Young Adult
In Each Breath
As I stand here, I can't help but think to myself, "If walls could talk, I would have quite a story to tell." This small house that I am a part of has stood on this street for over a century. With my memory that stretches back through the years, I have seen the comings and goings of so many people.
By Nnennia M.3 years ago in Fiction
The Egg
I have no doubt that my father was born to be a happy, caring person. He worked as a farmhand for Thomas Butterworth, whose property was close to the Ohio town of Bidwell, until he was thirty-four years old. He drove into town on Saturday nights with his own horse at the time to engage in some social interaction with other farm workers. He drank three glasses of beer in the city while loitering in Ben Head's bar, which was frequently packed on Saturday nights with travelling agricultural labourers. Glasses banged on the bar as songs were sung. Father drove home at ten o'clock over a lonely rural road, prepared his horse for the night, and then retired to bed, content in his place in life. At the moment, he had no intention of attempting to advance in society.
By Bikash Poolingam3 years ago in Fiction
Somebody's Listening
If walls could talk, I’d tell you of the girl with the guitar wearing bell bottom jeans. Her free-spirited eyes believe this city will make her. As her pen hits her diary, she writes of fairy tales and love stories, hoping this city doesn’t break her. I’d tell you of her sweet voice humming to new Eagles and Fleetwood. There’s a poster pinned to me of Stevie Nicks. She wishes she could be her.
By Erman Baradi3 years ago in Fiction
The Last Wall Standing
If walls could talk, then maybe I wouldn’t feel so alone. I believe I will feel less alone by telling you all I have seen since my creation. The hardships, true love, utter terror, and even deaths. I am part of a series of worn-out connecting walls that make a house. I am the foundation of the home. Without me, the house would collapse.
By Grace Tompkins3 years ago in Fiction
