fact or fiction
Is it fact or merely fiction? Fact or Fiction explores the myths and beliefs we hold about our family dynamics, traditions, and if there's such thing as a 'perfect family.'
Her Fifth Tattoo
As she led on the bench, her hip aching under her body weight, she couldn't help but stare at the door of the tattoo parlour and think, if anyone were to walk in right now they would see me in my knickers? She imagined a group of uni lads bustling through the door, loudly chatting to each other about their lads holiday and the matching tattoo they were about to get. Until they saw her, led there on her side, with her frilly white knickers on display in their full glory, would they laugh? Probably.
By Katie Watson4 years ago in Families
THE RETURN OF THE NIGHT OWL
Its always a gloomy day when things don’t go your way, especially when your young and have to listen to what grown ups say ‘’Don’t do this, don’t do that!’’ or mostly ‘’who was that?!’’ whenever she’d hear a loud sound. Two sisters making noise whilst playing with their toys. Graci and Alva, twins attached to the hip only because they weren't allowed on the school trip. An old house they lived in, ‘’was it always this odd?’’ said Graci to Alva ‘’something feels off’’'. Alva agrees, gets up from her knees ‘’lets take a walk’’ she whispered as she talked. Were the floors always this dusty? was it always this cold? its been a long time since we had to do as we were told.. thoughts circled through the young girls minds, with every tiny step wondering what they might find. Creeping up the stairs and about to reach the top, ‘’what was that noise? its faint, but familiar’’ Graci points out.
By HermitsHouse4 years ago in Families
A Photograph from My Past
“Stop,” I shout. “This is the old barn on my family’s property.” My grandson, Mark, turns and looks at me with surprise. But he pulls over to the side of the country road. And as he does, a miracle occurs. A barn owl unlatches its talons from the edge of the barn’s hay mow and soars on silent wings into the sky above us. I know it is not our barn owl, the birds do not live that long. Maybe it’s a descendant. I watch until it is a speck.
By Ramona Scarborough4 years ago in Families
The Big Surprise
Sometimes keeping a secret is the hardest thing to do. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not saying my husband is nosy. He doesn’t pry into what I do or when I do it. He understands that there are things I do that just don’t concern him and he’s happy with that.
By Margaret Brennan4 years ago in Families
Under the Bed
It was bedtime, Maggie’s least favorite time of all. Not only did she have to brush her teeth, but she had to go into her bedroom, alone. Of course, she wasn’t alone. That’s why she dreaded it most of all. You see, there was a monster under Maggie’s bed.
By Spokeswoman Adventures4 years ago in Families
COVID Baby
Life is scary but even more so when you've grown up in isolation and have no experience of crowds, bright lights, noise and strangers. When your whole world revolves around 2 faces that you see every day and you live isolated from the rest of the community that your siblings have been exposed to since they were young. Looking up and seeing the glare from lights shining down upon you, being approached by strangers who fawn over you and who just want to touch you, hearing the noise of traffic and travelling in a car; all are daunting experiences when all you have been exposed to is peace, quiet and the company of just a few.
By Di Edwards4 years ago in Families
Romanian Origins and Dreams (Volume 1)
Before Nicolae Ceaușescu almost completely destroyed Romania, I was a young girl living in Bucharest. My name is Ana Andreyevna, and while my mother (born Sena Alexandrescu) was born and raised in Romania, my father (Yura Andreyev) was from Izmail, Soviet Ukraine, and moved to Romania around the age of eighteen and changed his name to Gheorghe Andreiev.
By ANTICHRIST SUPERSTAR4 years ago in Families
This House is Old
This house is old. It isn’t going anywhere. At night, sometimes I hear the wind rattle the windows and imagine a straight line running from the end of the crack in the dining room wall to the bowed, water damaged gap in the century old wood floorplanks, splitting it open wider into a broad v-shaped gash ripping up the wood along the grain all the way to the chipped, leaded glass window in the front porch, which shatters out into the street. That’s the line where the west wall will detach from the house and tip over, knocking down the dying sesquicentennial ash tree and landing next door, our bed sliding behind it and falling from the second floor, so we’ll be dead before the rest of the house collapses in on itself.
By Kevin Schwandt4 years ago in Families
Warm Memories
A lady laughed at me today after she asked me what I was eating. I politely said, “I’m eating a bologna and cheese sandwich.” She answered back saying, “You couldn’t afford to get ham or turkey?” I said, “I can afford WHAT THE HELL I want, I CHOSE to eat that.” Before I thought about it, I commenced to explain to her in a very irritated attitude that there was absolutely nothing wrong with eating bologna and cheese. She took those words, turned and walked away.
By Tara Williams4 years ago in Families
