Latest Stories

Most recently published stories in Families.

The Scavenger Hunt
She had lived in the house on 39th street near Seattle for as long as she could remember. But the woods behind her house was Anna's happy place. Weather permitting, she could often be found there after school and on weekends, studying or just sitting and appreciating the seasonal views. If she turned to her left, she could see the back of her house and other houses nearby. If she looked to the right, she could see deeper woods and the snow-capped mountains in the distance.
By Rhonda Schneider5 years ago in Families
Her Word For The Year
“Whatcha doin’?” She tried to sound as casual as possible, but the dead-eyed stare now targeting her from the other side of the open laptop instantly conveyed her failure. Eye roll. Exaggerated sigh. A snapping shut of the device, followed by a saccharine smirk.
By Sheeri Mitchell5 years ago in Families
Elsie's Diary
The key in her hand was pressed into the elaborate black lock of the garden door. Her excitement at finally locating the old key that fit this lock, causing a slight tremor in her hand and sent her heart racing.
By Peggy Qualls5 years ago in Families
Miranda's Botanical Garden
It was all in a dream. The dream which existed for 5 consecutive days conjured the most agony Miranda had ever experienced. She was mourning the loss of her mother. A mother that was stoic and quite shrewd but was the most important being in her life. As an only child, Miranda’s mother instilled the importance of expressive writing and time management, things Miranda failed miserably at. She would do anything for her mother but could not get over the fact her mother’s sudden death left her with no further instructions on life. Her mother was Meredith Ladson, an orator, accomplished author, and scholar. It was much to live up to. Although free from her mother’s discernment, she now desperately craved answers to questions she had never imagined asking. Not one heirloom remained. There were no photos or handwritten notes that Miranda could cling to. Her mother’s home and belongings were ravaged in a fire just weeks before she succumbed to an illness. At 30 years old, Miranda had not become an Attorney, an amazing writer, nor any profession that aligned with her mother’s expectations. She was unmarried and childless, but she exuded love. Miranda loved people, nature, and she lived haphazardly in a way that frightened her mother but was beautiful. Unfortunately, Miranda’s free spiritedness did not prepare her for losing the only constant in her life.
By Martin Bass5 years ago in Families
The little black book challenge
Little Black Book Challenge “The painting” Rose got up at he same time she woke up every day, 5:55 am. It’s like she had a tiny alarm clock installed in her brain, with the exact time, minutes and seconds. She went in the bathroom to wash her face and brush her long brown hair. She was gazing at her reflection in the mirror and noticing her fine wrinkles and were she supposed to have laughing lines, she had sad lines; that reminded her of the sad mouths the clowns paint on their faces.
By Evanna Skartsaris5 years ago in Families
Bell or Belt
Bell or Belt My mom had a cow bell as her better-get-your-butt-home signal. It was most often used as our call to dinner. It was a real cow’s bell and was all clunk-ditty-clunk—not like someone baking the hell out of it with a drumstick in a late sixties rock band—she would just jangle it from the handle, and if you were outside and pretty nearby, you could hear it, get home in a matter of minutes, and not get in trouble. But if you were inside a friend’s house, especially with the radio, stereo or tv on, you were pretty sure not to hear “the bell,” and catch hell for it when my mom had to send a sibling to find you, or worse, if she came to find you herself. And there was no excuse good enough. Saying you couldn’t hear the bell inside was surely countered with, of course, “Well you shouldn’t go inside then,” and, “Stay where you can hear the bell.”
By Mike Ball5 years ago in Families
Item Forty-One
We stood in the corner of the bedroom in the old house at the end of Pick Street. Anthony put his hands in his pocket and looked at me. “Forty-one?”
By Anne Emagie5 years ago in Families
Strange Relatives
A melodic shrill woke me from my sleep. I wasn’t long in bed having just completed a nightshift. I turned onto my back and rubbed my eyes. I turned my head to see my phone lighting up. The melodic shrill was my ringtone. I’d forgotten to put it on vibrate. I grunted and glanced just in time to see it said private number. I shrugged and settled back into my pillows. Barely a minute later the phone started ringing again. I covered my face with a pillows then threw it across the room and grabbed my phone.
By Emma Diane McManus5 years ago in Families
The Giraffe's Book
Now, in hindsight, I can see where I went wrong. Should I have gone to a professional hairdresser for my dye job? Absolutely. But not one salon would answer my vexed phone calls at nine P.M. on a Sunday. And while I can’t say I was too surprised, the complete lack of compassion to those in society that don’t operate in the same time zone as others, was appalling.
By Bblahblah235 years ago in Families
Mr. Smiles Adventurous Day
Mr. Smiles’ Adventurous Day By Samantha From Mr. Smiles’ Adventurous Day Mr. Smiles woke up to a bright, sun-filled morning. It is his favorite way to say hello and greet the day. He was a small man, but his big smile and positive attitude filled the room. He got ready in a bit of a rush, quickly showering and getting dressed. He did not have time to eat breakfast at home but planned to grab a sandwich at Lena's Cafe when he got into town.
By samantha from5 years ago in Families
Fresh Flowers for the Roses
“Honestly, the forest doesn’t care. It’s a forest. It doesn’t care about our opinions. It doesn’t care about our worries. It needs nothing that you and I could offer. The forest is just there living. It welcomes you to look and to learn. Learn about the way morning light pierces through foliage like a sun spear. Understand how the rivers flow with torrential anger foaming at the mouth. If you drown in there, the river won’t have your death on its conscience. It’s a river and it will river on. The forest lets you enter its grounds and permeates your lungs with a deep woodland breath, your shoulders unencumbered by any kind of weight. The forest doesn’t care about you Andrew, but you should care about the forest.”
By William Fall5 years ago in Families
Gone
He wasn’t coming back. I knew he wasn’t, but I wanted him too. I was desperate for him to come back, back to my arms, back to me...
By Emilie Turner5 years ago in Families