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W. L. Caelum

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jan, 2026

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7 Stories

91 karma pts

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The Rockets’ Red Glare

Ray Spence woke up before the pain did, which was the closest thing to a gift the morning would offer.For a few clean seconds he lay in the gray light and was just a man in a bed. Then his lower back reported in, then his right knee, and the old ache in his shoulder that meant weather was coming. Behind it all the low electric hum in his nerves that no one at the VA had ever managed to name. Ninety percent, the rating letter said. Ninety percent service-connected. As if a man could be measured in tenths, as if there were a whole ten percent ...

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Worst Seven Minutes of My Life

I claim I’m normal. That’s not science. That’s wishful thinking. I test this theory daily and, spoiler alert, the results are not promising. Being normal looks easy. People just… do it. They wake up, put on pants (on the first try!), leave the house, and somehow avoid overanalyzing their own facial expressions like it’s the SATs for eyebrows. I would kill for that. Or at least, like, pay a reasonable monthly subscription. Today, I had hope. I got dressed in under ten minutes. No staring at my closet like it’s a cryptic escape room. No wardro...

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No Applause on Tuesdays

Weekly Contest #343

No Applause on Tuesdays The doors of St. Augustine’s Cathedral burst open just as Lila Monroe said, “I do.” The words left her softly—carefully—as if she were setting them down where they might break. “Wait!” The shout cracked through marble and stained glass. The priest’s mouth stayed open around the next syllable. A hundred heads turned at once, like a flock startled mid-prayer. Lila’s fingers tightened around her bouquet of white peonies. The stems were slick with her sweat. A petal, loosened by the pressure, drifted to the floor and land...

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October 13th

Weekly Contest #342

On the morning of October 12th, Mara woke with the sense that something had already happened. Not a dream exactly. More like a bruise she couldn’t see yet. Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. Julian: Can we talk tonight? The message sat there, simple and harmless. Julian was always asking to talk. About work. About politics. About why she alphabetized the spice rack but refused to answer emails. Still, the words pressed against her chest. She typed back, Sure. Three dots appeared immediately. Then disappeared. Then nothing. The apartment fel...

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Material XJ-41

Weekly Contest #341

Recovered from the archives after the incident, lightly redacted for dignity and several passive-aggressive comments. The original file was discovered in a cabinet labeled “Legacy Procedures.” Letter 1April 2From: Dr. Lucinda Vale, Senior Research ChemistTo: Dr. Martin Crowe, Theoretical Physics Martin, The sample arrived this morning in a crate labeled “FRAGILE: PROBABLY.” An encouraging omen, like finding “Good Luck?” stitched into a parachute. The company claims it was unearthed beneath the foundation of an abandoned corporate headquarter...

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On Food, Time, and Other Things Humans Get Wrong

Weekly Contest #340

My name is Dave. I am a dog, which means I understand the universe far better than humans do. This is not arrogance. This is observation. Let’s take food, for example. Humans think food is something that happens at “mealtimes.” They put it in bowls, look at clocks, and say unhinged things like, “You just ate,” or “Dinner isn’t for another hour.” This is adorable, but incorrect. Food is not an event. Food is a state of being. It is a constant, like gravity, or the urge to bark at absolutely nothing at 2:17 a.m. Food exists at all times. You s...

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JUNE

Weekly Contest #339

Mara taped the paper to the refrigerator because she needed something that did not change.It was a child's drawing—three stick figures and a sun that took up half the sky. The figures were labeled in careful, blocky handwriting that belonged to her sister's seven-year-old: MOM DAD BABY. The baby was an oval with a smiling line for a mouth and legs that pointed in opposite directions, as if it were mid-celebration. The sun had been colored past the edges, yellow wax pressed hard enough to leave grooves in the paper beneath.Mara pressed the ta...

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