Amy Brown

Joined August 2020

2 stories

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Stories (2)

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The Front Door
She leans in a forgotten place. Perhaps, my Mothers garage. Covered in a decade worth of dust kicked up from passers by — who can't remember how important she once was. I imagine she feels she is hibernating. Using her winter to recall the sound of tiny feet hitting wooden steps. Of hands against her frame. And of raindrops and sunlight.
By Amy Brown5 years ago in Families
BOTTLE CAPS
It all seemed oddly familiar. The bells chiming as she pushed open the door. The smell of bacon grease and brewing coffee. Even the static hum of Johnny Cash singing "Ring of Fire" wafting from the jukebox record player. "Booth 13, please" Hazel requested, as if she were a regular at the Sunrise Diner. She slid into her seat, and the 24/7 neon sign bathed her legs in a blinking rainbow glow.
By Amy Brown5 years ago in Families