Latest Stories

Most recently published stories in Families.

Sorry Mother But I Can’t Love You
These two were probably us, I’m sure about this. Back then, when I didn't have any idea of what are you trying to raise me into.
By Giorgos Pantsios5 years ago in Families
Brilliant Boy. Top Story - March 2021.
It was a rainy evening as Ellen wiped down the counter of her empty dumpling shop, thirty minutes before closing. Another slow night. Her son lay on his stomach behind the counter, drawing, where he always was during his mother’s evening shifts.
By Sara Rose5 years ago in Families
Questions
Why should I care if she’s dead? Why would I want her money? She never did anything for me. She never cared about me. She never wanted me. She wouldn’t even tell me who my father was, or where he was from. So why would I want anything that came from her? I have worked hard to leave her behind me. I have worked hard to make a life for myself without her help. I worked hard in school, and I worked hard to set up a successful career for myself. All she ever did for me was carry me in her womb and give birth to me. She never raised me; multiple nannies did that for her. She shipped me off to the best and furthest boarding school she could find the moment I was old enough to go. Yes, it was expensive, but it wasn’t like money was tight. She lived her life as part of high society and wouldn’t even introduce me as her daughter. I wouldn’t be surprised if her social circle even know I existed. We had more money than we could spend, but still, she spent more time working than she did with me. I hardly ever saw my mother; she was too busy working or hanging out with her high society friends to spend any time with me.
By Heather Woods5 years ago in Families
Me And My Grandma
My grandma, or Nana as I lovingly called her, was a wonderful person who I miss terribly and think about every day. It wasn't just that she always had a cup of hot cocoa and an after-dinner mint waiting for me at her little kitchen table for two, covered with a lace tablecloth that she got as a wedding present so many years ago, there were other little things that she did too after I finished my paper route on a cold, blustery winter's evening when all I wanted was to snuggle-up in the afghan that she made especially for me. When I couldn't feel my hands and feet with my nose turning white - a sure sign of frostbite, my nana would always rub my feet with her arthritic hands, kiss my nose, and tuck both of my hands in her apron, still covered with flour from the homemade bread she made just for me, until I was able to feel my hands enough to pick up my cocoa. "Feel better, honey?" she would always say. "You know your nana loves you and she always will. "I love you too, nana, and someday I want to do something special for you."
By Jim Vize5 years ago in Families
The Little Black Book
I know you won’t remember me when you read this but know that I have been with you for your whole life. I wish every day that you would remember me but I suppose it’s okay since I don’t remember you either. In fact, I would not believe that you are real if Dr. Athan did not provide me with undeniable proof of your existence.
By Maeya Lily5 years ago in Families
The Fall
The Underwood castle has years of folklore behind it. People believed that the castle was home to families of mermaids or a town of miniature trolls. Children often claimed to see a mermaid or merman swim in the water under the entrance gate, or a troll ringing the large bronze bells from the tower or singing in the garden, but these occurrences aren't the focus of this tale. The only thing behind the castle walls of importance for the purposes of this story are the Royal Underwood family, composed of Tristan and Marvous and their eight children; Marvous Jr, Herald, Everly, Josephine, Allurius, Jacqueline, Loch and Whyte, ranging from ages seven to twenty-one years old, all magickal and looking for adventure and excitement in their lives.
By Erin-Anne5 years ago in Families
Infinite
Infinite His hands moved with practiced ease; an ease that was depicted through every crack in the skin of his hands, and by all the calluses that had built up on his fingertips. His hair was a silver sea of threads, much finer than the threads he used every day, as he sat at his seasoned workbench and stool. Aria was still a small child at the agile age of seven, but she looked at her father thoughtfully as she watched his steady hands move, as though they’d always known the steps to binding a book, as if he’d been born doing it. She studied the defined lines pinching his eyebrows and squinting his eyes, a look that some might interpret as angry, but Aria only knew as focused. He finished his stitch and looked down at his patiently watching Aria, bringing a soft smile to his tired face. “I’m glad you watch so intently Aria, one day you’ll be able to do this, and this bookstore will be yours' ', he gave her face a soft caress before once more returning to his work.
By Katielyn Mason 5 years ago in Families
Odysseus in the Underworld
Odie’s phone balked at the incoming call with such vehemence it died. She had not recognized the number. She yelled at the empty living room, “How could I forget a charger?”
By Blake Montgomery5 years ago in Families
Return to Langley Park
Part 1 He thumbed the pages, taking great care to not crease or tear them. The yellowing parchment felt crisp and alert in his hands. So focussed on what he had been handed, Peter hadn't noticed his knee shuddering, or his sharp, shallow breath. Coming to rest on a section of scrawled, hurried writing, his right hand swept across his temple, the nails leaving pressured imprints on his forehead, quickly disappearing into his heavily furrowed brow. Inky fingertips stained from the article he had been printing moments before Master Bennington appeared in his doorway and summoned him to hear the will being read. The letters spiked and slashed across each page, purposeful, barely legible, but he had made out his name. And the wishes of the recently deceased bestowed upon him.
By Amelia W5 years ago in Families
The Tome of their Times
It’s very early in the morning as the youthful pimpled face teen, enters the great chamber adorned with old tapestry’s along one side of it’s tall walls, telling tales of conquest, ventures won and lost in times gone by. Paul was told earlier, as he was given new clothes to put on, that this would be the most important day of his life. But his feet hurt, as he walked toward the long ornate desk at the far end of the chamber. 100 feet across at least, he thought and he was feeling small listening to the echoes his new shoes made upon the polished stone floor as he grew closer. There sat the old woman he spied earlier watching him and the others When he arrived. He knew, none of them but was told, all were his cousins. Now, after two weeks of what were clearly trials of their character and integrity. He would meet his host. She sat silently watching his approach. She is very observant, he thought. He waited for her to speak.
By Dayna Ferguson5 years ago in Families
Sometimes All That Glitters IS Gold
“What. Is. That?” Jenny leaned in for a better look, pulling her hair back to avoid getting it in the plate of fries in front of her.
By MPMace5 years ago in Families
Starting Over
Today was the day. The final day to lay everything out before hearing the final ruling on the rest of my life. I laid in my bed trying to imagine how I would feel by the time I laid in this bed this evening. I sat up and told myself it was time to get up, and it was time to get moving with my day. I could hear my family moving about, getting ready for their day in the other rooms of the house. I could do this, I could fight this fight and come out successful. As I stood I looked at my notebook on my nightstand. I touched it as if the connection of my fingertips to the cover would download all of its contents on my memory as the backup drive when in fact it was the opposite. I executed my morning routine on autopilot as my mind drifted to all that the day would hold for me.
By Carey 5 years ago in Families