family
The Green Porch Light
My mother has a habit of half-assing everything in the most endearing way possible. From cleaning the counter in figure-8s — totally missing the dirtiest sections — to undercooking pancakes and making gooey centers my favorite way to eat them. She puts things away not where they go, but wherever is most convenient or where she thinks they belong.
By Abby Draper5 years ago in Fiction
The Most Delicious Chocolate Cake Recipe Ever
She was five when we baked our first cake. Little blonde pigtails bouncing and big blue eyes dancing while we pulled out the ingredients. I had printed out the recipe so she could help me find everything. "What's next, Mama!"
By J.B. Miller5 years ago in Fiction
Lorraine's Lesson
The door swings open, and through it barges my Mother's friend Lorraine, a larger woman, greying hair, demanding. She sits at the table and begins talking with my mother. For some reason, even when she was kind, it came across as if she were plotting some spiteful revenge for some unseen slight, which was always a moving target.
By Jeff Johnson5 years ago in Fiction
Grandma's Hands
Susan bent in front of the oven and peered through the glass. The chocolate cake was rising nicely. Knowing when to take it out was part of the trick to the perfect cake. She thought of all the summers she had spent at her grandmother’s in her little house in St. Louis, the scent of chocolate wafting through her memories. They had baked this recipe over and over, and the entire family would acclaim their perfectly symmetrical triangles of pure chocolate bliss every time it was served. It was a birthday special request, but there were a lot of birthdays in the family. By the time her grandmother sold her house and moved into an apartment, Susan could bake the recipe with her eyes closed. She knew the exact moment to take the cake from the oven, the exact degree of coolness before she slathered it with a generous amount of cocoa frosting.
By Shelly Slade5 years ago in Fiction
Linnie Lane
6:00AM. The sun is beginning its glow over the Chicago skyline. The birds chirp with harmonious song and the noise of the city is at its lowest. Avery wakes with no intention of productivity today. Between the hangover and the conversation he had with his cousin, Victor, last night the overwhelming emotion he’s feeling is something he’d rather leave dormant.
By Alexis Fenton5 years ago in Fiction
Shelter From the Storm
“Come on! Let’s hurry!” Billy hollers over his shoulder. “Billy! Slow down!” I holler right back. The sky is quickly darkening. The rumbling thunder getting closer with each stride. Large splotches of rain are already starting to fall. The barn is just on the other side of this field. The new wheat seems to cast a radiant glow of brilliant yellow. A shocking contrast against the inky-grey sky filled with billowing thunderheads that rise to the heavens.
By Julie Godfrey5 years ago in Fiction
Memories
I shouldn’t have been out there. I don’t know how many times I had heard my father telling me to stay out of the old barn that sat a few acres back from our house, a part of the old farm that had once sat on the property. He’d explained it was dilapidated and needed to be torn down, he’d just never gotten around to it after living there for thirty-five years, and I had always thought that strange.
By Mackenzie Harris5 years ago in Fiction
In the Rafters
There were no pigeons in the rafters today. Odd, with the rain outside. Where were they? They shouldn't fly in this weather. The rain would make their feathers heavy and make it difficult to see. Pigeons can't have very good eyesight. Very inefficient. They must be resting somewhere else today. Why? What was wrong with my barn? I keep it much cleaner now than before. The rafters are high and stable, with absolutely no splinters. I made sure. I almost broke my wrist getting rid of them. I have a doctor, though, and I don't need to use my wrist to hold onto telephone wires or branches like they do. Plus, I've practiced always catching myself with my left hand so that I can still hold a fork if I'm injured. I would have been fine. The pigeons don't have any health insurance.
By Amelia Grace Newell5 years ago in Fiction
Lingering Memories
So many years have passed since I’ve been here. I look around the old farm, decades of history packed into a couple of hundred square acres. Unfortunately, it’s been long abandoned, and nothing remains but ash, dust, and what I imagine would be the smell of death.
By Antonio Obi-wan Abinadi Flores5 years ago in Fiction
