Rhema Sayers
Stories (3)
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Emily
Emily My Dad had pretty much stayed drunk constantly since Mom left a year ago. He was an okay drunk - he was never mean or abusive. Mostly he'd sit at the table, staring at nothing, a bottle at his elbow. Sometimes he'd cry, but not too often. Sometimes he'd paint - for hours, even days, until he fell over from exhaustion and I'd get him to bed. So when Keeson dragged me home by my ear, I really didn't think I'd get in much trouble. But when we got there, Dad was not only upset, he was sober. And he was packing. I sighed, knowing what was coming.
By Rhema Sayers4 years ago in Families
Homer, a Sparrow
Homer, A Sparrow She was asleep, warm and safe, dimly aware of the wind howling and the nest moving. The drumming of her mother's heartbeat and the warmth of her body soothed the little one, snuggled in her mother's feathers. She had no feathers of her own yet. One of her brothers squirmed a bit. The storm was far away from her protected world of feathers and nest.
By Rhema Sayers4 years ago in Families
Under a Purple Sky
Four pall bearers carried a small casket with a green and white flag draped over it. Two appeared to be men. Of the other two, one floated beside the coffin, small and delicate in appearance. The other towered over the men, one huge hand under the casket, bearing most of the weight. Many others stood at attention beside the grave.
By Rhema Sayers5 years ago in Futurism
