family
My Marigolds
When I was six, everything was full of color. The sky was always blue, the grass was never brown. But even when everything was bright, I knew the marigolds on our lawn was the brightest. Our marigolds shone brighter than anything in our little Mexican neighborhood, even the brilliant, scorching sun .
By And I am Nightmare4 years ago in Fiction
Marigolds and Clover
By a cruel twist of fate, the sun was shining and the birds were singing the day we laid Clover to rest. For the world, her death will have gone unheralded. No obituary would appear in the paper. Nobody would tweet how sorry they were to see her go or provide accolades of her accomplishments. No bard would sing of her feats, no epic saga of her adventures would be filmed, no Wikipedia article would be written about her life, and no queen would posthumously bestow upon her a ladyhood - if that’s the correct term. She was just gone, her life an insignificant blip on a radar, a true nobody in the history of the world.
By Phoebe Wilby4 years ago in Fiction
Flowers on Wednesday
Nurse Angela stood at the desk it was Wednesday afternoon and that meant Phoebe’s sister would be visiting, she had come every Wednesday and Saturday for the past 6 months. Phoebe’s other friends even her parents didn’t come as often anymore. On Wednesdays though she bought flowers and Angela had the vase ready and waiting for her.
By Francesca Newman4 years ago in Fiction
Surviving then Living
Surviving then Living Michelle leaned against the fence and watched as Hannah carefully maneuvered her wheelchair through the gate and into the pasture. She tried twice before but lost her nerve. Third times a charm. She closed the gate behind her and made her way to her favorite spot under the pear tree.
By Kelly Deary4 years ago in Fiction
The Truth About Raising Twins
They say twins have a special relationship — a bond for life. Secret languages. Loads of inside jokes. A kind of telepathy even. Not true for my two girls. They were born just 14 minutes apart, but it might as well have been 14 years.
By Justin Streight4 years ago in Fiction
Mari
Depression was a word not spoken aloud in my home, but it was a well-known and welcome visitor. When my wife died a few months ago, I thought Depression had become a permanent resident. On our daily walks, my wife and I used to find joy in the rustle of leaves and the sound of children playing, but now they all are just blatant reminders that she is gone. I still walked through the park every day, though. Some traditions die hard I suppose.
By Emily Brandt4 years ago in Fiction
A Mari Gold by Any Other Name...
I hate my name! God, I hate my name! What were my “flower child” hippie parents thinking? I get it. It was the Sixties. Lots of kids were blessed or cursed, with names best suited for nature. I even have a friend named Rainbow! But my name is more like a lame pun, than a traditional name. There was even un-bridled snickering when my name was sweetly whispered over a baptismal fountain in church during my Christening. Is nothing sacred?
By DeEtta Miller4 years ago in Fiction
