family
Driving
Metres and metres of tarmac shot under the tires as we cruised down country roads. With my big brother driving and our two best friends in the backseat, life couldn't be better. Everything that had troubled me in the last week was left behind us. Windows rolled down, I found myself singing along to the blaring radio, something I hadn’t had it in me to do for a while.
By Grayson Clayton4 years ago in Fiction
Elder's Tree
In life as we grow, sadly, our loved ones pass away and all we have to remember them by is our memories and pictures. When I was five years old, I experienced my first loss when my dog Bear died from rabies. I was completely heartbroken because my grandparents got him as a puppy when I was just a babe. Bear and I grew up together, we were inseparable. When he passed, my grandfather told me to go back into the house, so that could prepare for Bear's immortal life. He planted a pear tree in front of the house, and told me that if we bury Bear in front of this tree, then he would live on within the tree. This way, he would live as long as the tree. Which outlives human lifetimes.
By ElRey Niffen4 years ago in Fiction
Indigenous
November 21, 1978: Baraga State Park, Baraga, Michigan, 12:03 am. Gerry Brown Bear, a gangly, Native American man walks through the forest with a swift strut. There is no human activity at this hour. Just creatures of the animal variety. The stars paint the sky with an expansive fury. Different sounds fill the area but nothing foreign to the ears of Mister Brown Bear. Gerry made an excursion from the L'Anse Indian Reservation to try to see a meteorite or comet in the Michigan night skies.
By Darren Smith4 years ago in Fiction
No Regrets
Super spy, Samantha Rigby pursued her target by taking a shortcut across a frozen Russian pond. It was a calculated risk. The sound of cracking ice alerted her to danger. Would her risk pay off? She knew this pond was deep enough to trap her in frigid water if she fell through. She quickly…
By Julie Lacksonen4 years ago in Fiction
Ice Princess
As she ran through the field behind her aunt’s house, Serena could feel the warmth of the sun on her skin. She was grateful for the experience. Growing up in Alaska, she yearned for the heat. Tall green grass enveloped her legs, and she couldn’t help but wonder how she could ever live in a place that was cold and damp most of the year. If it weren’t for her family and her job, she would have left the cold years ago. She cherished the summers where she could swim freely in the lake and sit on the dock, doing nothing but staring off into the distance. She felt as if all her worries were lifted. Worries about her job. She had worked as a steward on the Alaska State Ferry since she was 18 years old and never really felt it was a fit for her. She worried about her family, while her father was sick with Parkinson’s. She worried she was a burden living with her sister and her husband. She was scared. She knew she was moving into a new life, a life she’d always dreamed of, but never thought possible. Serena was an amazing painter and landscapes of mountains with nature set as the main character, were her specialty. She limited herself because of where she was, because of who she thought she should be. Visiting her Aunt Magda's house in South Carolina, she felt free. She felt it was the only place she could be herself, with no expectations. She painted almost the entire time she vacationed there aside from days she helped her aunt at her flower shop. Paintings of flowers and streams adorned with children playing in the distance. She expanded her talent. She allowed herself room to breathe.
By Roberta DeAndrade4 years ago in Fiction
The Deferment
Growing up, our family dentist loved his props. He had serious dental models appropriate for most patients from my conventional Upstate village. He had “fun” cartoonish ones for the kids. Then, he had a reserved cache of items shown only to the unconventional. No family was less conventional than mine. The term I heard, most often, was quirky. I suppose from the outside looking in, we fit no mental model to which the neighborhood conservatives could relate. Dad drove British sports cars and Mom never set a table without silver and candlesticks, candles alight through the window of our miniscule dining room. Despite our “airs”, we were living in a cinder block rental abutting the highway. We were tolerated by our neighbors although never socially accepted. This did not seem to bother my parents who had plenty of friends elsewhere.
By Alexander J. Cameron4 years ago in Fiction
The Cold
It was freezing for most of the year where they lived. The wind was whipping, snow was always on the ground, and there was never enough salt to clear the roads. The house they lived in felt empty these days. It sounded like air swirled through a hollow shell whenever a door open, echoing off the eggshell-colored walls. The paint was begging to separate itself from the sheetrock, and the tile was escaping the kitchen floorboards. This house that was once a home was dying, but neither of its residents’ felt motivated to prevent further dilapidation.
By Kawan Glover4 years ago in Fiction
I tried to hire a hitman
THE TURN OF THE SCREW "Meet me at the Darkside Pub, 7pm sharp." Click. My heart was beating so fast I could hardly breathe, and I started to sweat. "What am I doing, am I crazy." But the anger was burning hot. The hate was such a palpating thing that I could literally reach out and touch it.
By Novel Allen4 years ago in Fiction
Under Her Branches
Under her Branches School was out for the summer. My brother, Darryn, and I were about to spend the entire summer vacation at my aunt and uncle’s fishing cabin in Cross Creek, Florida—a world away from Miami. Earlier that year, our Uncle Stanley had moved his wife, Aletha, and their three boys up to north central Florida to raise his family in a more country atmosphere, away from the hustle and bustle of a big city. His intentions, though good, disrupted the family, which in the years that followed caused a migration of our entire family in that same direction.
By Tari Temple4 years ago in Fiction
Shadow Dance
I want a divorce. There. I said it. Loudly, if only inside my head. The walls have been closing in for a while now, and this thing has now become a choice between him and me, between my life and ours. The dogs are now barking, growling, gurgling; attacking each other again. I can hear them from my bathroom, where I have the door closed. I let their sounds become white noise to my drama. This bathroom is my tiny greenroom, and it allows me to find myself in the pupil of my eye before facing the world again. It allows me space and privacy to perform Kintsugi to my mind when it is shattered, like it is today.
By Grace Turner4 years ago in Fiction
