Scott Bradbrook
Bio
Hi! My name is Scott and I'm an author, editor and copywriter. When I'm not adding to my never-ending TBR pile, I'm either salsa dancing, forgetting a great story idea, or writing my next book. I hope you like my short stories and poems! :)
Stories (30/0)
Bram and the Baker
Tired from his long flight in the rain, Bram comes to rest on a window box. Raindrops sit along his back, slowly falling as walked carefully through to the window. Peering inside through a patch of zinnia, he spots a young woman mixing ingredients in a large red bowl. Hesitantly, he moves closer, shaking the droplets from his feathers.
By Scott Bradbrook2 years ago in Fiction
Wish I Had A River
The scent of vanilla and cinnamon dance through the air. Jodi rests a plate of freshly made snickerdoodle cookies on the table, turning to the pile of metal rods covered in plastic pine leaves, some more than others. The tree box is still holding together despite the tattered ends, crumpled ears, and slight water damage from nine Christmases in the house. Jodi queues a festive playlist on her speaker and props up the centre spine: a metal pole reaching five feet above the ground. Bells jingle and the merriment begins. Filled with Christmas spirit, she begins transforming the skeleton into a beacon of holiday cheer.
By Scott Bradbrook2 years ago in Fiction
Ahead of Her Time
“Have you seen my charger?” Marta yells, sending clothes flying from her dresser to the open suitcase on the floor. “I’ll get it,” Bruce replies from the kitchen. Walking down the hallway, he spots his roommate zooming through her bedroom in a flurry of panic. “What’s the suitcase for?”
By Scott Bradbrook2 years ago in Fiction
The Cerulean Petal
The sunrise blushes the sky honey-yellow, casting long shadows across the identical houses of Fifth street. A young woman in an emerald-green swing dress and short, oak-brown gloves walks through the gate of house number 22. With her white heels clicking on the stone pathway to the door, she straightens her hat and observes the neighbouring houses. To the left and the right, all through the street, the houses had matching roofs, windows, and garden hedges. After knocking thrice, a small boy appears from behind the door.
By Scott Bradbrook2 years ago in Fiction
Beside the Bride
Have you ever wondered what the underside of a table looks like? Not a cheap folding table that folds out every Christmas for your cousin’s four kids and your younger brother who couldn’t fit at the adult table. I’m talking about the underside of a real table. A table with four triangles of wood connecting the legs to the top. One with thick support beams crisscrossing between the corners that didn’t get the glossy finish of the topside, each roughly sanded with sharp points sticking out here and there. A pinch of pain serges through my pointer finger. Great! Because who doesn’t love a splinter.
By Scott Bradbrook2 years ago in Fiction
A Christmas Letter From Yesteryear
Hugging a bowl of popcorn to his chest on the couch, Toby blankly stares at the TV as the Grinch returns to his lair on Mount Crumpit. It’s 9:02 pm and the heat is palpable. Reheated pizza slowly makes its way through his stomach, gurgling every so often.
By Scott Bradbrook2 years ago in Fiction