Love
That Slice of Chocolate Cake
Here we are again – together at the coffee shop, our second home. But today was not like the others. The sky outside was bright and blue, sunrays penetrated the large tinted glass panes bringing in a warm glow across the Celtic-patterned walls, in contrast to what was often the wet and cloudy days that shot white light through clear windows. How uncanny this would reflect the many years that have passed, and how we have grown. Or maybe just how I feel: aged in wisdom, a master of inner peace, enjoying a quiet afternoon…. I feel old. I used to have energy to face all things, from battling imaginary childhood monsters in the back garden to planning the next bicycle adventure across the river to neighboring towns. But on this very day, it has been brought to my attention just how much has changed. Today is the first time I have been back in over ten years. It was a delight to discover Cottage Coffee on the Corner was still in operation, with a few upgrades including those fancy brown windows and some modern espresso machines. I wanted to savor what was familiar, which thankfully, was not that difficult. The distinct aroma had not changed one bit – dark roasted French beans with a hint of skunk and jasmine. I am an adult today. I forsook my longtime beverage of hot chocolate with heavy whipped cream to pursue this distinguished staple. Of course this was not my first cup of coffee. I have had many since I had left. But today, I would finally enjoy the coffee of my hometown, amongst the other things that had changed.
By Dahliavision5 years ago in Fiction
The Winter Ball
The sun shone down, it’s brilliant rays illuminating the whole entire place. Her aunt’s barn wouldn’t have been her first choice for the Christmas ball, but she had to admit, she could see the building all decked out for Christmas, and she was quite impressed. As well, the weatherman reported it would be a beautiful 62 degrees. Unheard of in Illinois at Christmas, but well, she was grateful. There was electricity in her aunt’s barn, recently added, and they had bought some very safe space heaters, but Clarissa didn’t like the idea of space heaters. Not since…It wasn’t worth dwelling on now.
By Jennifer Miller5 years ago in Fiction
The Unimaginable Barn
My granddaughter and I are celebrating our birthdays. We were born on the same day. July 8th. Her name is Aerial. Her mother didn't name her after a mermaid. Aerial is named in honor of the father she never knew, an American Olympic Gold Medal Freestyle Skier, Christian Eklund. The son of a cancer research scientist of Swedish descent from Montana. My daughter met this Swede freshman year. Science lab together and a whole lot of chemistry going on. His parents said Chris was pretty clumsy for an athletic kid. They loved to tease him that his natural gate, and one he was better at, was flying down snow covered mountains. By the age of 19, the clumsy kid was a world champion and about to pursue his dream of Olympic Gold. His freestyle specialty was the aerial event. Chris was best upside down and high in the sky.
By Nancie Brown5 years ago in Fiction
Sector 9-11
The computer buzzes with another call. I stare blankly as it chimes, but can’t do anything to move my stiff limbs. I shake my head once, then twice, to rid myself of the shock. He'll see me soon? It was ridiculous to even think. I blinked once, twice, before the cloud of confusion lifts long enough from my head to hit the answer button on the screen in front of me. I stare blankly into the buffering screen.
By Christine C5 years ago in Fiction
Sweet Romance
Jane is a 36 year old freelance artist. She has friends, she’s close to her family. Her art sells very well. From the outside looking in, Jane has a great life. What she’s been hiding all of these years is a very sad heart. When it comes to relationships she has dealt with unrequited love, leading to countless heartbreaks. She wonders if she’ll always be alone. She finds herself smiling in the daytime as bright as the sun, at night her tears are like heavy rain. Every night before bed she asks if she’ll ever have her fairytale love.
By Jazmine Ramzy5 years ago in Fiction
Love Song of J. Sidney Barrymore
She flew home from London, and he told her about the foxes. He had been field-stripping a cigarette on his property near dusk when he saw the mother running toward an old woodpile behind the red barn. The mother was carrying a dead rat in her mouth and he saw her drop it next to the foot-wide hole in the ground that was partially obscured by scraps of wood.
By Christopher Lincoln5 years ago in Fiction
Gentle and Steady
“You’ll be safe here.” Julie said nothing, but Mrs. Holden was not offended. The woman sitting in front of her was soaked by a cold, fall rain, and Eliza Holden had to hold back tears when she helped Julie remove her coat, revealing bruises and an ugly gash on her arm, still bleeding. Eliza had known Julie since she was 6 years old. She could still remember the bouncy child who raced up to her holding the hand of her son, Charlie.
By Nami Okalu5 years ago in Fiction
Through the barn door
Felicity stared out the large, country window, her soft grey curls framing her wrinkled face. She sat like a statue, so still that you could barely see her breathing. Around her were the rumblings of her family, different voices coming from different parts of the house. But this commotion did not stir any reaction from the frail old woman, and she looked more like a beautiful portrait of an elderly lady rather than one in real life. In fact, the only sign of life, actual life, were the occasional blinks from her big, brown eyes.
By Kimberly M5 years ago in Fiction
