family
Just a Touch of Vanilla
“I learned to bake when I was your age,” my Grandma Helen said to me one summer morning. I was eight years old, visiting the big Victorian on Vine Street, which had come down through the family through many generations, its walls catching our family history like a spider catches flies in her net. Until that moment, I’d felt unseen by this woman. Now I was to learn something my father often called ‘the family secret’. She was going to show me how to bake Devil’s Food cake, but not from some cheap store mix. I was going to learn the real recipe, the one that had been passed down through my family’s generations.
By Kaiya Hart4 years ago in Fiction
Sara and the beetle
“A new sister!” said our mum. But I didn’t really understand how it would be. My strongest memory of those early days was getting to have a sleepover up the road at Dory’s when mum popped Sas out. Dory’s older sister Inga was impossibly sophisticated and had eyes that were slanty and dark like an Indian princess. She smelt of patchouli and used to pinch me when no-one was looking.
By Jane Cornes-Maclean4 years ago in Fiction
Twelve Fifteen
I leave the kitchen at 12:00 with the cake. The lit candles dance off the walls to the tune which I am not carrying. My steps are measured. I don’t want to catch a heel on the rug. I keep an eye out for Jazz and Juniper who have been known to dart between my legs at the worst possible moments. I should have locked them in the bathroom but then they wouldn’t be there for the cake. They should be there for cake.
By Vera Patterson4 years ago in Fiction
Finder's Keepers
Her favorite thing about the house she had bought two years after her divorce was the small woods behind it. Sitting in her bedroom, she could look out the window at the trees and imagine she was in the middle of a forest somewhere, secluded and private, instead of in the middle of a suburban neighborhood outside Atlanta.
By Shelly Slade4 years ago in Fiction
The Purple Triangle
Anya sat in the dark at her little wooden kitchen table and carefully tore a page from her small Bible. She folded the page into a thin strip, rolled it up tightly into a cylinder, inserted it into a drinking straw, and cut off the excess. Tomorrow, she thought, I’ll bring this to Yuri.
By Gigi Gibson4 years ago in Fiction
Chocolate Reckoning
We grew up in a simple home, a home filled with plain things. There was no TV, no fine china and most days no shoes on the calloused feet of that ten year old boy running down the streets of Jackson, Mississippi. Jackson was a pretty plain place to grow up; most folks didn’t have much. My brothers and I had learned to make lots out of nothin. There were four of us—my older brother Charlie who was fourteen, my eight year old brother Ryan, the four year old—Jake, and me. I’m sure you can imagine just how inventive four boys growing up in the backwoods of nowhere can be. My momma always said, “Less is more—Johnny”, anytime I’d complain about what we didn’t have. I always thought it was because it made her feel better about what she couldn’t give us, and maybe it was, but I’m beginning to think there might have been a lot more to what she had to say.
By Natalie Stover4 years ago in Fiction
Sweet Memories
The light in the entryway flickers. I take a deeper breath in than the one before, but it still doesn't feel like enough. On my exhale, the light steadies. I close my eyes. By the time I open them, the light begins to flicker again. I take an even deeper breath in and hold it as I stand up; I walk across the room and flip the switch. I exhale as the darkness surrounds me.
By Jaci Schreckengost4 years ago in Fiction
Grandma's Recipe
One cup of cocoa powder. One cup of all-purpose flour. One cup of melted butter— The voices in my head are quiet when I’m baking. And with each ingredient that I throw into the bowl, I become less alone. With each ingredient, Grandma takes a step towards me.
By Khadija Malik4 years ago in Fiction
There Goes the Neighbourhood
Great Grandpa Edward’s ninetieth birthday party was meant to be a celebration, but it quickly became a crime scene. This would have come as more of a shock to the neighbourhood if it had not been for the Hargroves’ reputation for drama. There were often screaming matches between the eldest siblings in the family, and more than once law enforcement had been called to a Hargrove barbeque. This would have been less frustrating for the neighbours if it were not for the fact that the family had weekly Sunday barbeques.
By Mackenzie Dickeson4 years ago in Fiction
The Birthday That Wouldn't Be Forgotten
Every year as a child Ida’s mother would make her famous chocolate cake for both of Ida’s sisters, but when her birthday came, all that she got was a rice cake with more of a chocolate scent than a flavor, and the same lecture as the year before.
By Stevi Vaughn4 years ago in Fiction
