Latest Stories

Most recently published stories in Families.

Words on a death bed
I pull into my driveway, tears silently keeping their tracks fresh down my cheeks. I put the car in park, realizing I don't remember the drive home.
By Jane MI5 years ago in Families
Pen & Book
Pen & Book The window was open. Fresh air blew through the house and brought a welcome sense of nature to the stuffy old dump even though there was a distinct chill in the air. Penelope finished her cup of cocoa and sat back, taking in the withered face of her great aunt. She sat on the other side of the table sipping her tea and looking appraisingly down her nose at Penelope.
By Peter Kelsey5 years ago in Families
Cheers
Mom and “Dick” finally went to bed. Bobbie and I were relived. She hated to see us bonding so we spent a lot of time apart so as not to raise her suspicion of an alliance. She was right to be suspicious because there was definitely an alliance. We were just more adept at hiding our conspiring. I exited my room and turned on the hall light. It was all the glow I needed to carry out the mission. I pressed my back up against the wall and stood in 2nd position. Toes pointed out at my sides carefully avoiding the floor creeks. Expertly navigating the floor I had been treading across for all of my 14 years. I reached my hand into Bobby’s bedroom. He slipped a cool cylinder into my hand. I placed it into my hoodie pouch I reached in again for the second can. Pepsi. Bobby’s job was to procure Dick’s precious Pepsi. He completed the mission. Now it was my turn. Slowly and carefully I slid my feet along the wall. Nary a squeak could be heard. Success! The next hurdle stood before me. I had to make a silent catlike leap from where I stood in living room to the kitchen. This bit of floor was the most compromised. It was filled with noisy floor boards. No matter where you would step the floor would groan. These weren’t the squeaks of a typical loose floor board. The sounds that emanated from this portion of floor were deep, low and long. Something akin to the floor board sounds they amplify in horror films for added suspense. This was real life for me. The suspense was thick in the air. If my foot touched the floor even a half inch too soon the house would groan right above my mothers sleeping head. I couldn’t risk rousing her. I had to make the leap. No more hesitation. I propelled myself forward. Perfect landing. I would have scored a 10 if anyone was there to see it. I pulled the pilfered cans from my pocket and placed them on the counter. I used my sleeve to muffle the sound of me opening the cans. Slowly i released the tab. The sound of air escaping the can as quite as it was sounded like a foghorn as it sliced through the silence of the kitchen. I brought the can to my lips and chugged. Once I was a quarter of the was finished I opened the other can with the same precision and chugged that one a quarter of the way as well. I felt an enormous belch developing in my stomach. The desire to let it out and wake the whole house was overwhelming. I smirked at myself and stifled it down. I must complete the mission. I hoisted myself up on the counter in expert fashion. I gripped the top of the fridge to steady myself. Standing on the counter I had to lean over the fridge. I gently pushed the decorative pitcher blocking the cupboard doors. I was careful not to push it too far and break it blowing my cover in the process. With a delicate tug I opened the cupboard door. Almost there. I’m fairly sure I heard the sounds of 100 angels singing as a divine light shone down on the prize, whisky. Quickly in swiped the whisky, contorted my body in some unnamed yoga pose and topped off our Pepsi’s. Back in the cupboard the whisky went. I didn’t worry about topping it off. Mom would blame Dick and Dick would blame mom and neither would mention it because they both held value in hiding their perspective drinking problems. This neurosis proved beneficial to Bobby and I time and again. The journey back to the bedrooms was even more delicate than the way to the kitchen. Performing ninja moves while holding not one but two open intoxicants would be a test of my skills. I took a big gulp off the top of each to help prevent spills. I felt the warmth of the whisky coat my throat. The taste was terrible but I liked the feeling. Liquid courage. One giant leap and I was in the hall again. I followed my footsteps from before and made my way into Bobby’s room. Rather than stepping onto the floor I climbed up the side of the bed. We sat side by side against the wall. I passed him his drink. We clinked cans and and swallowed the brown liquid down. He pressed play on the vcr and Pink Floyd came on.
By AJ Brown5 years ago in Families
The Orchid
You’re nineteen the day you receive a check in the mail—your coffee black as ink, your cat fat and curled in your lap like soft serve. Lips closed around a steel mug, you gurgle and spit as you process the check, the familiar loop of the G’s, the unmistakable I’s dotted with stars. It’s from Aunt Marie, along with a periwinkle sticky note: "I’d rather see you enjoy this while I’m alive then leave it for you later." Aunt Marie, who recently underwent a double mastectomy for her stage two breast cancer, is your very own godmother. The number on the check reads twenty thousand dollars and your cat sleeps through your warm trickle of rain, the clouds in your eyes. That night, you dream of twenty thousand knickknacks from the Dollar Tree and of actually buying a house. In the morning, you can’t choose what to do and so you wait.
By E.J. Schwartz5 years ago in Families
Mr Padden
The smell hit you as soon as you entered the door of Number 12, Adelaide Road. The scent could be confused by some, for the staleness created by a house sitting unoccupied for a quarter of a year, but James instantly recognised it as the unique smell of Mr Padden.
By Jon Vontolken5 years ago in Families
Aunt Camille
Catherine had always been close to her Aunt Camille. Despite their 25-year age difference, their relationship was more than a family one, they were the best of friends. Now with one phone call it was all over. Her aunt had passed away.
By Francine Verronneau5 years ago in Families
Criss, cross, applesauce
I stood in the warm yellow kitchen wearing my Cinderella nightgown, looking at the harvest gold refrigerator in front of me. The door was ajar. My skin was covered in goosebumps. It was cool in front of the fridge in just my jammies but the anticipation strumming at my anxiety was the real culprit. Bobby was hunched down rifling through the shelves. “Got it!” He exclaimed and hid his hands behind his back concealing whatever it was that he “got”. “Eyes closed!” He demanded. I squeezed my eyes tight. “Ready?” He asked. He was standing behind me then. I nodded my blond head vigorously. “Kriss cross” he made and X across my back with his finger. “Remember if you shiver I get to punch you.” He said this with the authority only an older sibling can muster. He just wanted permission to punch me. “Just do it Bobby!” I whined impatiently. I was testing my resolve. I wanted to be tougher than him. Though I was only seven I refused to shiver. This was basically a battle of dominance and I would prevail. “Applesauce” he continued trailing his fingers gently down my back. It definitely tickled but I would not break. I sucked in a breath fully aware of what was next. “Spiders crawling up your back” he said while tickling my back in an upward direction. This was torture. He knew my weakness. Spiders were the worst. He intentionally took longer with this step. I wouldn’t let him have this win. I couldn’t. “Cool breeze” he blew on my neck. I felt the hairs on my neck stand on end but I wouldn’t break. “Tight squeeze” he squeezed my sides and I almost doubled over. It tickled so much! One final step. It was an easy one. “Crack and egg on your head” he was laughing as he said it. Then he hit the top of my head. Suddenly there was something dripping down. I put my hands to my head. It was slimy. He cracked a real egg on my head! I busted out laughing and Bobbie did the same. The egg slipped off of my head and landed on the kitchen floor with a splat. I laughed harder. Moms clean floor was covered in raw egg. I was covered in raw egg. It was absurd and hilarious. Bobby punched me in the arm. “You lose!” It really smarted but I just laughed harder. Mom came into the room. There shouldn’t be that much laughter. Her spidery senses must have been alerted to our joy. There should be no joy in the house...according to mom. “What the fuck are you doing?!?” She shrieked. Somehow her screaming became the funniest thing of all. Bobby and I laughed harder unable to answer. Joanie!?! What the fuck is all over you.!?!? I looked at her stupidly egg literally on my face. “Egg.” I replied and laughed some more. Mom started smacking us then indiscriminately. I don’t know who got it first or worst. I didn’t care because getting slapped was funny too because mom had egg on her from Hitting me. I bobbed and weaved, she slapped and we laughed. I may have gotten and egg cracked on my head and punched in the arm but I still won that day.
By AJ Brown5 years ago in Families
Fate or Fight
They were all gone. Her parents, her little brother, and everyone else had been taken and she had been left. Out of 245 passengers plus the crew, she was the only one who had survived the plane crash. It seemed incredible, impossible, or—simply—fate. Merlin believed in fate, but was it fate that she should survive the crash into the ocean, only to die on a deserted island? Could that possibly be fate, or merely cruel circumstance?
By roger Crane5 years ago in Families
Lost and Found
I’m tired of mysteries, of feeling like I am all alone in this world. It’s cold in Pennsylvania. The wind blows, sending sleet across the dark blue sky. I desperately huddle by the fire to warm my bones. I hear my aunt plagued with consumption. My home and everything I know shall soon be lost. We can not afford a lot of food and our funds are diminishing. I fear I have become the greatest burden in her life. My schooling seemed wasted on me, the numbers all look strange upon the blackboard and I can not make any sense of them. The kindness she exhibits can not be repaid.
By Melody Golden5 years ago in Families
Ticker and Sticks
“I’ve come into some money,” my mother said. She carried on slicing onions on the kitchen counter without looking up at me.
By Andrew Lane5 years ago in Families
Book of Memories
The wind whipped harshly around her, forcing her long red hair to become a messy tangle. With a huff of annoyance, Victoria Duncan shoved her locks behind her shoulder. She had been standing outside the brick building for five minutes. While she willed her feet forward, they refused to move. It had only been a few days ago when the mysterious lawyer had contacted her. He had a deep voice, with a thick midwestern accent. He introduced himself as Mr. Bryan Darby. He asked her to come to his office in Atchison, nearly an hour away from her home town of Lawrence, Kansas. He refused to give her many details over the phone, simply saying she was not in any kind of legal trouble. At that she had given a sigh of relief. Victoria had lived her entire life being as angelic as possible. Any kind of strife caused her heartbeat to pound erratically. Learning early on that she could not stand such a feeling, she tried to be “the good girl.”
By Abigail Griffith5 years ago in Families
Bring me home
Don’t call. Don’t call. Don’t call. Shea twisted and squeezed the small leather book in her grip. For the love of God, don’t call.
By Kailey Lewis5 years ago in Families