Young Adult
To New Beginnings
There was a Midwestern girl named Cassie who grew up on her family’s farmland. She loved running around outside, playing with her brothers in the dirt. The Critchell property wasn’t much, a couple chickens, a couple horses, an old barn, a farmhouse, and a few acres of land. It was simple, but it made life good for the Critchell’s. Family always gathered at their farm for 4th of July and Thanksgiving. They stayed up late, drank, and talked while the kids played barefoot into the night. It brought everyone together for a good time. For this reason, it was Mr. Critchell’s pride and joy, and he did everything he could to be able to pay for it and keep it in the family. This meant working long hours and putting in almost all the labor on the farm himself.
By Chelsea Bennett5 years ago in Fiction
Not all finds are in the barn
Charley could feel his hand brush against his right thigh as he walked across the kitchen, grabbed the keys off the hook with his left hand and dropped them in his coat pocket. He pushed on the left-hand glove by sliding his hand into it on the counter and then shoving it under his right armpit. With the same motion and step forward he then pushed down on the door handle and pushed the screen door open with his left shoulder. The back steps creaked as they got crushed under the weight of his work boots stomping down them and transitioned into a saunter-ly gallop towards the old red barn behind the house.
By Daniel Lestrud5 years ago in Fiction
Secrets in the Barn
Stephanie never liked when it rained. It seemed like every time it rained something bad happened. It was almost as if the universe was out to get her through nature. When Stephanie found out her dad died from a drug overdose at age 8—it rained. Then, when her mother was diagnosed with stage 3 cancer a year later—it rained. Subsequently, about six months later hurricane Irma hit the Florida’s coast as a category 5 storm, destroying everything they had including their home. Her mother was hospitalized after that for about 2 weeks before she passed away. It rained-- that whole week. Stephanie was adopted by her Aunt Megan who lived in Houston Texas. The only thing she and Aunt Megan had in common was the love they shared for her mother. Aunt Megan was old school. She didn’t talk to you she talked at you, there were only demands with little to no conversation, you could never use an “I feel like” statement, and if you were not in the house by the time the street lights came on you could forget about going outside for the remainder of the week. Aunt Megan was strict but that was her love language. She never married and was unable to have children, so she dedicated herself to provide Stephanie with everything she needed.
By Cherrelle Penn5 years ago in Fiction
The Laughing Trees
The heat escalates in my limbs as my feet pound the ground relentlessly. I've been running since the darkness took over the sky, which seems like a lifetime ago. My lungs scream for oxygen as the moon begins to decrease into the treeline. Shadows of the forest surround me in a blur of threats and taunts, masking themselves as the thing I'm running from. I spot a dip in the ground and dive towards it, hearing the dead leaves crunch under my weight as I slap my back against the ground. My breath fans in small, sporadic clouds in front of me. My chest heaves rapidly as I gulp down air. The same thought screams on repeat: ‘he can't find me, I can't let him find me!’ A flash of wind makes my knees crunch in closer, trying to get warm. I shiver, and grit my teeth; ‘keep going’ I tell myself. Closing my eyes I allow myself a slow deep breath; then push myself off the ground with a grunt, and continue my running pace. I remind myself to try and keep my breathing under control, since I don't know when I’ll be able to stop next.
By Casey Tart5 years ago in Fiction
All Bets Are Off
“Who you got?” “Jay.” “Twenty on Jay?” “Yeah lock it in Fonzy.” Fonzy and Tyler recline on a straw mound, stretched out doing what they do best; chewing hay and placing bets. Fonzy, short for Alfonzo, has been running his secret side hustle and making a tidy little return in the barn for some time. He’s well stocked for the winter and about as smug as a lion.
By Kaytee Elliott5 years ago in Fiction
The Bales & Barnabas Batty
Barnabas Batty had grown spitefully accustomed to the unflattering moniker his fifth-grade classmates saddled him with last summer. Coincidence or kismet, he couldn't say, but the irony of how he was branded as "Batty Barny" bore consequences all the same.
By Mike Morgan5 years ago in Fiction
Trapped
I’m trapped, and I don’t even belong here. The wind rattled the high beams, like a screeching elephant. The rain slowly dripped in from the holes in the barn, the water creating unavoidable puddles. This wasn’t that much of a better option than surviving the outdoors, but at least I could rest.
By Dan Marcus5 years ago in Fiction
The Escape
"Shh!!! He's gonna hear you. Stop doing that! If he hears you, then he'll definitely find me, girl, and that's the last thing I need. Not after getting this far!", Eve said to the gorgeous horse she was trying to steal for her final escape. She was going to wait it out for the owner to fall asleep and take off with the horse. It would be much quicker than trying to make it out of the state on foot. She wasn't going to risk being seen by her boyfriend; if you could call him that.
By Sharon Smith5 years ago in Fiction
The Day I Met Dan Cooper
Occasionally, when I think back on my childhood, I find myself feeling nostalgic for the early mornings in the big red barn. I live in a big city now, convinced in my teens that the farming life was not for me. It was hard, rewarding work, and my body aches at the memories. I am who I am today because of my life back on the farm. I was fourteen years old when a singular and profound thing happened in my simple farm life. I met a man. It is not what you think, trust me. I should explain. My story begins in the big red barn.
By Floyd Doolittle5 years ago in Fiction
Amelie's Barn
Amelie Rose can hear her mother calling. "Amelie, come now darling, your oats will dry." Her mother's voice is always gentle, like a soft and sincere whisper, even when she is cross, and even with her father when he trudges his muddy boots onto the rug at days end.
By April Phillips5 years ago in Fiction
