Christopher Russell
Bio
Creative writing student.
Stories (3)
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An Unlikely Pair
I grew up like any other domestic cat. I was served fresh water, food, and all the affection for which any animal on earth would beg. Mrs. Moore, an elderly woman who was in desperate need of a companion after the death of her husband, adopted me, and for seven years I lived under her protection. Six months ago, however, she suffered a stroke and with her death, I lost the only family I had. I was the only one there for her, too; she was dead for two days before her only son bothered to visit. After her funeral, it seemed the son was more concerned with his mother’s belongings than with the physical loss of her. It didn’t take long for him to settle in the house, selling everything valuable and abandoning the rest. The custom picture that hung on the living room wall and featured me and Mrs. Moore curled up jointly on the couch was my sole reminder of her, and when her son threw out the painting and replaced it with an ornamental antique shotgun and several hunting pictures, my lifelong home seemed alien and uncomfortable.
By Christopher Russell4 years ago in Fiction
The Mourning Dove
The mourning dove is one of the most abundant and widespread of all North American birds. But for Katy, the teenage daughter of the Richmond family, when she opened the front door to begin her morning walk to school, the sight of a whole flock of them perched on the neighboring fence sent a creeping chill down her spine. Katy was the middle of five siblings and by far the most superstitious; she indulged herself in finding symbolism in the mundane, meaning in what everyone else would consider meaningless. So, when the soft, brown-bodied doves flew onto the Richmond family’s lawn and began feeding, Katy overlooked the fact that ground feeding is entirely normal for this breed of birds, and instead took their name as a symbol for sorrow, and their presence on her property as a sign that her family would be the victims of fate’s cruelty. She glared at the birds for several seconds before starting off to school, and as she walked, she wondered why the birds didn’t land on the neighbor’s lawn instead.
By Christopher Russell4 years ago in Fiction
Our Last Reunion Together
Like all reunions, it started with a car ride. You were fifteen, I was eight, and too focused on the Star Wars movies playing on the portable car TV to have any clue where we were going, or to care. We watched the same movies every car trip. You always complained that we needed variety, that I always got to pick just because I was younger. But you didn’t complain that time. Maybe you’d discovered the wonders of our family’s new MP3 players that held thousands of songs, or maybe you somehow knew our time together was limited. Me, all I cared about was Anakin Skywalker.
By Christopher Russell4 years ago in Fiction
