family

Sitting Bull
At first, he couldn't even find the anger. The artistry of Leanne's vengeance had summoned his admiration and curiosity long before rage could've hoped to garner an invite. When the fury finally arrived, like a searing bite of delayed after taste, he had already swallowed his pride. She had him in checkmate. "You did this on purpose," said Everett, struggling to conceal the tremble in his voice.
By Devin Nealy4 years ago in Fiction
Raging Thunder
Dustin watched the cowboys swagger around the yard telling each other tall tales and playing with their guns and lariats. Sunday was different from the rest of the week. The other six days, everyone worked hard. The cowboys were rarely anywhere near the yard any other day; they were out fixing fences, breaking horses, keeping cattle in line, and doing all of the other exciting things Dustin wished he could do.
By Bekah Jimenez4 years ago in Fiction
Currents of an Indelible Life
I still remember the day my father died like it was yesterday. “Your father’s dying,” my mom said when I picked up the phone. No preparation, no fanfare. She said it with all the emotion of someone reading a grocery list. There was more after that but other than the hospital name, I couldn’t tell you what else she said.
By D Anthony4 years ago in Fiction
Little Hapis and JJ
July 3, 1922 Orange Mound Memphis, Tennessee "Grab his tail!" 10-year-old "JJ," aka Joey Jenkins, yelled out to 7-year-old Hapis Lewis. The latter was circling around the drinking Saint Bernard they were currently trying to bulldog. For the last few weeks, the 2 kids have been trying to get their hands on him so that they could copy the moves they've seen "The Dusky Demon" do on the Cowboy reels at the local movie house, and today, they was their chance. JJ's father, Jerimiah, had brought the dog home for his wife as protection the week after they married since he worked late at night. Yet, "Precious," which his wife named him before she realized he was a boy, was about as helpful and harmless as a rug.
By Maize Scott4 years ago in Fiction
Cherries
Hunter burst through the bushes. It was mid-afternoon, He had just picked some cherries. He had never actually seen cherries on a cherry tree before, and he was doing his best to carry as many as possible without squishing or dropping them.
By Caleb H.4 years ago in Fiction
Sisters
One of them wasn't even biological. But when Kate showed up with the body, no one asked any questions. They climbed into Kate’s car silently, Jo groaning a little as she reached for the seatbelt, muttering something about the ungodly hour. Amber was deathly quiet, her jaw set tight. Kate drove.
By Niki Block4 years ago in Fiction
Never Forget
My grandmother used to have this old wooden figurine of a bull on her bedside table. I never knew why it was there, and I never thought to ask. It was simply a part of who my grandma was.
By L. J. Knight 4 years ago in Fiction
My Sweet Baby
Grab me by the horns, Let your feet go, Imagine that were flying, Within a rainbow. Stand tall with me, Press your feet firm into the ground,
By Brittany Fuller4 years ago in Fiction
A Bull's Purpose.
The box opened and light burst into his room for the first time in forever. If he could move his legs, he would have used them to shade his eyes. After they adjusted, he saw a woman's face. She was smiling and although it had been a while, he recognized her. There were more lines on her face and her hair looked different, but he would always remember Angela's eyes; she had come back for him.
By Matthew Puzycki4 years ago in Fiction
Once for Me and Once for Chuckie
Now that Chuckie and me are five we’re allowed to go to Grove Park by ourselves because it’s so close our mom can see us if she stands on our porch. And guess what? The park is right by the train tracks! If a train comes while we’re on the swings, we jump off and run across the field and climb the fence to pump our arms at the engineer. Sometimes he waves or even blows the whistle!
By Caroline Fremont4 years ago in Fiction
Crack the Whip
Rebecca absent-mindedly sipped her Sunday morning coffee, as she peered through the frosty pane. Winter had been particularly long with countless storms and cold, so very cold. Despite her dislike of winter, she marvelled at the sparkling drifts and swirls laying just beyond the window. Trees became indistinguishable beneath plump layers of crusty snow. An icicle, too heavy to sustain itself, fell crashing to the ground, bringing her back from reverie. Shards of ice scuttled outward as if in a game of crack the whip. Images of children spinning outward flooded Rebecca’s mind.
By Sherry Ryan4 years ago in Fiction
The Curious Incident of the Bull in the Nighttime
I love the night. I love the quiet, the stillness, the shimmering lights on the horizon spied from an upstairs window, the coolness of the air, the almost inaudible hum of a main road or motorway far off in the distance that was imperceptible during the hustle and bustle of the day but now seeps in through an open window carried by the night air.
By Jamie Jackson4 years ago in Fiction