wide, w...
Submitted to Contest #326
The train had vanished, leaving only a hiss of escaping steam and the dull roar of the station. Nora’s shoes clicked against the tile floor, restless and alone, until a thin, golden light caught her eye. A narrow door, tucked behind a wall of ivy, pulsed softly—almost as if it were keeping time. She stubbed her toe on a forgotten suitcase. “Fantastic,” she muttered. Something about the station felt off today, as if the world had skipped a beat. The door pulsed in rhythm with it. Curious, or maybe desperate, she stepped closer—and the golden ...
Submitted to Contest #319
Luna had never dreamed. In a village where dreams are sacred, visions were gifted by the spirits in the jungle. This made her something less than human—or something worse. The elders called her “Touched” where moths marked her in the womb. Children kept their distance at night. Dreams weren’t just stories that came while you slept. They were messages from the jungle spirits–signs of favor, or sometimes warnings you couldn’t ignore. During the Moth Festival season, children were warned not to go after dark. He waits in the jungle, still as ...
Submitted to Contest #317
It was early winter. We finally arrived at the old house, now freshly painted and scrubbed to near perfection. Sunlight illuminated the rooms, casting a warm glow that felt like the start of something new. Surrounded by nature, the rural setting made it a beautiful place for a family of three to call home. The attic was the only place that didn’t smell new. The air was thick, layered with dust and time. Cobwebs filled the corner spaces, and the floorboards creaked cautiously at every step. A few splinters poked out. The smell of aged wood sl...
Submitted to Contest #315
The alarm clock rang. 7 AM. It’s my birthday. I walked slowly over to the bathroom in my blue striped pajamas. My glasses were still sticking out of my pants pocket. I grabbed them and slid them onto my face. “Ah.” I smiled. “Another year older.” In the mirror, I watched myself carefully shave the last patch of hair on my chin. “Ouch.” A small sting. Blood trickled down. The towel was already sitting on the sink. I pressed it against my face. It wasn’t the first time, and most certainly won't be the last. I glanced at the toilet and laughed...
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