Love
Feathers
The first feather began to grow on the second full moon of the year. Two days after Helene’s last treatment. I felt it poking through my scalp, an itchy little protrusion I mistook for a tick. I worried often about getting Lyme disease, so I'd been checking religiously for the little buggers.
By Kemari Howell4 years ago in Fiction
Manners
My best friend while I was growing up lived on a farm that, in my opinion, should have been condemned. The buildings there were falling apart so badly that I never dare rest myself against them. I'd surely end up speared by rotted wood. There was also not one, single green blade of grass for the animals to eat. I always looked their way in pity, wishing I could make it all better for them. Everything there was dull, dirty and dangerous. Not a place children should be allowed to play. My friend's parents never seemed to be around though which I never questioned. My friend, she like to live on the edge. She loved wild, chaotic wind. She would always say it made her feel alive. I remember her climbing to the very top of the poorly stacked hay bails and yelling out into the sky as loud as she could. Some days she would yell out of happiness and joy. Open arms, a huge smile on her face, dimples the biggest I've ever seen. Her hair would whip around chaotically but beautifully. On her happy days, I would dance around at the bottom of the stack and laugh, admiring her, egging her on with my own hoots and hollers. On her not-so-good days, my friend would scream and cry out in sadness and sorrow. Her smile gone and replaced with sad eyes and tear streaked cheeks. She would sob so hard and shake so much. I didn't know how to help on her sad days. I just sat and waited patiently until she decided she was ready to come down. When she did come down, she would just usually keep her eyes to the ground, ashamed that I had witnessed her despair. I would look her way in pity, wishing I could make it all better for her. There is a barely standing skeleton of a barn that sits on the edge of her parent's property. My friend visits a barn owl that she's named Manners there. Why the name Manners? My friend has told me that the barn owl has the most pleasant manners out of everyone she knows. Everyone one else interrupts and quietly criticizes her. The owl silently coos in empathy. Acknowledging my friend's old, tattered soul. Sometimes, when she's talking passionately about something, she gets so lost in her words and emotions that she practically forgets I'm around. She'll often find herself rambling, laugh, then apologize to me that she's done it again. Within 30 seconds she'll be Miss Motor Mouth again. I don't mind her rambling. I find her endearing. I find her thoughts and ideas stimulating, provoking. Nothing at all like any thoughts the other kids our age were having. My friend and I walk down a pebble road that leads to a cluster of oak trees. To our surprise, Manners the barn owl, perches itself into one of the big oak trees. It seems as though Manners wants to keep an eye on us. Walking through the oak trees, I look up at the branches. I notice the branches that have died and fallen, but have gotten stuck and not made their way to the ground. I believe those deadly branches are called widow makers. I take a moment to make sure we're not walking under any and then notice that my friend has become silent. She looks sad. I'm not good at giving comfort, let alone any type of advice. We walk in silence. Stepping over roots from the big oaks and catching Manners the barn owl out of the corners of our eyes going from branch to branch keeping an eye on us. Maybe my friend likes my company for the same reason she likes the owl. We both don't interrupt her rambling and criticizing her would be the last thing we do. We both follow her. Watching to make sure she's taken care of.
By Anna Marie4 years ago in Fiction
Acceptance
The small fire danced telling stories in the shadows among the cave walls. A strong woman's blue eyes shimmered as she stared in deep thought. Her dark frizzy hair was kept together in a tight braid, but it, like rest of her, would never be completely contained. The night had been calm, but the nip of the air drew her to the flame. Licking at her bare body she paid no mind. Listening, hearing nothing but the crackling, and the hooting of a distant owl. She could feel something was coming, just on the horizon…change.
By Carmen Dodson4 years ago in Fiction
Running with Lola
"Grandma, I want to hear the story of Harry and Lola!" announces Milly as she bounds through the french doors, leaving them frantically swinging behind her. Harriett looks affectionately down at her granddaughter. Milly's glowing green eyes gaze eagerly into her own. "Well hello there my Milly. I'm very happy to see you on this glorious Wednesday." Harriett feels warm as Milly's contagious excitement fills her. "Mummy is late again, she wants us to wave at the window." says Milly, accompanied by an exaggerated eye roll. As they wave from the bay window, pushing aside the crisp white curtains, Harriett smiles at her oldest daughter Vivienne, with unquestionable pride. "Dr Vivienne Stone, you really can do it all." Harriett thinks out aloud. "Come sit my child, and don't forget the woven shawl to keep you warm."
By April Phillips4 years ago in Fiction
Lay Me Down
HO-OOOO. HO-OOOO. HO-OOOO. Consciousness crept in, following the hole left by the hoots. Awareness bled from the opening and he grunted, squeezing his eyes to keep their seal. An ache in his hip forced him to roll and the push of the pillow on his face popped his eyelid just enough to catch the red digital glow from his clock. He shut it out.
By James Rossi4 years ago in Fiction
Him
Before I was unmindfully diluted by a man consisting of advertently manipulative tendencies, life was undoubtedly simple. I would wake up, get my morning coffee, run errands, go out with my friends, and I ugly laughed until my chest hurt. Now, I still do all of those seemingly minimalist things, but they’re burdened by a hole. It grows and festers every day like an open wound, and seems as if it will never heal. I lay awake at night unable to shut my mind off from the regret and the emptiness he makes me feel. All my thoughts consist of memories that I replay trying to make sense of it all, but it never does. I tried to blame him for making me this way, for doing this to me. But under my fractured mental walls, I’ve always known this would happen, that it would be my fault. I wish I could say I hate him, that I moved on and stopped caring. I wish I didn’t miss his contagious laugh, admire his charming disposition, and adore his effortlessly witty mind; But my heart could never fathom such a feeling.
By Sarah Sturges4 years ago in Fiction
A Universe In Flight
There are things I never said to you. And more I know you never said to me. We’d stay up late, our little secret, and talk about our favorite animals, create stories from our own inside jokes. We’d talk about fears and those famous people we’d have dinner with if we could.
By Dorian Edwards4 years ago in Fiction
Two Owls, One Heart
Two Owls, One Heart She was graceful. Her wings allowed her to move swiftly yet delicately through the wind. Gliding in the air, she perched herself on the same old barn as she did every morning around this time, ever since she was a young owlet with her mom. She closed her eyes, feeling the cool spring breeze dance between her feathers. When she opened them, she took in the scenery. She could see new buds forming on the trees and a wide stretch of open field on the edge of a beautiful fluorescent swamp where deer were grazing. The sun, rising in the horizon spilled its’ golden rays across the field. Life, in her eyes, was perfect and safe.
By Ella R. S. 4 years ago in Fiction
The Festival of Light.
I invite you, my dear readers, to my woods. Ha! I wish it was mine. No, it is not my home, nor does the forest belong to me. It is not of spectacular widths and sizes, but not too shabby either. It is a perfect fit for our journey in it together.
By Katarzyna Portka4 years ago in Fiction
