family
Long Shadows
Most of Grandpa's hair had been trampled out by the ages. What was left huddled in nervous fringes about the ears and neck. This I noted anew that sultry July evening when the shadows were lengthening and I and my wife entered the Three Rivers nursing home. We discovered him in a wheelchair, aimlessly poking about the room. His chair cut a corner and caught one of two beds, dragging it more centrally on the floor.
By Charles Turner4 years ago in Fiction
The Watermark
“Give it to me!” “No!” The noise rose to a cacophony that caused the adults in the room to cover their ears with their hands. The shrieks faded as the children ran down the hall and out the sliding door into the backyard, where their noise was absorbed by the air around them.
By Rebecca Graf4 years ago in Fiction
The lies within the mirror
The one morning as a young girl, I posed in front of the mirror like it was going to show me the raw truth that needed to be known. Welcome to Lillian Grace's story of the mirror with the hidden truth to my reality that I blinded myself to for so many years. I held tightly to the lies that I told myself daily in front of the mirror. My mother Ruth told me that 1 day the reflection of the real me would no longer show and I would be lost within the lies of the mirror.
By Sara Kline4 years ago in Fiction
My Roots Are Deep
My Roots Are Deep My Roots in the Orchard (Forty-Eight hours before my flight) Some lives intersect at the same moment in time. I am drawing parallels in connection with the women and children I may find on my mission. My goal will be take them to host countries around the world to start a new life. I can only imagine their fear as they leave their families and their homeland. As I prepare to leave, I am experiencing my own story.
By Zel Harrison4 years ago in Fiction
Just Another Night
As I opened the door to head to the parking lot. I had to catch my breath. I thought it was muggy last night. Tonight was worse. My partner, Chris Baldino, was right behind me. “This weather is frickin ridiculous. Correct me if I am wrong, but aren’t we in Michigan? Because if I didn’t know any better, I would think we are in Georgia.”
By Richard Frohm4 years ago in Fiction
A Timeless Journey
One moment in time there lived a young girl named Rebekah. She was a fair child and very intelligent and creative. She never knew her father she was told he abandoned her and her mother to play with a band and start a music career. So she put it out of her mind. Yet, at times she wondered what her journey would have been like if she had both mom and dad. She got through it by spending countless hours making clothes for dolls and for her teddy bears. In addition she would paint the field outside of her window and then play the piano. She was very good at playing the piano her favorite was Chopin's Minute Waltz. Rebekah would listen to his work while growing up for hours. Such a talented musician she was sent off to music school to perfect her talent. Rebekah off at music school fitted in rather nicely with all of her new friends she met which made her feel so happy. Then one day a call came for Rebekah. She was told her mother was killed in a fire and the house she lived in burned down to the ground. All her things was gone her paintings and her creative works. Suddenly, she froze and dropped the phone and no longer could speak and fainted. When she woke up it was found she lost her speech and her ability to hear music. Just muffled sounds would play in her head she could hear people speaking and other sounds but music she could not hear. The doctors was called from around the world to examine her they had never heard of a selective hearing disorder of not being able to hear music. It was determined it was mentally caused by the trauma of the loss of her mother and home. She would sit rocking and sometimes one tear rolled down her right eye. Clearly, slipping into deep depression she was committed into a mental health hospital.
By Bathsheba Gibborim4 years ago in Fiction
The God Tree
"If the animals eat it, it's probably safe," Charles assured his brother, attempting to hide his own hesitancy. Neither were fully convinced. The clothes on their bodies were far too slack though. Their britches now held up with frayed rope stolen from a splintered, wooden swing. That rope couldn't hold a child up anymore, too brittle, they reasoned, and Mama didn't have anything to sew with. Then Mama was dead and buried, without a box, next to their old dog.
By M.C. Murphy 4 years ago in Fiction
The Pear Tree
There it was in all its simplistic beauty, standing alone in a field, surrounded by trees, a pear tree. The ancient tree was covered in moss and ants marched up and down its trunk. It provided a sweet-smelling reprieve from the sun’s smoldering heat and supported my tired, aching back against its hard, strong trunk. Here, I could allow my anxiety and fear to evaporate into the clouds. This place became the only place that my toddler could toddle and my teen could explore and I could rest.
By Gina Johnson4 years ago in Fiction
