Mystery
Allena Abigail Burkhardt: Part 4
Her muscles ached. Hours sitting in a fixed position probably wasn’t what most physical therapists would have recommended for a Saturday morning. And not the potential gym visit she had been anticipating. With little opportunity to stretch her legs, Allena was essentially trapped to her vantage point in the dense brush. She’d been forced to trespass in a garden opposite a pretty little residence with a wisteria vine archway, densely growing garden bed, and several fruit trees. Allena strongly suspected they were pear trees, or perhaps apple if not only for her immediate pear craving, having forgotten her lunch –featuring said fruit– on the kitchen counter at home. The trees bore a few, seasonally confused flowers along the branches, perhaps curtesy of the bout of warmer weather they had had a week ago. The house under observation was painted white, accented with a pale green. It had received many visitors since she had arrived. The first she had seen had been non-other than Ted Bennett.
By E.B. Mahoney4 years ago in Fiction
Lemonade
When I met Henry he was everything I wanted as a girl. He was charming, handsome, respectful and most of all a real gentleman. We used to sit by the fire and just laugh for all hours of the night while he held me in his arms. He was absolutely the man of my dreams. I just wish I knew about his sickness before I married him. I don't think I would've stayed with him if I did. Mrs.Morrison you are aware that there’s something much worse than your husbands ‘’sickness’’ I replied wearily. As she straightens her back I couldn’t help but notice her start to stare off into the distance. Was she staring at the tree in her front yard? Or was she staring at the wallpaper that was beginning to peel.
By Neomy Briana Rodriguez4 years ago in Fiction
The Wine Collector
Two adult sisters with strawberry blonde hair once lived with their parents on a small vineyard in France. The elder sister was twenty-six and known for her temper. The younger was nineteen and by far the prettier and more playful of the two.
By Max Burns-McRuvie4 years ago in Fiction
You Can Find Me in the Marigolds
Nature is a force with the power to end or begin things as it pleases. It exerted this faculty over my life in a constant cycle of creation and destruction. Starting and stopping. Ebbing and flowing. It made me dizzy how it giveth and taketh away without bias. But I’d learned to find the gratitude for all that was and wasn’t. And so it was on that winter night, as I drove home to my Mama for the first time in years. I was simply grateful, for what was coming and what was leaving.
By Kemari Howell4 years ago in Fiction
Caught Up or Set Free
I dug all day until the night fell and by the time I finished I had a duffle bag filled with stuff I found including the bones. I know they were bones because I eventually found the skeleton head. I did not panic when I found it because at that point I was tired and already had my suspicions. I did not start out digging either, I was there kneading the soil around the barn I had just destroyed and burned, that’s a whole other story that I already told [The Farmhouse Web], when I stumbled across some hard objects. One thing led to another and here I am with the duffle bag of stuff and bones. I filled the hole I dug and completed the kneading. I was able to plant some unknown seeds that I had found in the barn prior to destruction. I hope they grow and prosper to cover and erase all trace of a barn that once stood.
By Christina DeFeo4 years ago in Fiction
Marigold Dream
Waking up to a cloudy day, mom yelling WAKE UP! Not the best Tuesday to wake up to. As I walked to the bathroom to get ready to start my day, I couldn’t shake off the strange dream, I had last night. I can say, I smelled the flowers on the field like in the dream while in the bathroom, as it felt so real. I knew no one would believe me. They would think, I had gone mad.
By Lisette Camacho-Alvarez4 years ago in Fiction
Three Deep Breaths
7892 Sylvester Street, 12:30 AM OR I’LL TELL THEM. That’s all the paper read when Sheldon received it three hours ago. No instructions. He could only assume he was supposed to just show up at the specified address, and subsequent specified time. He looked down at his watch. 12:22 AM. Eight minutes. He took three deep breaths and began tapping his foot on the floor of the bus, feeling himself grow impatient. He looked around and wished he was one of the other few people on the bus, probably all of them sitting here, without a care in the world.
By Rachel Aikema4 years ago in Fiction
