Liz Gonzalez
Bio
Stories (5)
Filter by community
The Summer We Met
I rummaged through another stack of papers shoved in a corner of the room my granddad spent all his time in. Music scores, receipts, hotel confirmations, and more littered the sanctuary he created before passing. As the eldest grandson, I offered my help to my grandma to go through these things and keep only the important and necessary documents. So far, I had three solid trash bags of just pure junk. I was tempted to toss the whole stack, feeling an ache forming in my lower back. But, I continued on and told myself I would take a break after I finished this stack.
By Liz Gonzalez4 years ago in Fiction
Deepest, Darkest
The cool October morning’s air was as crisp as the leaves beneath our feet. A group of school children passed by us, giggling as they raced toward the entrance and ignored their teacher’s calls to stay with the group. I could understand their excitement. Coming to the aquarium for field trips was something I used to look forward to, desperately waiting to press my snot-filled nose and dirty hands against the cool, clear glass of the animal’s exhibits.
By Liz Gonzalez5 years ago in Fiction
The Neighbors
Every day I sit alone in the driveway of my house, staring intently at the people who pass through the alley. I never say anything to the people who pass, but I watch. My family doesn’t pay much attention to me, and they treat me like trash most of the time. They say I’m old and worthless, that they should replace me with someone newer, younger. Granted, I’ve been part of this family since they moved into this house twelve years ago. However, they still push me around and use me. I find comfort in my routine of sitting in the driveway by myself. I absorb knowledge and have come to know my neighbors very well. Just yesterday I heard the two men who live in the house behind us talking in their backyard, sharing stories and beer, as they talked about the hooligans vandalizing our neighborhood. The neighbors to our right, an old Chinese couple who lacked a strong English vocabulary and had a multitude of cats, would call their children inside at the beginning of dusk, afraid that the miscreants might bring harm to the younger children, and terrorize them. On the left, a single mother and her three kids always played basketball in the driveway. The steady rhythm of the ball hitting the ground was beautiful music, and entertained me as the children shrieked with laughter when their mother let them win. My favorite neighbor, however, was an older man in his mid-60s. He was ex-military, and always sat in his driveway too, watching for scandal and destruction to our small community. He would sit there quietly, like me, with a baseball bat nearby. I never asked if he had a family, but I never saw anyone else in his driveway.
By Liz Gonzalez5 years ago in Fiction
