Latest Stories

Most recently published stories in Families.

Land
The young couple moved to the house on the hill in early April before, unbeknownst to them, the small plot of land would light up with spring flowers-dogwoods, azaleas, daffodils. This land was Lenape land (i.e., stolen land), though you wouldn’t know it from the Zillow listing or any of the local histories written about the small mountain town. These narratives, written by (surely) well meaning white folks, painted the forced and at times brutal removal of the Native Americans from their ancient homeland as progress or, in one convoluted tale, as of their own free will. It read, “The Indians that had occupied our area were of the Lenni-Lenape tribe. They must have certainly regretted leaving the lush valleys, forests, and rolling hills...” Reading such tales made their bodies contort.
By Erika Bowser5 years ago in Families
Looking Back, Going Sideways
James sits down and takes a deep breathe. He is not sure what he is feeling right now, just that he knows he has had enough. Another interview for a job that didn't go well. He's struggling, he's really struggling. Looking back at his life and the choices he has made, never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined that one day, he would feel so helpless. So conflicted, as he does now.
By Abrar5 years ago in Families
An Open Hand
The tenement door had worn at least a dozen coats of paint in its protracted lifetime, half of which were visible where the years had slowly flaked it away. The hallway, stiflingly hot and thick with the scent of cigarette smoke, was pocked with primer where the landlord had attempted to cover graffiti. Somewhere down the hall, a baby cried—its tone blending with a police siren so well that Conner Marquand struggled to tell where one began and the other ended.
By J. Patrick Lemarr5 years ago in Families
Autumn Leaves
Alone in the world, Jada never realized how much of an anchor her grandfather had been. Now that he was gone… She wrapped her arms around her bent legs and lowered her forehead. Her dark corkscrew hair flattened against her knees. She sobbed, slowly soaking her jeans with mucus and tears. She convulsed as she cried. Her stomach tightened breathless. Her brown caramel eyes swelled maraschino red. Her head throbbed. What was she supposed to do now?
By michael gatlin5 years ago in Families
Black Rose
Since the age of 15, Lexi Montgomery's life has been mapped out for her by a young man much older than herself. Although 19, Isaac Stone swore she will be his wife. Both come from prestigious families. It was almost as if they were destined to be together or so she thought.
By Cassie Smilez5 years ago in Families
Following The Numbers
Following the Numbers The Little Black Book Early to bed, early to rise makes a young Mother and Daughter healthy, wealthy, and wise!
By Monica Spurrell5 years ago in Families
Mom's black book
One fall day I was walking through the woods behind my house. It was sunny and warm out. The leaves of the trees sparkled with red, orange, and yellow. I was reminiscing about my mother; she had suddenly passed away this summer. She was a very caring person and would go without to give me what I needed in life. Not what I wanted but what I needed. We often walked these woods and make up stories of the things we would find laying on the ground. We could laugh and talk for hours. The silence now made me realized how much I miss her. I went to our favorite tree. The tree was a large oak tree that would keep us dry if it started raining. We would sit here and made-up stories of items we would find. Sitting there and looking around, I notice a piece of plastic in the crevices of the tree. I pulled it out. It was a zip lock bag and inside was a black book. A million thoughts went through my mind. How did it get here? What will be inside? I turn the first page and to see my mother's handwriting was beautiful. I read the words “to my loving daughter I love you always please go and find the box under the house”. So many questions went through my mind. “what is in the box”? “Why is it under the house”? “Why my mother would do this”? Needless to say, I ran all the way home.
By Wendy Bacorn Perry5 years ago in Families
Nana's notebook
The air was crisp, the leaves on the trees had begun to turn brown, and the sky was leaden. It was a gloomy Saturday afternoon. Just an ordinary Saturday afternoon that completely transformed Olivia's life.
By Lara Hayes5 years ago in Families
Christmas of 1910
The year was 1910, and it was a bitter, cold winter night. Arthur sat before the cozy fire, slowly rocking in his chair and smoking his pipe as he listened to the giggles and excitement from the next room where his eight children slept. His wife, Anna, was with them and was attempting, albeit unsuccessfully, to settle them down so that he could begin his annual Santa Claus masquerade. He shook his head. She had her work cut out for her. What child wouldn’t be filled with excitement on Christmas Eve? She might have to threaten them within an inch of their lives to achieve such an endeavor.
By Cindy Calder5 years ago in Families
The Hole In The Tree
Star fiddled nervously with the hem of her dress. It was a habit she carried with her since she was a young girl. She thought back to her mother and how annoyed she would become whenever she saw her grab for the bottom of her dress or skirt. “Star, stop it,” she would mutter firmly slapping her hand away before she even got the chance. Star always wondered what it was about her nervous habit that bothered her mother so. After all, a child could do much worse when feeling anxious and yet her mother gave her little grace in how she channeled her emotions. Her mother gave her little grace with most things growing up.
By Denise C. 5 years ago in Families
Time
Only three days had passed since my father’s funeral. His passing had not been a surprise. He had weathered many battles in his life, but in the end, it was a battle with cancer he could not overcome. I had moved home three months ago to help my mother prepare for the inevitable, but it was her strength I found myself relying upon as she held my father’s hand, and he took his last breath. I watched her smile and lean forward to kiss him one last time, knowing in her heart that he would feel no more pain. Now here we sat, clock ticking in the background. She held a shoebox in her slightly trembling hands. I recognized it as the box my father gave my mother on Christmas 15 years ago. The heels she always looked at in the window of the department store. The ones she had replaced of late with slippers and comfy socks. “Your Father didn’t want you to have this,” she said. I took the box and nervously opened it. Inside was a soft leather pouch sealed with a golden clasp. My heart began to race. I had seen this before.
By Andy Bull5 years ago in Families
Forget Me Not
She was feisty, unfiltered, and stubborn. Particularly difficult, without a shameful bone in her body. She’d spit and kick if she couldn’t get her way, and I’d always be the one to restrain her when acted out. Grandma was difficult, and I always thought she hated me. So, when she passed, I felt relief. I was almost glad. She wasn’t suffering anymore, and luckily, neither would we.
By Miranda Liceaga5 years ago in Families