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The Chef Who Meanders

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jan, 2024

Stories (19)

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11 Followers

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19 Stories

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Rock & Roll Is Dead: Goodbye Nancy

The Chef Who Meanders

Submitted to Contest #237

To readers this story is centered around the death of a beloved matriarch. Stepping outside of myself to splash water on my face. Standing in front of the nearby hand washing sink. I won’t go back into myself. The voice of doubt sings ever so gently. Causing my nerves to dance to its melody. Its voice echoes through my body. The vibration bouncing off my aura. Making the hair on my back do the wave. My roadie hands me a joint. I rip it to calm my nerves. The stage manager asks if I’m ready. “Vince, are you ready? It’s time.” “VINCENT!...

14 likes

Let's Get Something to Eat

The Chef Who Meanders

Submitted to Contest #236

 Silence in its powerful glory. Calms the mind's complexities. Transforming the rigorous clamor of thoughts. While easing the tumultuous current of feelings. With his palms open on his knees. Rocco sits in lotus pose. Breathing deeply only to relax on the slow exhale. On the floor in front of his desk. In the still darkness of his office. Shave and a hair knocks on the door. Manipulating the silence. Awakening Rocco from his meditation. Rising to his feet, slipping his shoes on by the door. Opening it bewildered as he straightened his j...

3 likes

Living On Without You

The Chef Who Meanders

Submitted to Contest #235

Maligned by how today unfolded. Accepting events as they come. For as they are. Had in ways been ferocious to control. Making a valiant attempt to withstand and bear them. Splashing water again on my face. Feeling as if I’ve been asleep the past few days. My perspective has come unraveled. I only remember excerpts.       My younger brother Scott barrels through the men’s bathroom door. The ginger man mountain coddles me over my shoulders. Asking if I had broken.  “Bro, you were screaming. It’s gonna be okay...

9 likes

Love, True Story

The Chef Who Meanders

Submitted to Contest #233

The train ride back to East Village was a blur. Unconsciously my feet were doing the guiding. I lit a smoke a few feet from the door to the building. Concentrating on my breath in between hits from the fumo. Fumbling around in my pocket for my keys. Zonked out going through motions. Aware of my being emotionally drained. Not even completely inside the door and my phone starts blowing up. “Can’t this day end, I'm about to tap out.”      I murmured under my breath. Backing out of the doorway. Onto the sidewalk looking ...

12 likes