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Tricia Shulist

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Feb, 2021

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150 Stories

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Day 63

DAY 63 Day 1: Okay, I think that I should probably write down what’s happening. This morning I woke up the way that I usually do—late, around ten o’clock. I’m the night owl in our family, Charlie the early-to-bed guy. After I finished showering and dressing I went downstairs, but Charlie wasn’t there. I didn’t remember him saying that he had anything planned for that day, so I looked around—not in the basement, not in the backyard, not in the garage, but his truck was. I was confused, but not overly concerned. Maybe he’d gone out for a wal...

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It Was Long Ago And It Was Far Away

IT WAS LONG AGO AND IT WAS FAR AWAY Knock! Knock! Knock! I looked up from my tablet, where I'd been reading today’s newspaper. I wasn’t expecting anyone, and I hadn’t ordered anything on line, so who was at the door? For a moment I considered ignoring the knock. There was no way I wanted to listen to someone trying to sell me something that I didn’t want or need. But curiosity got the better of me, as usual. I have serious FOMO. I padded to the towards the front of the house. When I opened the door, there was our letter carrier, Benson, ho...

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The Three Little Pigs 2.0: The True Story

THE THREE LITTLE PIGS 2.0: THE TRUE STORY “Please call your next witness, Mr. Heller.” “The prosecution calls Leonard Bacon.” I watched as Bacon approached the witness stand and was sworn in. On the surface, things looked a little dicey for me and my continued freedom. My run-ins with the Bacon family had been all over the internet for months now. And, in the court of popular opinion, I was a monster. The prosecutor, Damien Heller, got to his feet, and walked towards the witness stand. “Good morning, Mr. Bacon, and welcome.” “Good morn...

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Running Out Of Thyme

RUNNING OUT OF THYME “Jasmine, we’d like to have a dinner party. A casual, sit down affair in the dining room.” I’m Jasmine, and I’m a personal chef. I was talking to the Gena Roberts, one of my best clients. She’d called so that we could set up a date for her soiree and set a menu for the event. “For how many?” I asked. “Not many,” said Gena. “Maybe twenty.” Pause. “No more than fifty. I’ll let you know.” I sighed inwardly. Fifty was not “not many” for me. I usually work alone, and knew that I would have to hire some kitchen help. But...

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Fate—Right on Time

FATE—RIGHT ON TIME Charlotte So once, I missed a plane that crashed. And then I missed a train that derailed. I once had to cancel a trip to Florida during spring break because I wasn’t finished a paper that was already late (big surprise). The resort that we were supposed to stay at ended up being in the direct path of a category three hurricane. All my friends were okay, but not one of them has been back to Florida since. I do legitimately struggle wth the concept of time. I had a friend who is on “island time” and even she gets frustra...

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The Watcher

THE WATCHER I watch the woman walk unawares through the streets, not a care in the world. If she only knew that I was following her, she would be paralyzed with fear. I am the hunter, she is the quarry. ***** I like walking at this time of day. Early mornings are the best. With the sunrise comes the dawning of a new day. The air is crisp, but the sun has risen and has started to melt away the light frost from the previous night. And the birds! There is no other time during the day when they are so raucous—chirping, swooping, just welcomin...

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Dany

DANY Nighttime. The cover of darkness. The hours when the shadows are your friend, when they wrap you in their velvety anonymity. Darkness, when anything can happen. And, does. The time when the sound of footsteps behind you is the sound of danger. When the soft whisper of breath on your neck could be the last thing you feel. Ever. ***** I watch as the sun falls below the roofs of the buildings, blanketing the streets and buildings in the murk of the approaching dark. Another night about to begin. Many, myself included, find the night exc...

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It's A Wrap!

IT’S A WRAP! I looked down at the burrito. It was perfect—tightly rolled, nothing seeping out of the seams, the bottom and top tucked neatly into the wrap. The filling was evenly distributed along the length of the wrap, giving it a perfect cylindrical shape. Flawless! Truly a work of art, if I do say so myself. Two Years Ago “Can I help the next customer?” I said, looking out at the crowd. It was a Thursday afternoon, and the lunchtime crowd at That’s A Wrap—my food truck—was still going growing. Since we’d won the silver medal at the F...

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Spoon

SPOON “Hi Rachel! I'm your new friend!” The four-year old sitting at the kitchen table looked round, her eyes widening. What was that voice? She was sure she was alone. Mommy was upstairs changing baby Jeremy’s diaper, and there was no one else at home. But just to make sure, she looked under the kitchen table. Nope. No one under the table. Her gaze travelled around the kitchen. No one there she could see. She slid off her chair and carefully walked over to the pantry and tried the door. But it wouldn’t open because it was child-lo...

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This Can't Be Right ... Can It?

THIS CAN’T BE RIGHT … CAN IT? “This doesn’t make sense.” Chet and Kevin were sitting at a table in the cafeteria. Both were enrolled in the creative writing course being offered by the university, a prerequisite course for an English degree, and a suggested course for any program that involved writing. So, all the programs. Chet had been reading the paper in front of him. It was this the class handout with week’s writing prompts listed. “What,” said Kevin halfheartedly while scrolling on his phone. “This prompt,” he said, pointing at nu...

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Cassie, Cassandra

CASSIE, CASSANDRA “So, uh...” Jake paused, searching the papers on his desk, “Cassie, I see that you’ve been hired as a server.” Cassie smiled “Yes, I have.” “And, uh,” he scanned the paper again, “you’re scheduled to start today.” That smile again. “That’s right.” Without looking up at her, Jake continued to read her resume. “It says here that you have worked at different restaurants—take-out to fine dining.” He looked up. “So, you should have no problem fitting in here at The Bistro.” “I don’t foreseen any problems,” said Cassie, sti...

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Real World Writing--Literally

REAL WORLD WRITING—LITERALLY It had not taken Kyle very long to figure out how to use the AI writing programs. In fact, he found them pretty easy to use. Even he should be able to get it to work. No wonder everyone at school is using it, he thought to himself. It makes it a lot easier than having to do the work yourself. He snorted at his own wittiness. So, he decided to give it a try. After exploring a number of programs—Chat GPT, Squibler, Oscar Ghostwriting, Studiowrite, and Grammerly, Kyle decided to give a new program a go—Real Worl...

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Villainy Is In The Eye Of The Beholder

VILLAINY IS IN THE EYE OF THE BEHOLDER “Thank you all for coming today for the inaugural meeting of VA—Villains Anonymous.” The five group members sitting in a circle each nodded. Many were looking at the floor, some were looking at the group’s moderator. None were looking at each other. Dr. Grey smiled at the group. “I’m Dr. Anita Grey. I’ll be leading the group.” She looked at each participant, and smiled. “The purpose of this group is to explore why you are now a villain—what brought you to this point in your life, a point where you ar...

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I Hate The Stupid Weather!

I HATE THIS STUPID WEATHER! Move to the city, they said. You’ll love the city, they said. There’s soooo much to do in the city, they said. These thoughts scrolled through my brain, as I trudged down the street. It’s literally hotter than hell out, and the city is doing its best, trapping all the heat under its invisible heat dome. All that black asphalt, all those impermeable surfaces—chef’s kiss—all the heat is trapped, all the time, all over the city. No escape. Gross. I hate it. A lot. I don’t even like hot yoga, let alone the unrelent...

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You Said Gratitude, So Gratitude It Is!

YOU SAID GRATITUDE, SO GRATITUDE IT IS! I looked across the desk at the woman perusing the file in front of her. My file. She lightly tapped her pen on the desktop as she read, the occasional “hmmm” filling the quiet of the room. Finally, after about a year of sitting there waiting, she looked up at me. “Well, Catherine, it seems that you have a bit of a problem with anger,” she said. I remained silent. She tilted her head ever-so slightly, looking at me over the top of her stupid half-glasses—the school-marm/librarian vibe almost wa...

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