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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Aug, 2023
Submitted to Contest #227
How to assuage the hatred within it, to quiet its snapping bones as it rises from below the ocean’s floor, there is no way. It’s too late: an ancient lid flutters open to reveal a yellow iris lit by anglerfish, the rest of it a shadow suffused in crimson.Listen: ———————————-brruuuttpppppeppp————brruuuuuuutttppppeeeppp——-Then the waves above the ocean floor—how many feet? Ten thousand? Twelve?—reach for the moon. Seagulls rush to where the bubbling ocean expands to reveal its head, like a baby through the birth canal, a swath of coarse, red-o...
Submitted to Contest #225
This story has some violence (not gory) and a scene where someone commits suicide (also not gory). 2002:Hidden among the wreckage of winter were hints of spring, clues leading to a thriving landscape where warm days and abundance would soon heal the landscape. Big John thought this lost on Jenny. But she saw it, and she appreciated it. The truth was, she enjoyed nature more than she let on. Her father didn’t know she and her friends would drive up the winding Santa Cruz mountain to Castle Rock on the weekends; during the day, they would expl...
Submitted to Contest #213
It was a plastic face; too smooth on the exterior, and too hard beneath. The familiarity was there, but something was off in ways that were difficult to make sense of. Rachel didn’t feel sad for this man because this man wasn’t real; this corporeal sham was explicitly crafted for the conspiracy. A conspiracy by whom? And to what end? Rachel did not know. But whether nefarious or in humor much darker than she could appreciate, this thing lying in a box in front of her was not her father.Her mother sobbed and moved down the line, but Rachel st...
Submitted to Contest #211
In the wee small hours of the morning, before much of the world sleepily muddles about looking for pancake syrup, Collin Tuttle can be found lacing up his walking shoes. For the last twenty-odd years, he’s walked the same route; he’s strode down the network of hidden pathways, as coastal folk share a propensity to travel by, then, over ‘The Bump’ (unnecessary local slang for hill), to a soon to be waking downtown.On Main Street, he’d wave to the baker through the window of Happy Glaze, often thinking about going in for a fritter or donut, bu...
Submitted to Contest #210
Inside his belly, he could hear the screams of a thousand men and women. He laughed, and a city fell. On his morning jog, oceans sloshed and spilled over coastlines, drowning the praying tourists and locals; indiscriminating destruction, done without malice—without emotion. He belched, and with it came a collective cry for mercy. He shrugged. What was he to do about it? He had tried everything that he could think of, including but not limited to ingesting Ipecac, punching himself in the stomach, getting black-out drunk, eating ghost ...
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