family

The Traffic Light
The last thing I remember seeing is the green traffic light and the smile on his face before everything went black. I’ve been trapped in the dark ever since. Occasionally, I get flashes of a jumping green light followed by a beeping noise but nothing else.
By Kathryn Medley4 years ago in Fiction
The Life of Every Suburban Dad
Four factors mark the end of the day: his sub-average height, the coverage of his car’s sun visor, the sun’s habit of setting in the west and the westward run of his long street.
By Garrett Warren4 years ago in Fiction
Family First...
Time is something we can never get back. Lida was sitting staring out of the window watching the rainfall. She watched as the trees and rain swooshed back and forth and sometimes a leaf or two would fall off of one of the trees. Lida was staring like she was hypnotized. She had nothing on her mind; the movements of nature relaxed her.
By LaShunta H4 years ago in Fiction
The Ferryman
The green light of the heart monitor pulsed from left to right with a steady, rhythmic beep. Around it, chaos unfurled. A pair of doors slammed shut and the walls began to rattle with controlled violence as their contents hurtled towards their destination, the discordant melody of a siren blaring from above. Two men, clad in green uniforms, worked in fluid unison to close that which should not be open, and to keep open that which threatened to close. Amidst the chaos, the woman between them opened her eyes and screamed.
By Origami4 years ago in Fiction
"Anna's Grace"-pt. one
All paths lead here, now. This, is the moment. Do you remember, the very first, significant time, despite fear, you decided to pass it's threshold? If this has happened for you, in your life, ten thousand words, could not describe better, your experience, and what I am feeling, right now.
By Frank Paul Scorfina4 years ago in Fiction
When it's Time to Let Go
It’s been too long since you’ve slept. Even longer since you’ve eaten. But none of those basic tasks seem possible when the pit in your stomach turns and twists until it consumes you, either rendering you sick or useless—doubled over in sobbing fits that make breathing nearly impossible.
By Hannah Sharpe4 years ago in Fiction
The Messy Life Of A Clean Freak
© Ivanna Quarshie-Halm The Messy Life of A Clean Freak Chapter 1 Were my eyes deceiving me or was I really seeing Joy? My best friend in the whole world, who I thought I lost touch with. I could not believe it even for a millisecond, she looked completely different and nothing like the girl I had known all these years. She looked much better in fact. In terms of the excitement out of being with my best friend again, I was getting double portion, because beside Joy was a really cute guy. This guy was just fishing for all the butterflies which had risen from the foundation of my stomach. How could I help it but to just stand there in amounting amazement? I stopped being able to speak as he came closer to me. “Hi, I’m Sam and you are Sarah” I smiled, said ‘hello gorgeous’ in my head and stared. He reacted with the same energy and in a minute he was gone. Joy hugged me and I totally forgot his existence for a collection of minutes.
By Ivanna Quarshie-halm4 years ago in Fiction
The Yellow Tennis Ball
Rover stood proudly, surrounded by admirers in the middle of the park. “Green? You can actually see green?” Gizmo asked loudly in his high, squeaky voice. It prompted a shush from the edge of the park.
By Natalie McC4 years ago in Fiction
veto
John's father left him two things when he died. The first, his last words "our world is our perspective, our world is our understanding, our world is our own". The second was an old glass globe with a green light in the centre. What is life but the act of doing and remembering what you’ve done. Humans are interesting how they take pride in who they are and what they’ve done. John shows it through his trophy room. Containing the wall of photographs, the only way to keep his past alive, for if undocumented they are forgotten and all their invaluable lessons and memories with them. The bookshelf with more books on the shelf than dust mites. The east wall consists of the heads of John's hunted. Bear, Moose, Duck and Deer observing over the study in their afterlife. The one hunted not mounted on the wall is that of the eagle. John shot that down when taking his sons hunting for the first time. It’s beak harder than ever, it’s design naturally flawless. John fashioned a recreational toy out of its stuffed corpse with a modified fishing line. When swung around the momentum sends the bird soaring through the air. Kite-like the bird is controlled by the individual throwing the toy. John bestowed the gift to his twin sons Keven and Ansel. “Two birds, one stone” a saying John repeated when finding out he fathered twins and whilst bestowing the gift between the two.
By Brode Foscaro4 years ago in Fiction
Gone ... Flying
Nothing felt freer than flying. Being one with the wind and the sky, and going anywhere you wanted to go. Jayda thought she would fly forever, and she was well on her way until her accident. Well everyone said it was an accident, but deep in her heart she knew it had been deliberate. Let’s start from the beginning.
By Ashleigh Holmes4 years ago in Fiction
Family
The knuckles on her right hand, cold without its mitten, creaked as they rummaged through her purse. Old receipts, a foggy mirror, two pennies and a dime, and at last her grocery list on a piece of crumpled paper. Margaret, owner of the hands and the purse and paper, eyed the list once again before stuffing it back into the purse and hurriedly pulling her mitten back on. For some 40 years of adulthood, a Sunday grocery list had been her steady companion at the grocery store. Except that today wasn’t Sunday it was Tuesday.
By Hillary King4 years ago in Fiction
To my Dad
‘And his father was a farmer before him, and his father a farmer before him…’ and on and on rattled the overused sentiments and stories Dad had been forcing down my throat for years. It broke his heart that I, his only son, was going to university to be an accountant, rather than take up the mantle of managing the family farm. Most parents would be so proud of their son for choosing to go to university, being accepted, and wanting to become an accountant, but for my dad it was a ridiculous notion. I never felt that I was good enough, and now who was going to take over the day-to-day duties, and the long-term life of our family home? Maybe I did let him down.
By Alax M4 years ago in Fiction