family
Love, Grandad
Nick adjusted the collar of his shirt. He cinched his tie a little too tight. In fairness, the black and white ensemble he wore that day was unusual to him. Scanning the pews of the humble St. Lawrence Chapel, he could see the other mourners were shifting and fidgeting, as well. Nick stood at the front of the church near the casket with the rest of his immediate family. Friends, neighbors, and distant relatives of his late grandfather lined up to pay their final respects. One by one, solemn faces offered condolences until the last person was through. After the service, Nick and the other pallbearers hoisted the coffin into the hearse that was parked outside.
By Pete Kwapis5 years ago in Fiction
Todays my birthday
Today seems heavy to me, well heavier than I'm accustomed to. I woke up my chest aching, tears flowing from my eyes and an empty feeling inside. Birthdays are normally hard for me but this one hits harder than most. My dad called me as he always has since I left home. He sang my own personal happy birthday song that he made up. "Happy birthday my little angel, sure is nice that I am able to witness here another year of you growing my beautiful dear" on my voicemail. In the most beautiful soft voice that cracks slightly now from age. He asked me to call but he knows I won't. I don't want to talk about it today, not today. I was raised by my dad, he was an older dad, being 40 when I was born. He met my mom at his favorite restaurant. She was a waitress and a lot younger than he. He always tells me how beautiful she was. Soft red curls that perfectly matched her freckled face. She was short and petite but had large hands. He said the first time she took his order he stared without speaking and that made her smile and it opened what became their first conversation. My dad went back to that restaurant every day after that first meeting, that's why it's his favorite. He always stares and she always laughs. Their first date was on a Sunday, they went for ice cream. My dad got mint chocolate chip, his favorite and my mom had rocky road. They went out every Sunday, it was my mom's only day off. My dad fell in love quickly, but my mom was always distant, he says. I was born 2 years after the day they met. With the same red curls and the same perfectly matched freckles. My dad says it was the happiest day of his life. Two months later my mom turned 25 years old, that was the day she left us. My dad says he woke up and she was just gone. No note, no calls just gone. He spoke of her often, all of her pictures still hung on the walls. I looked just like her, same hair and face but I was heavier in weight. He set a place for her at the table that remained empty. He said a prayer for her at night when he tucked me in. And although he never said it I know the ring he gave me was hers. It was on my 14th birthday when I received a package in the mail that I knew she was alive. A box, square wrapped in brown paper like the bags from the grocery store. It was neat and taped well, addressed to me from " MOM". My dad placed it on the kitchen table one day after school. He had a smile on his gently wrinkled face and was waiting for me to react. I smiled at him, asked about work and went to my room. Every year since he has placed the same box in the same spot on the same table on my birthday. And every year since I've left home he has called and asked if I wanted him to mail the box to me. The first year or two I laughed it off and changed the subject. I would ask him about the weather back home or how the dog was doing. He would immediately answer my question and tell me he loves me. I no longer have the strength to pick up the phone for my birthday. Now I just wait to call the day after, I make up an excuse about being with friends from school or being in a class that ran late. He has never pressed the issue and due to his gentle nature I'm sure he never will. Today however is especially hard, today I turn the same age she was when she left. I know he means well and I know he misses her. He has not loved since, never a date or even a woman at the house. He keeps her picture by the bed and still has her toothbrush in his bathroom. Her perfume still sits in her spot on the dresser and what's left of her belongings still rest in the closet where they were hung. I don't know how to love someone I have never met. I don't feel what my dad feels and I'm not sad the way he is. I had an amazing childhood with a great dad. He was always there for me. At every dance recital and soccer game. When I scraped my knee falling off my bike. He even chased my first boyfriend home when he broke my heart. I wonder sometimes why she left,and maybe if I opened the box it would tell me. Maybe she was too young and couldn't handle being a mom. Maybe she just didn't love my dad. This day is filled with confusion and questions I don't want answered. I don't want to know why she left or what she has to say. If it was that important she would have been here to say it, right? I wish he would throw the box away, that would end the what ifs and take away the temptation. For him I think it's that last bit of hope that somewhere in this world she's thinking of us. I didn't grow up missing her and I don't want to start now. So there it sits, in the same spot right where he left it. As though touching it would burn me as though what it holds would plague my existence. The box sent to me, the box I have never touched, the unopened relationship with my mother.
By Randi henley 5 years ago in Fiction
The Haunted
I could see and hear things no one else could for as long as I can remember. My granny told me at a young age that I was sensitive just like her, at the time I couldn’t understand exactly what she was referring to but as time went on I would certainly find out. Unfortunately granny passed away and I later found myself very alone in these experiences with so many unanswered questions. I’ll never forget The first time I saw a ghost I had to be between seven or eight years old. I will never forget it because it was my great grandfather whom had just passed away. I hadn’t ever gotten to know him he was an Army veteran who suffered terrible ptsd. Grandpa mostly stayed in his room and I don’t recall seeing him well really ever. That summer I was visiting my granny and helping in the orchard when the phone rang, my granny promptly requested I answere the phone as not to wake grandpa. I did what she requested and to my surprise he had already answered the phone and when I picked up he scolded me and I remember I felt so hurt by his words. I immediately burst into tears and ran out to my granny to tell her what happened. I will never forget what I said to her. The hate filled words rolled right off my tongue;” he’s so mean! I wish he would just die” now mind you even with little to no relationship with my grandfather I did love him and didn’t mean what I said I was just a stupid young girl. We stayed for two more days and left back home. The very next evening my mother got a call I overheard enough to know something had upset her. She explains my Grandpa had died, when I heard the news I gasped I could feel my heartbreak. had I actually killed my grandfather! I cried for days, sure that my awful words had somehow caused his death, at his funeral I will never forget the way his daughter cried for him she was filled with so much pain. My grandmother was inconsolable, I remember wondering what kind of relationship they had with him, this broken man I never got to know hadn’t always been that way. He must have been a wonderful father a wonderful husband and a great loss to the family. I sat alone and cried as I begged for forgiveness and every cry of pain I heard from his grieving family invoked a guilt inside of me that seemed to consume my whole body. When I got home that night I went strait to my room and cried and cried I couldn’t stop apologizing to my grandfather and saying to myself “ why would you die?, I didn’t mean it.” I fell asleep after a while I was awakened by an odd feeling that I was being watched. Terrified to open my eyes I pulled my blanket up to my chest and grasped it tight in my hands while I worked up the nerve. To open my eyes the very first thing I noticed was odd green light almost a glow emanating from my closet and filling my room. I feel my bed compress near my feel and to my suprise I feel a hand gently lay across my calf. Startled I look to the foot of the bed and that’s when I see him. My grandfather, transparent and silent he just sat and looked at me and I looked closely back. The longer we look at each other I realize something is very different about him. His features look soft and and full of compassion a far cry from the stern and indifferent features that were compiled in my memory. This was him, he was filled with peace no longer tormented by his memories of war. I regretted that I never got to know him. He tapped my leg three times with his hand and smiled, just then the green glowing light began to recede into the closet I watched as my room filled with the familiar darkness, I looked back to the foot of the bed and as the light disappeared as quickly as It came so did my grandfather. I was filled with a sense of peace as well. I believe to this day That My grandfather came to comfort me and let me know that his death was not my fault. And without speaking a word, he did just that.
By Kaenne depuente 5 years ago in Fiction
Two Toes, One Finger
Two big toes and an index finger was all that was left of Ramona. She had been making an earl grey, like she did every morning, when she combusted. It was late afternoon by the time Charles got home and found the bloody remains of his mother splattered all over the kitchen blinds, linoleum, appliances and the various bits of crockery collected from jumble sales over the years. It was an alarming sight to come home to, to say the least. He wondered at first if an early-rising murderer had stormed the pink cottage, knifed her to death and cackled with glee as they tossed her innards around like confetti in some deranged killing frenzy. If it was murder, whoever it was had really gone to some trouble to make sure the room was painted crimson. He stood frozen in the doorway pondering the possibilities, until he saw the finger on the kettle. His eyes darted around the space, absorbing the blood caked on the ceiling, architraves and in crevices he had never noticed before, until they settled on two dismembered toes by the refrigerator. His pupils dilated and his jaw tensed. He felt his chest tighten, his fists clench, and that thicker-than-average vein in his temple start to throb. There was no knifeman on the loose. The combustion had finally happened.
By Charlotte K5 years ago in Fiction
The Unwanted Gift
The Unwanted Gift Chelsea is a beautiful young junior high school student who loves meeting new people. Everyone who meets her loves her; Never having met a stranger, her parents worry that harm would come to her one day. Chelsea likes to hang out with her two best friends, Karen and Mia, whom she has known since they were babies.
By Ronna Curtis5 years ago in Fiction
Rachel was not going to be like her mother.
Rachel was not going to be like her mother. Pacing frenetically across her messy bedroom, Rachel grabbed a seemingly random assortment of things, and stuffed them into a faded black backpack with duct tape on the strap. She skirted around the sturdy oak-framed bed, with blue dingy sheets and a faded quilt. Clothes were strewn about the room. On the floor. On the dresser. On her old Chemistry textbook. Hanging out of the hastily half-opened drawers. She shook a bottle of Bath & Body Works peony body spray with barely any liquid left. Not enough to bring with, but she couldn’t bring herself to throw it out either. She darted past the posters from magazines tacked to the walls, her attempt to decorate the room without spending any money. Past the old boom box with a case full of burned CDs. The soundtracks she’d often used to drown out the explosive fights that punctuated the deafening silence.
By Zianna Weston5 years ago in Fiction
My Mother’s Cake
America was hard. It was kind and crazy and lovely and mean and full of possibilities and people whose eyes you met and quickly looked away from because you didn't want to see how far down that feeling went. It was everything and full of nothing. You were already torn in half and America did not help with that.
By Maria Shimizu Christensen5 years ago in Fiction
Christmas Vacation
When the lake froze over, everyone in the cabin was really happy. Well, almost everyone. One person that didn't like it was, Alexa. Alexa was never a fan of the lake in general. She absolutely loathed it in the Winter. As most of her family seemed to hang out there more during Christmas Vacation. And staying away from it wasn't an option. Since, her parents said it was 'family time' and she couldn't back out of 'family time'.
By Raphael Fontenelle5 years ago in Fiction
