Family
Reflections
This is not going to be a short story so strap in and possibly grab some popcorn if that's your thing. for me it’s a nice glass of scotch (however the bottle is very close) that is needed as writing this is going to force me to confront some very deep intrenched demons that I have spent the better part of my life trying to bury. I got the inspiration to do this after a very dear friend of mine started posting on here some of the struggles he is currently going through, and with Recent events happening in my life with someone very close to me. Her situation which is not exactly the same as what I went through, but many of the situations I have found myself in when I hit rock bottom in my life are mirrored by things she is going through at this very moment. And my lack of ability to help her has made me feel like maybe I have not done enough in my life to confront my darker chapters.
By Timothy Kelley4 years ago in Confessions
Sunlight And Driving
The light was green, yet the car did not move. Honks arose from the vehicles behind him, and the woman in the passenger seat yelled for him to “DRIVE”. The light changed to yellow, then red. He looked at his passenger with tearing eyes. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t do it” and he waved his hands frantically to the traffic behind him. Angry stares and even angrier hand gestures greeted his gaze in the mirror.
By Yess Bryce4 years ago in Confessions
We called her Gog
Gnocchi, bow-tie pasta, small lollipops, butterscotch treats and strawberry candies, are what come to mind when I think about her. A house that at the time seemed larger then life. A small toy room with outdated toys, hi-ho-a-cherrio, pick-up-stix, and a small train that was used to roll around the hallways.
By abby ashton4 years ago in Confessions
A song for Piette
There was a crystal clear moment when Piette and I realised that we were not two souls sharing the same body. The differences were readily apparent - blood poured from my eyes while tears bled from hers, my hands shook while hers gesticulated bladely, she whirled in anger with her spinning claws while I huddled on the floor trying to hold my face together. Actually, the cuts were superficial, as was her fury, and both healed relatively quickly. She hadn’t moved - the knife had sprung in to her hand from the bench.
By The Twilight Zane4 years ago in Confessions
"Well, Actually..."
My adult son is smart, ethical, and socially aware. I’m incredibly proud to have raised a human whose principles cause him to speak up, and to actively support social causes that promote peace and justice. He is extremely comfortable challenging people when their comments could be interpreted as racist, homophobic, or otherwise offensive. At least, he seems to have no trouble telling me when my words are questionable. “Well, that’s a very middle-age white woman thing to say,” he told me recently. I’m never quite certain if he is teasing me, or actually concerned about statements that I have made. I think maybe it’s a little of both. For the most part, even though he is often quick to react, I appreciate his passion and ability to challenge me to consider my own words, and behaviors.
By Allison Rice4 years ago in Confessions
Musings on being Italian
Imagine bearing a last name that should belong to a small yappy dog. Pepe: It’s cute for a Chihuahua, but not ideal for a young girl who at the start of every new class, was getting ready to slide under the desk on the first day of school as the teacher, a combination of confused and embarrassed, asked: “Is Cathy Pep—?, err, — Peep?, ah,—Pee-Pee, present?” Even now Spell Check humiliates me by suggesting: Peep, Pipe, Pope, and Peet.
By Cathy Pepe4 years ago in Confessions
The 1980 Porch
People say that memories come back more easily with scents and sounds, than any other senses. I believe that this must be true. Sugar cookies, baking bread, cigar smoke...there are so many. Sometimes as I age, I realize that I have forgotten memories that have been jogged from time to time from a sudden scent in the air or a familiar sound. I cringe when I think of what my children or grandchildren will remember once I'm gone. I hope it isn't burnt cookies or laundry detergent.
By Diana Smith4 years ago in Confessions
Marigold, Made to Last
Her strawberry blonde curls bouncing, Marigold ran into the house in a rush and scurried off to her bedroom to hide away from all the hurt this world had to offer. She flounced herself onto the bed, and buried her head into the pillow, forlorn, her face filling with tears so quickly that she couldn't even see her surroundings. Maybe it was better that way - the bullies outside her house window didn't deserve her attention, but they made her cry everyday, anyways. But if she couldn't see him - that terrible kid Johnny Gaines, with the blonde curly half afro, the flashy smile, his populace of a following and bullying behavior towards his peers - that's what made his looks and charm not matter, on the reflection of the merit of his heart and character towards others - let alone experiencing it first hand at school.
By Kris Loritsch4 years ago in Confessions
