family

Tints of Majesty
Have you ever been to Norway? I have. I was born in a small village outside of Tromsø, well north of the Arctic Circle. Here, during the summer, the midnight sun bathes the town in perpetual daylight, from May to July.
By Jordan Gray4 years ago in Fiction
La Faja Roja
Once upon a time, in a land far and away from here, there lived a young boy with thick brown hair that fell across his forehead in rich, luxurious curls. Bertrand was full of zest and ambition and maintained goals greater than most envisioned. On the surface, his life appeared to others to be perfect, he was surrounded by maids and nurses providing for his every whim, but it was anything but dreamy in reality.
By Sandra Dosdall4 years ago in Fiction
Uncle Walter
“Grandpa, Grandpa, Uncle Walter is here.” I shook Grandpa’s hand, but he couldn’t hear me. He lay on the bed, still and white… as he had for several days. “Uncle Walter’s here Grandpa.” I knew everything would be all right now. Uncle Walter had come.
By Ronald Gordon Pauley4 years ago in Fiction
A Father's Love
Raja Sahib's wife was very angry with his occasional drinking. After heart ailments and liver problems, the doctors declared alcohol poisoning for him. Later Raja Sahib had given up alcohol but the circle of friends with whom he used to sit and do this job would sometimes make this mistake by forcing him to regret it and fighting with Begum was a different matter for Raja Sahib.
By Mohammad Arif4 years ago in Fiction
A Black Ink Oddity
There are seven billion people on this planet, and I always have to remind myself that every one of them live each day in seven billion different ways. I’ve developed an indispensable way to remind myself of this fact; I scribble words across the edge of my arm every morning. With my pen outlining the blue veins climbing my arm, important words marry my skin, and recently—especially since my sister’s funeral—I don’t feel inclined to washing it off. I like writing notes on the back of my hand. I’m not a forgetful person or anything, and it’s not as though I don’t know how to use the notes app in my phone. I am comforted by the act of swiftly moving my hand across my own skin. It affirms something that typing on a phone could never achieve. Before my sister passed, I liked to write my grocery list across my fingers or note phone numbers on the edge of my wrists. Every so often, I liked to paint on my arms—in black ink—the curves of a fortifying building or a tree that dips sideways. But after my sister died, I’ve been writing notes across my arm like a detective that scribbles the details of a crime scene in his notepad; I like to remind myself that I must justify why I deserve to be here. And today, on her birthday, I write a note: find the brown bull, and then burn it.
By Bella Leon4 years ago in Fiction
Dancing Around the Bull
“Grip both sides of the bull tightly. Get the hand wrapped and scooch. Scooch the body toward the bull's shoulders.” I repeated the professional bull rider’s directions over and over. “How are you feeling son?” My dad asked as he climbed up. “Serious adrenaline rushing through me.” Why wouldn’t it be, sitting on top of a one ton rodeo bull. “Ready!” I shouted. My dad slapped the bull and signaled, it’s time. The bull was ferociously outraged. This is what you want for points. Points are awarded for control, posture, and for the difficulty of the beast. This beast was named Maniacal Violence. Regardless of the outcome, this is my first and last ride. The bull stormed out. The rodeo crowd was a blur, their shouts were muffled. The bull spun around lunging forward, up and down bucking forward and backwards. His legs flew high behind him and he almost flipped over time and time again. “Maniacal Violence looks like he is trying to turn the tables on this young bull rider. He isn’t distressed, he looks straight up outraged. Who’s dominating who today at this Texas Rodeo?” The announcer was a three time champion, he understood the danger I was in. “This bull’s brain isn’t wired for submission, Cayman needs to hold on tightly, it’s one for the records people. Send in the clowns, this kid needs help and fast.” I could hear the announcer calling out for back-up. The look of sheer terror filled everyone’s faces. “You’re cruel and unpredictable aren’t you, old boy?” the clown was not joking with this bull. “This bull is too much for this circuit Wally. Let’s clap and divide. Cayman, wink your right eye if you hear me. When we clash these cymbals on three, you let go, get to safety.” I winked and slowly loosened my grip, took the rope off, waiting to be thrown. All my ballet classes would come in handy now. My leg would twirl over this muscle twitching beast, over my head and I’d flip down. The clash came too soon. The clowns ran in different directions. The bull paused deciding who would pay the price. As Maniacal leapt forward, I threw my leg over him and when I landed, I made the mistake of looking back. I saw Wally flying in the air over the bull. Wayne, the other clown was doing everything to get his attention. As Maniacal Violence turned, he caught me out of the corner of his eye. I heard my dad calling out to me. “Cayman, climb. Climb, son.” Dad’s hand was stretched to its limits. He caught my glove but it slid straight off my sweating palm. That bull jumped in the air and missed me by less than an inch. His horn print was forever embedded in the wood. “We got you, we got you son.” My dad held me close. “Don’t move, it isn’t hurting now, but it is going to.” The bulls horn luckily hit my belt buckle before swiping my side open.
By Wren4 years ago in Fiction
Is blood thicker than water?
As she stared into the mirror, the cuts on her face seemed usual. They hurt but not as much as her soul. She could cover this with makeup. She was skilled in that art at least. No one would notice her anyways. As she walked through aisles of supermarkets, no one would glance at her twice anyways. She was a black woman, hidden behind a jacket in the heat of summer. They assumed she was invisible anyways. No one ever saw her unless they needed her. When was she ever really needed anyways? Except to wipe the tears of others as she absorbed the rations of love they coated in deceit. She was accustomed to these wounds because she watched her own mother cover them up. If her mother could, then what was her excuse. She was built to be strong. If not strong, then she was weak. She would be labeled as a victim, and no one had pity for a black woman victim.
By dr.verse4 years ago in Fiction
Oliver's Favorite Memory
My brother, Oliver, and I try not to talk about what happened to our parents. He was only six when it happened but he remembers everything that happened. Oliver didn’t want to talk to anyone after that except me. I always knew Oliver was a bit odd and shy compared to most of his classmates, but being in that car crash, seeing our mom get showered in glass, he became almost catatonic. Getting a whisper out of him was like pulling teeth, but I would do anything just to make sure he was at least somewhat okay. No social worker could get through to him, but at least if I was there, he would respond.
By Pseudo Nym4 years ago in Fiction
A Farm In The Country
“I wouldn’t go in there if I were you. ‘Ol Red doesn’t take kindly to strangers.” Micheal was caught off guard by the voice coming from behind him. He hadn't been back to his hometown in just over 12 years. Not since both his parents were killed in a car accident but felt compelled to come back when he heard that Uncle Zack had suffered a stroke. He didn’t really want to leave the town that he grew up in but after his parents died, there were just too many ghosts for him to stay. Those same ghosts also kept him from coming back. At least until now.
By Albert Melissen4 years ago in Fiction
Pennificence
Penny knew that Ralph should be home with the kids by the time she got there. He had arranged his schedule so that all this school year he got done with work at three in the afternoon so he could pick them up. He also took them to school in the morning. He was pretty much kid-erific—strict, but also a lot of fun. He had boundaries to keep them safe, doing well in school, & playing nicely with others. But within those boundaries he allowed for a lot of wiggle-room. He rarely got rattled with them.
By Randy Wayne Jellison-Knock4 years ago in Fiction
Raging Bull
It was 2021, a pivotal time in the world. Travel restrictions had just been lifted. My three childhood friends coordinated a visit to our hometown. Philomena, the philosopher, Axel,the astronomer, Eddy, the economist and I, the writer, had worked to maintain our special bond with each other.
By Katherine D. Graham4 years ago in Fiction
A Somber Road Ahead
Marisa took the long way to her mother’s house. It was normally a two hour drive and Marisa had no qualms about making it a three hour drive. She had many issues and questions she didn’t want to think about at the moment. A beautiful respite through the countryside provided a calmness her conflicted mind needed for the coming weeks ahead.
By Nancy Gwillym4 years ago in Fiction