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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Dec, 2021
Submitted to Contest #189
“I’ve got just the one for you love, a very rare find indeed. It’s waiting out the back to be taken home!” And with that the old lady tapped me on the head with a wooden stick and jumped with a light spring off the chair.I followed her through the den like “shop”, passing in between shelves, tightly packed from floor to ceiling with books, thousands of books, colourful and beautifully arranged! She led me behind a velvety curtain to a softly lit room, containing a small round table, a tall set of bookshelves and a ladder.“It’s right at the t...
Submitted to Contest #187
Shabby, dirty, wretched, tabby creature won’t let me be.It had been following me since before dark morphed into dawn. I caught its creepy white eyes glowing from behind a tree, its wild dusty fur ruffled like a weedy lawn, as I ran past it with my head torch on. Now it is bounding and weaving a few meters ahead, down through the open grasses, and juniper shrubs. It stops, turns every few minutes to make sure I’m still behind. We were on the path not long ago. Like a spell it led me off the beaten track. How? And more to the point why? My leg...
Submitted to Contest #141
“THE SHADOW OF THE MOORS *Benedict Cumberbatch stars as an elderly man, who likes to roam around wearing a grizzly bear costume -his alter ego- in this shambolic melodrama set in the Yorkshire Moors. Peter Zensky, who both wrote and directed his “years in the making debut play,” deserves an accolade for “this century’s worst theatrical production,” according to chief executive of the English Arts Council. Ideals of what make “proper” theatre are being questioned by the whole industry, as that of the decision of The Royal Court -the playwrig...
Submitted to Contest #139
“Grow up Petra. It's about time to grow up, and become emotionally mature, or you’ll continue to whither and crumble like dried fragile rose petals,” is the last thing he said to me. Can you believe it?! The cheek! What does he think he is, a poet?! Who does he think he’s talking too? I’m 47! He’s 30! I’m old enough to be his mother, almost. Literally speaking I AM OLD enough to be his mother!Perched on the edge of his sickly green couch, I dug my fingernails into its soft corduroy, and starting with a violent simmer, began to boil. Dagger e...
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