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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jan, 2022
Submitted to Contest #326
By the time anyone realized the disaster started with a cup of tea, Winslow had already forgotten how to wake up. Marisol had always believed in small kindnesses.Not the big dramatic gestures people bragged about online no, the quiet ones. That was where real goodness lived. A blanket left on a doorstep. A meal thawed just when someone needed it. A hand on a back. A space held in silence. Kindness made her feel useful.And useful meant wanted.And wanted meant safe. She didn’t recognize that as hunger, not love. Not yet. So when the knocking ...
Submitted to Contest #325
By the time the rain found a rhythm, the lights at The Core Tavern had learned to flinch with it. Thunder rolled like somebody dragging furniture overhead; the neon beer sign hiccupped, blinked, then pretended nothing happened. Mid-sized town, mid-week crowd, the kind of place where people come to be alone together. At the pool table, Rowan Pike chalked his cue with the ceremony of a surgeon and the optimism of a weather report. The cue ball kissed the eight, the eight rattled, declined. Rowan smiled without warmth. “If this drops, I’d give ...
Some hospitals heal you; others wait until you’re weak enough to keep. I didn’t come to that sentence honestly. I earned it, the way you earn a scar—by pretending you’re fine until you’re not. By the time we fishtailed into the emergency bay, Omar had both hands clamped around a takeout bag like prayer, and Jessa was counting heartbeats out loud. The sliding doors wheezed open like an exhausted mouth. Inside was chaos: monitors chattering, nurses moving in choreographed panic, someone shouting “ten centimeters” like they’d just called bingo,...
Rae By the time the thing on my chest asked for my name, I’d already bitten my tongue bloody trying not to answer. People say nightmares are silent. Mine arrive with a sound: the long, glassy exhale of my bar’s cooler when it gives up and warms to the room. Then weight—needled, exact—pinning ribs, wrists, breath. Only my eyes work, the way a locked door still knows how to listen. “Say it,” the voice purrs, patient, amused. “We should call each other what we are.” Its hair brushes my cheek—orange peel, hot rain—and I taste iron, the one hones...
Submitted to Contest #324
The sea never really sleeps. It only pretends—curling under itself, breathing in long, tired sighs that sound like forgiveness.Mara Thorne stood at the edge of the pier and watched the dark water roll, wondering how many secrets the tide could carry before it started spitting them back. Her reflection rippled, split, and came together again, just as it had every night since the ball—since the kill.She didn’t feel guilt, not exactly. What she felt was something cleaner: relief disguised as calm.A phone buzzed in her coat pocket. No name, just...
Submitted to Contest #271
I had a steadfast stride as I climbed the concrete expanse known as the Detroit Bridge near downtown Cleveland. My every step agitates the heat causing dust plumes in my wake. I looked to the cloudless sky wondering where they are? Car exhaust rides the eastward winds as I head west of Cleveland. Luckily, the traffic is moderate but I welcome gushes of cooling air that gracefully touch my skin. The bridge is normally kept clean by the sanitation workers which is why I found it odd when I saw debris in my path. As I glare ahead at brown obje...
Submitted to Contest #255
In the labyrinthine streets of Whimsicality, where every shadow seemed to harbor a secret and every word danced on the tip of a tongue, lived Jack. Jack was a man of few words but countless thoughts, perpetually standing on the cusp of understanding an inside joke—the punchline of which was his very existence. Whimsicality was no ordinary town. It was a place spun from the threads of linguistic creativity, where metaphors bloomed in gardens and similes whispered from the wings of butterflies. The townsfolk conversed in puns, and double enten...
Submitted to Contest #149
THE SLAVE ARTISTYou could see the years of service on the face of this strange man. Those years of true combatted wars and secrets that were pressed into his military attire. Even his walk as he escorted me down this old dimly lit hallway, spoke to the honor he exuded as a member of the military. I distinctly remember the lights were flickering as we came closer to the area I would soon be taken to. My mind frantically searches for answers to questions I didn’t even think of yet. The cold breeze draws out goosebumps from the foxholes of...
SURVIVAL My eyes are opening up to the heat of sunlight shining in through the window on the right side of my bed. The warm touches are hitting my face and getting me ready for my daily routine. First, a full breakfast before working out. Next, a shower lasting at least thirty minutes or so. I never liked drying off with a towel. As I only enjoy letting the sun and air remove the water from my sun kissed skin. I reviewed my itinerary for the day. On the list is me taking care of business. As a young creative of course this means boring m...
Submitted to Contest #146
ALONE Do you not fear being alone? Imagine dying and coming back to life. After saving the one you thought loved you As they left you to recover by yourself. Better yet Let's say it was 2 days after your 18th birthday. Looking at 5'o clock on your screen as you're sitting inside of the RTA bus stop. Waiting for the number 6 bus to come at 5:30. Feeling happy Because you're about to take another step forward in the right direction of life. Yor started the first year of college to be a chemical engineer after having early college courses sin...
Submitted to Contest #135
Walking across the Detroit Bridge on a sunny cloudless day. Heading west of Cleveland with moderate traffic passing by as the wind is gracefully touching my skin. Glaring ahead at some brown objects in the middle of the sidewalk, I began to approach them to get a better view. While stepping closer I noticed a Muslim woman striding ahead towards me wearing a black hijab and a red and black matching Islamic dress. Disguising her silhouette as I have known many Muslim women to do. Odds are we were trying to figure out the same point of curiosit...
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