Fiction
Assumptions - The Beginning -Chapter Two. Content Warning.
Start at the beginning using the following link ____________________________________ Standing here tossing a football with Brady brought back lots of memories. It was here, seven years ago when we were just five years old, that I secretly proclaimed my love for him.
By Izzibella Beau2 years ago in Chapters
The Heart of Maple Lane
In the quaint town of Willow Creek, tucked away from the bustle of modern life, stood an old Victorian house on Maple Lane. It had been home to the Robinson family for as long as anyone could remember. With its weathered white paint, sprawling front porch, and tall, elegant windows, the house held an air of timelessness, echoing the laughter and memories of generations gone by.
By Tantri Yuana2 years ago in Chapters
Love will Never Be Destroyed In An Explosion
In the bustling city of Gaza, where life is always a mixture of resilience and hope, lived two young lovers, Yasmin and Ahmad. They had known each other since childhood, growing up in the same neighborhood, their lives intertwined by the narrow, crowded streets and the constant backdrop of uncertainty.
By Umi Laelatil Choeriyah2 years ago in Chapters
Old Enough
As you know I am all about adventure, new places, faces and a lover of secrets; meeting Pearl's niece Clara has been so far the best part of summer, maybe even my life. We did exactly as Pearl said, "Ya'll go play", which is a grown ups code for skedaddle. Skedaddling we did. I had never seen a girl my age with eyes so dark it was hard to tell where the dot in the middle was; Clara had eight braids in her long, shiny black hair with many colourful beads and ribbons to make her easy to find when she ran off ahead of me. First thing she did was laugh at me when I kicked off my shoes, "You're gonna be all cut up with them little pink feet down here!" I wondered what down here meant as I tried to keep up with my newly introduced playmate. I ran back to the porch and put my sneakers back on, unsure what might be cutting me up. "You're the first white girl Aunt Pearl brought home; probably the first white girl in this whole part of town except for bad news kind." I slowed down as I had a side ache from running, sweat was pouring down my red, freckled face, I asked Clara what "bad news" white girls was. She said, "they ain't girls like you, grownups I mean, always poking 'round seeing if we are living right." Hmm. "What is living right?" I guess I was poking 'round, too. As we stepped over broken glass, trash and passed some men drinking on the curb out of bottles in paper bags I thought of Hank the hobo, train jumpers and wondered if they was living right. Probably not. I sorted this conclusion in my mind as if they were living clean then I would likely not be told not to hang around the train tracks. Clara continued, "white women come and look around to see if we are living clean in our houses, if we are we get to stay, if we aren't they give us some situations that need to be fixed or they might for example take a girl like me and put me in a foster home." Of course I asked what a foster home was. Clara said it was a place for kids who didn't have anybody home takin' good care of them. I started to get scared; why did Paw-Paw send me off with Pearl? Were we not living clean? Was he really giving me away to Pearl until some white woman came to fetch me here? I started to cry. "What's wrong with you May? Why you crying like a baby right here on the street?" I looked into her mysterious, spacious eyes, filled with years of memories I didn't have or know and wondered if my heart was too soft like my pink feet. "Aww, now stop, stop right now, hear me May?" I had a mind to run as fast as I could back to the house but then the most amazing thing ever happened. "What you need is a blood-brother, in our case, a blood-sister; let's fix this problem now so when you feel sad some of me will rub off into your head and toughen you up. C'mon!" Clara ran toward the backyard where we'd started our day together and then motioned for me to go into some shady spot under some scrawny trees. "Sit down; I'll get what we need. I squatted in the poky weeds, grateful to be off the boiling hot street. I followed Clara's eyes as she plucked little twigs then cast them away as if they weren't good enough, then I heard an "ah-ha!". "Gimme your wrist." of course I asked which one, "don't matter", so I held out my left wrist while she explained that our ritual was going to hurt just a little but would keep us safe from foster homes. She first ran a sharp stick across her chestnut coloured inner wrist and bits of blood appeared. "You can can do your own or I can do it for you"; I opted for Clara to do it as it was her idea. "Wait!" she barked, "Are you a bleeder? Cause I don't want you to die!" Now I felt more fright than curiosity, am I a bleeder? I shook my head no as I really didn't want to go to a foster home. Dying seemed like a slim chance considering I had skinned my knees, elbows and had sure had my share of childhood damage thus far and survived. "Okay, here we go May. No turnin' back." Clara ran the stick harshly across my pale, inner wrist and blood trickled out; she then took my wrist and pressed it into hers, our blood mixing together so we could be each others protectors and sisters for life. She gave me a big magnolia leaf and told me to wipe my wrist. As we walked toward the house Pearl came to the side door smiling. "Tea for two?" ~
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)2 years ago in Chapters
Old Enough. Top Story - May 2024.
I get up early cause I know Pearl will make biscuits, eggs, and crisp bacon and let me lick the warm salty lard with my fingers from the skillet once it cools off. I watch her go "mmmm, mmmm" and squeeze her lips into a smile. She starts the percolator for Paw-Paw, pours me a big glass of ice cold milk and stands over me saying, "drink it down." Pearl always makes hard things seem easy, not so good days feel okay and I wish she were my Momma. We don't look the same but if she asked me to be her child I'd be the luckiest girl alive. She pulls my fingers out of my mouth, " you get worms now, hear me?" I most definitely don't want worms so I am really trying to stop chewing my nails. Pearl's nails are always clean, trimmed, with a clear, shiny gloss. Her lips are full, ripe, like a fresh dark purple plum. She has fine teeth, big hazel eyes and wears tiny gold studs in each earlobe. I want earrings, but the thought of a needle being pushed though my ear doesn't sound like it's worth the trouble, at least right now. I would like some tap shoes though. Pearl laughs when I tell her about my dancing dreams. She says I have happy feet cause I am wiggling my toes all the time. When Paw-Paw goes out on the porch to smoke his pipe I always show him my latest moves. After breakfast, Pearl starts washing our sheets and says there is a dust bunny under my bed. I don't want to look. I scare myself enough just looking at hobos. Anyway, back to the railroad. Just can't help myself. I don't curse, smoke, steal or commit sins that I know of, but I can tell you right here and right now, hobos teach and preach more than any one body needs. I confess I became on friendly terms with a man named Hank. He'd wave and say, " Hey, May! Keep smilin' kiddo!" and he'd sometimes be laying in the shade right calm when I snuck up to see him. He always looked sad just before he caught sight of me. Soon as my big trap started jabbering he'd change like a chameleon. That is, he'd try to make life seem so fine. I new he was hungry. I started taking biscuits on the days I figured he'd be around and he was always obliged. Just like the song, Mr. Bojangles, I began to show off my dancing moves to cheer ole Hank up. How is it we just know someone isn't happy? He laughed and smiled; in my mind he had a harmonica or some groovy steps he'd show me, but he never did. When the rest of the jumpers, as he referred to his fellow train hopping hobos as, came around he'd shoo me off. He told me in a kind, yet tough way to go on home. Where Hank went I never knew; in my heart I liked to hold it was somewhere much better than the hard ass dirt he slept on, full of God only knows what, and lonesome nights with an empty belly and mosquitos. Back home, I'm hosed down. Pearl gives me a hard stare; I am guessing she is guessing where the heck I've been. I am full of cockleburs, red from the sun. She leaves Paw-Paw and me my favourite, whipped cream and orange jello. I always hug her when she heads back to the place she calls home; I will make sure that this summer I follow Pearl like a cat stalks, curious that is, not aiming to find trouble. Late, when Paw-Paw is loving his heap of second helpings from supper, I ease out from my bedroom and stand right in front of the late night news. Paw-Paw's old Grandpa eyes widen and I start dancing; I pretend to tap dance and point my toes toward the ceiling fan, clap my hands and fall onto the thick, Persian patterned carpet. Paw-Paw laughs with his belly bouncing. I guess for now, summer is getting off to a good start. I slink down the long hallway and slither into bed. I wonder where Hank is now; Memphis, Baton Rouge, New Orleans? By now, hobos, I mean, jumpers, could be anywhere. I say out loud as if I am praying, "Goodnight jumper Hank; goodnight Pearl". I wiggle my toes one more time, roll over toward the moon shining through my window and smile.
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)2 years ago in Chapters
Old Enough
Should read PART III of YA series ~"Old Enough; Surviving Summer~ From under the white, formican kitchen table I watch Pearl's feet as she moves about the room. She has on white shoes, the kind that are for old feet or nurses, with knee high nylon hose. Her dark skin peeks out and says, " let me out!". It's too hot for anything, I don't have on socks and I would certainly not want to be in nylon knee highs. Her ankles are swollen; her legs look real strong though. Her yellow and white plaid dress buttons from the bottom up and her arms, although I can't see them from here, are busy as her hands as she whistles and slaps a big mound of dough. I watch flour dust fall to the floor like a fall morning's frost. I slither slowly toward Pearl's feet and grab onto her left leg and squeeze real tight. She just acts like I'm not here and says, " Hmmm. I smell a snake." I hiss and coil up, then unwind and slide back under the table. Pearl rolls an apple across the floor and it arrives to my den powdered in flour. " I hope snake has brushed it's teeth this morning." Snake bites into the apple with a mean grip and inches down the long hallway to the bathroom.
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)2 years ago in Chapters
Old Enough. Top Story - June 2024.
Truth has so many lessons, so many meanings and the lord knows it's a debatable subject when sitting around the supper table. I always make sure I look busy eating; nobody knows what I see in a day. Truth is, I ran straight to the railroad tracks after breakfast this morning, cut through tall, dry, grass where clumps of broken beer bottles and cans swell up on unkempt lots, where people have dumped ole fridge-a-dares, washing machines and just about anything they don't want. I was told never to do such a thing, that is, go to the railroad tracks. By being obedient in other ways, on time for meals, helping carry groceries, running the vacuum cleaner down the long hallway to Paw-Paw's room, well, I earned that big, little, title of "Trust-worthy." Truth is I am trust worthy when it comes down to it; if I hear someone passing hearsay around about Paw-Paw, I correct them or I run home and tell him. So, at the railroad tracks I saw a man drunk at 8.30 in the morning today, a little boy crying with his Mom dragging him behind her with no shoes and some good tires to make swings out of; I have a swing made from wood, but somebody could make a swing if they wanted to. The drunk man looked familiar. I stared at him until he growled; I jumped backwards behind a poison ivy covered oak tree and well, that would draw some attention to me later on, but it shook off that ole smelly hobo for a bit. I am eight and smart but my teacher told Paw-Paw I talk too much; I am fascinated by hobo's. I think about hopping on the back of a real caboose, hanging on like I do at the schoolyard's merry-go-round, screaming my fool head off. I want to see what's out there beyond the sycamore and brow beating summer heat. Paw-Paw loves Jimmy Dean sausage; this afternoon I saw a trailer bed with Jimmy Dean written fancy across it; I almost blew it and told Paw-Paw. That's how much I talk. Learning to be quiet at the supper table is my goal for the summer. Pearl, Paw-Paw's help, sets the table for us and he always tells her to take a plate home for herself. She's pretty with chocolate milk coloured skin that is as smooth as a satin pillow case. When here, she wears her hair pulled back in a small coal bun right at the nape of her neck with a net over it. A little charcoal bun in a net. My hair flies all over the place until the day before school starts up. That's when Pearl takes me into town and has it cut into a pixie with bangs. I don't look forward to that day. For now, summer is endless, miles from here, full of nothing to do day's. Before supper, Pearl always checks me for ticks and hoses me down so I don't track mud in. She is playful with me. I love her; I wonder if Paw-Paw loves her, too. It's lonely sometimes with just me and Paw-Paw; his grand-paw eyes grow heavy after supper and he falls asleep right quick, sprawled out on the gold, plush sofa he snores away and I sneak around the house looking for treasures. I am a tom-cat, meow! I am a spy for "Get Smart" and use radar. Suddenly, I drop down on the floor crawling, I am a hostage escaping through secret tunnels under Paw-Paw's bed; I am a pilot steering my jet over the endless tree tops, beyond the drunken hobo's and rusty, iron train tracks. Whoooa! I can see Pearl shucking corn and singing, I go higher and higher above the midnight street lamps, the moon is full of cheese, smiling by my side; I am soaring until I plop from my parachute into my marshmallow bed where I lay until dawn dreaming.
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)2 years ago in Chapters
Emily
The alarm rang much to early. She wished to stay under her warm blankets but she knew this was her only chance. She silenced it quickly, rolled out of bed and pulled on her boots. Her legs were stiff from sleeping in her jeans. She eased them into movement as she snuck across the house. From the chair she grabbed her bag and in its place she set the letter. As she slipped out the front door her wild mane of long auburn hair bounced behind her. She second guessed the decision to leave like this but she knew conversion would never get anywhere. Her long powerful legs crossed the rocky path effortlessly. In a blink she stood before the barn. Her equine friend barely noted her presences, the saddle, the bridle, but he shifted at her nerves. Soon she stood at the open field, working up to a striding trot she needed some distance before sunrise. The rhythmic bounce of the horse would probably jostle the thoughts of most but she had always found the rhythm like a metronome, it keeps her thoughts in balance and steady. Her breathing aligned and the smell of horse flooded her nostrils. Her athletic arms rested with a loose reign. Everyone in town had noticed she was different despite the effort to blend, to be "normal" but they talked when she walked by. She had learned to ride very quickly because out here she didn't have to hide. Her heart was wild, untamed, and that flame glowed like hot embers in her green eyes. Her hands and feet burned with idleness. Over the last few weeks she had collected all the information she could. Every rumor and every whisper she had heard pointed North, to the mountains. Somewhere within the snow peaks lay clues to where she was from, why she was here, and more importantly what she was. She was finally far enough that she knew no one would follow and no one would know. She let her sweater slide off her arms. She felt the stretch and ache that came with the lack of motion as her wings unfolded from her back, tilting in and out of the wind. Extending out past her open arms the feathers ruffled in the first beaming raise of sun. Freedom in all its majesty.
By Maili Paul2 years ago in Chapters
What if the earth spun 10 times faster?
Crazy right !?????? Imagine suddenly catapulted into a world where days fly by faster than Instagram stories after a concert of cute kittens! Where the sun seems to be playing hide-and-seek with the moon as if they were in the middle of an Olympic marathon. Welcome to this turbo edition of "What if the earth spun 10 times faster?" Fasten your seatbelts (or whatever you can find fast) for a cosmic ride where even snails become Formula 1 drivers.
By ECO-EXPLORERS2 years ago in Chapters
