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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Sep, 2020
Submitted to Contest #304
I’m pacing the floor behind my desk, casting impatient glances at the setting sun. My pens and paper are ready, the lamp sitting precisely on the right corner, a cup of strong coffee steaming on the left. The night is my greatest source of inspiration.Red and yellow hues slant through the window and across the hardwood floor as day slides into the clutches of night.At last! I pull the chair from my desk and sit. Tapping a pen against the paper, I look about the room, peering into the dark recesses, searching for the critters of my imaginatio...
Submitted to Contest #290
She opened an eye. Strands of hair hung in her face. Puckering one side of her mouth, she blew out a burst of air. The strands moved, not much, but enough to see him laying there, his face inches from hers and smiling.“What?” she said, covering her mouth.“Have I told you how beautiful you are today?”She rolled onto her back and groaned. “Oh, please.”“You are.”She side-eyed him with a wry glance. “I just blistered your face with a hot, sour breath like the south end of a northbound cow. My eyes are puffy, and my hair looks like a rat’s n...
I told her to be here at seven thirty. No. No. I asked her to meet me here at seven thirty. It’s seven fifteen. She’s not late; you’re early. Relax. Don’t twist your pants into a knot. Shut up. You’re talking to yourself and you’re getting funny looks. I’m sweating; soaked. I’ve been standing here for over an hour. This is nuts. She’ll laugh at me. I just know it. I should go. No. Don’t be a coward. This isn’t life or death. It’s only a question. Only a question? Life or death? It’s a life sentence. Just leave. Don’t let her humiliate you. H...
Submitted to Contest #242
People snorting bad shit?Tommy straightened up at the accusation.“My shit? Fuck’em.”Growing up in the projects hardened one’s view of life.“It’s their choice, man. I only sell it. What they do with it . . . who gives a shit?” he said, his voice flat.“The shit you’re putting out on the street is bad. Poison.”Tommy shrugged and went back to stacking the bricks in a large canvas bag.“Yeah. Probably somebody wants a bigger cut and’s spreading bullshit,” he said without looking up.“It ain’t bullshit, Tommy. The cops are shakin’ everyone down. You...
Submitted to Contest #209
Rivulets of sweat rolled down BJ’s sides, saturating his shirt. He removed his hat, pulled the shirt up, and wiped his hairless scalp. It didn’t absorb any moisture, but the motion gave some cooling relief. Pendulous drops of perspiration cascaded from his eyebrows, stinging his eyes. He wiped his face on his sleeve.“God almighty,” he said, sucking in a deep breath and breaking open his last bottle of water. He looked at his phone. “No damn service! Where the hell am I?” Sliding the phone into his back pocket, he shaded his eyes from the gla...
Submitted to Contest #206
This story contains references to physical and sexual abuse. ###The smell of mold burned her nostrils. Dank and ominous, Nattie hated the old house and hadn’t returned since she graduated from high school, but under the suspicious circumstances of her grandparents’ simultaneous deaths, she could make it through one more night – for them.While away at church camp, her parents and brothers had tragically died in an automobile accident. Eight years old at the time, they took her in and raised her until she left for college.A doz...
A flood of flies circled the dim light above Darcy’s garage. Glick stared down the alley to the porch light at the far end, the ruts in the gravel faintly visible. The sultry darkness hung on the trees like molasses. The shadows thrown by the light didn’t bother Glick, but Darcy’s dog scared the shit out of him.The alley a dead end and no one willing to let him cut across their property, he had to walk past Darcy’s back fence to get to his house, a two-room box at the far end of the alley he shared with his mother and baby sister. At age ten...
Submitted to Contest #202
Winston Mackey folded his arms, sulking in the back corner of the elevator. He hated the hospital and tried to avoid it at all costs. Today, he ran out of excuses.The doors opened to the second floor. He focused his gaze on the glowing ninth-floor button, expecting the elevator to stop at every floor enroute, further souring his mood. A young mother with a child on her hip, pushing a stroller, entered the lift. A small boy clutched her leg. She gave Winston a quick smile.“Good morning.”His eyes slanted from the lighted button to the woman’s ...
Submitted to Contest #185
I dozed, peacefully drooling on the notes from my philosophy class when the phone began its merciless shriek. My heart stopped. Notes, pens, and phone scattered across the floor in my shocked and befuddled response.Groggy, I rifled through the refuse until the lighted face of the phone gleamed from under the bed. Grabbing it, I cursed the caller. The ID announced, “Carol.”“Who the hell is Carol and why is she calling at—” I checked the time in the upper left corner of the phone “—four p.m.?” I rubbed the grit from my eyes and checked the ID ...
Submitted to Contest #163
The question hung over the dinner table like the sword of Damocles.“You need to eat, Pop,” Cindy said, gently patting Grandpa John’s arm.He sat at the head of the table, his hands hanging by the fingers from the edge. “I’m waiting for Audrey.”“Pop—”“Leave him alone, Cin,” Dave, Cindy’s husband, interrupted, his tone cautious. He never acknowledged her glare as she tapped an index finger against her plate.Pop, his unfocused eyes looking somewhere beyond the room, beyond the house, folded his hands in his lap. “She won’t be long. She's washing...
Submitted to Contest #141
I read the review. My chin left a bruise on my sternum.I joined this online critique group, the name lost somewhere in the aging folds of my memory, only a week prior to this literary catastrophe. I don’t know why I chose this site out of the plethora out there, but I did, and this was my first story since joining. It was a good story. I knew it was good—like the second-coming-of-John-Steinbeck good.I reread the review.My pride hissed through the hole in my ego. An empty hologram, I heard the chuckles and catcalls of “You thought?” and “You ...
Submitted to Contest #138
The painful warble of air raid sirens pierced the chilling night. Anna threw the covers off and stumbled toward Oleksander’s bedroom. She dared not turn on the lights.“Olek! Olek!”“Mama?”“Gather your backpack. They’re coming.”The fourth attack this week, their routine memorized, they reached the shelter, an abandoned subway station, within minutes.Two weeks before, her husband, Faddei, had urged and pleaded with her to go with Olek to her sister in Krakow, but Anna would have nothing of it.“This is our home! I will not let them force us from...
Submitted to Contest #131
The vibrating trill of my cell phone on the nightstand chased me from the erotic dream simmering in my sleep. Pissed me off. It was just getting good. “What! This better be good.”“Seth? This is Wes. Sorry, man, but I thought you might want to hear this.”It took a moment to wake into the now. “Wes? Oh, yeah. The new guy. It’s okay. Had a great dream going and . . .”A wicked snicker struck my ear. “You need a woman.”“Yeah. Yeah. So, what’s goin’ on that you need to wake me at this ungodly hour?”“Hell, it’s ten A.M!”“It’s too ear...
Submitted to Contest #93
The place was a mess: tables overturned; broken glass; food scattered across the floor; decorations heaped in piles around the room.Marge and Fran surveyed the ballroom from the top of a wide staircase.Fran squinted until her eyes disappeared into the deep sockets below her bushy, gray brows. “I don’t even want to see what’s under those piles.”“Are we it?” Marge’s tone held a modicum of hope, despite the disdainful twist of her mouth. “I mean, we could use the help.”Fran shook her head. “In maybe an hour.” She descended three steps and stopp...
Submitted to Contest #82
How do you program attitude in a computer chip? I live amongst an array of electronics in an apartment constructed with the future in mind. I miss the “old things” I once used, but it is what it is, and I must adapt. Progress deems what is necessary and I will acquiesce; surrender; accept. However, I do have my limits. One of the futuristic amenities, the Super Toaster, a puzzle of circuits and chips, takes the simple act of making toast out of my hands, selecting a slice of bread from a loaf stored deep within its arcane bowels an...
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