literature
Families and literature go hand in hand; fictional families to entertain, reflect and inspire.
The Color Cure
“Three thousand, maybe four … tops.” Tom gave Beryl a sympathetic frown. “Your father was known more as a collector and appraiser than as a painter. It’s good, don’t get me wrong. Lovely composition, gorgeous color. But the subject matter has limited appeal, and he’s not a highly collectible name. After fees you’d end up with around $1,500.”
By Sylvan Raine5 years ago in Families
For Angelo
His mom’s voice beckoned him through the walls, an unintelligible jumble of hushed, anxious sounds that demanded investigating. Troy imagined himself a spy, no, a ninja as he navigated the obstacle course of creaky floorboards in the hallway. He pressed himself against the wall outside his mom’s room and listened, glad that the warped wood of her door left it permanently ajar.
By Sophie Richton5 years ago in Families
Little Black Book
PART I She was old, very old, at least her body was. There was no denying that. The mirror confirmed it when she occasionally caught a glimpse of herself in it. She didn't mind. Getting older meant that she was still here in life. The consequences of it though could be a burden. The pains in her joints, eyesight failing, movements getting slower. She still had the use of her legs, albeit for short distances only. She was grateful that she could still get to the shops every couple of days and stand long enough to prepare and cook herself an evening meal. Incredibly and most importantly, her mind was still as sharp as ever. She believed that to be a small miracle.
By Elaine Beaudro5 years ago in Families
Lost & found
What can I say about my aunt? She was old fashioned and judgemental, twenty two years older than my mother and a widow. But she was a very amusing creature. She is dead now though, no longer with us. That brings me to the funny thing about life: we don't really appreciate a person until we no longer have the option of being with them. It's like everything happens in hindsight, or at least that is my experience.
By Kelly Marie Francis5 years ago in Families
Snowman. Top Story - February 2021.
PART I The last time Silas remembered it snowing this much, he was barely five. That was a lifetime ago, but if he concentrated very hard, he could stir up fuzzy memories of backyard snowball fights and snow angels with his dad. Like most of his childhood memories, these came with a soundtrack: His mother, a concert pianist, was not a fan of the cold—it interfered with her playing—so while Silas romped in the snow with his dad and their dog Oboe, his mom remained inside practicing some Chopin nocturne or other. And while he had plenty of happy memories of playing and laughing with his mom, it struck him now, these many years later, that very few were in the winter, and none were in the snow.
By Damon Tabb5 years ago in Families
Returning Home
«I am sorry», I say, «I haven’t come to see you in such a long time» She looks up at me, same as I remember, exactly the same despite the simple fact that at least six years have passed since we last met. Yes, I think to myself, exactly six years, we met last at mom’s funeral, argued the way we always do about some shit that wasn’t important I am sure. It’s never important in retrospect but seems crucial, essential in the moment.
By Oksana Dolna5 years ago in Families
Let's Try Rupesh
Tinashe looked at the invoice from the solicitors for the umpteenth time. The final figure showed £999.00. Why do they always do that? That’s a grand he thought. The last time he coughed out nearly a grand as well, still, no results. He had just finished meeting with the solicitor guy, Gary was his name. “The court says that she can’t be removed until the council provides a place for her. She can’t be homeless according to the law.”
By Uwem Umana5 years ago in Families
"Mama's Little Black Book"
'That's odd; rain only falls down these parts two times a year.' said Rose, to which I then replied, 'Mama always said rain is like honey; it falls down slowly and sticks to your windowpane like glue.' My momma was always philosophical like that, creating stories and songs, inventing new passages to unedited chapters in her little black book, and creating new plans for tomorrow without a worry for today nor care for yesterday. Momma was very intriguing like that- Until she wasn't.
By Antoine Thomas5 years ago in Families
The Book Buried Below
The large buck stands its ground, feet planted in the grass. All of my concentration is focused on the delicate creature staring back at me. My brows furrow as I squint my eye, waiting for the telescope on my rifle to focus. Behind me, my father slowly shifts his weight from one foot to the other, causing a branch to snap underneath him. The deer flinches at the sound and my body tightens as I begin to panic. The buck takes half of a step in my direction before swiftly darting away, back into the dark shadows of the trees.
By Kennedy Walsh5 years ago in Families
Gigi and granny
First day of winter this girl name Gigi, went to her grandmas house for a vacation. Of course her grandma stayed in Miami that’s the only reason she “really” wanted to go. She laughed at the thought of going because it was free for her to go and stay. She was thinking she could save money And hang with her friends. When she arrived she was greeted by her granny, they went for lunch since it was the afternoon when she got there.they talked and got all caught up, when they got to the house she told her grandm it was so nice to be there with her. Her grandma (Jean )Said yes indeed it is, she told her granddaughter she was glad because she had something to tell her.
By Sparkle Hawkins5 years ago in Families
