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Shane Casey

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Mar, 2026

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5 Followers
1 Following

4 Stories

83 karma pts

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Autumns Wish

Weekly Contest #348

Autumn’s Wish Autumn waited until the house settled into its soft evening quiet—the kind of quiet that made the lamps glow warmer and the walls feel closer, as if the whole home were leaning in to listen. Her three children had gathered around her almost without being asked, drawn by the way she’d said, “Come sit with me. I want to tell you something important.” They curled up on the living‑room rug, wrapped in blankets and curiosity. Autumn folded her legs beneath her and rested her hands in her lap. Her long dark hair, streaked with a few ...

6 likes 1 comment 1
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Seven Ate Nine

Weekly Contest #345

The river moved slowly that evening, the way old rivers do when they’ve seen too much to hurry anymore. It slid past the wide gravel bank with a low whispering sound, brushing against reeds and half-buried stones. The water reflected a sky that was fading from blue into the soft gray of early night. Cottonwood trees leaned over the bank like tall listeners, their leaves rattling quietly in the breeze. Sam kicked a pebble into the water and watched the ripples stretch out until they disappeared. “You ever notice,” he said, “how quiet it gets ...

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The Baggage of Too Much Baggage

Weekly Contest #345

The Baggage of Too Much Baggage, and All the Other Junk We Don't NeedThe wind swept softly over the cobblestone streets as I adjusted the straps of my old leather satchel. It wasn’t just a satchel; it was a repository of memories, hopes, and fears. As I walked, its weight pulled down on my shoulder—a constant reminder of everything I carried, physically and emotionally.I had grown accustomed to the weight over the years. At first it had been nothing more than a habit, a place to keep useful things. But over time usefulness quietly gave way t...

7 likes 1 comment 1
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The Place Where the Map Forgot Itself

Weekly Contest #344

The Place Where the Map Forgot Itselfby Shane Casey © 2026There is a place where clocks go to be forgiven.It does not appear on any map, though many have drawn it. It is not found by walking north or south, but by following the moment just before something ends. Those who arrive do so by accident—usually while trying very hard to hold something together.On the edge of a salt-white desert, where the horizon trembles like a held breath, stands a house that cannot decide when it was built. Its wood is new at dawn, blistered by noon, and silvere...

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