family
Family unites us; but it's also a challenge. All about fighting to stay together, and loving every moment of it.
Origin Issue
The radiator spits and pops and puffs beneath the single open window. Big torn holes in the screen seem to breathe the cool breezes that come in from the waning winter air. Mary shuts this window with more effort than one would think necessary. There is a large thud, then the temperature inside the kitchen rises by ten degrees.
By Michael Peters5 years ago in Humans
Memories
“So may we all remember Kyle Sumnthers, the most singular man in Fleetworth.” Lost in thought while driving, Lucille was annoyed at that strange lady, with a wiry voice, who spoke at the funeral earlier in the week. Was “singular” even a compliment? Uncle Kyle had been kind his whole life, possibly suffering from being a bit too plain, that woman didn’t seem to understand him very well. The U-Haul she drove barreled down a narrow road that seemed to degrade in quality the further she went. Strands of her neat golden brown hair bounced out of place. Lucille thought she had been close to Uncle Kyle, they’d been inseparable while she was young and even through her early thirties, she frequently carved out time for coffee with him on a weekly basis, but he’d only left her a small dilapidated house that felt more like a chore than an inheritance. It wasn’t her uncle’s primary residence, and nobody had even known the insurance liability existed until the lawyers contacted her for Kyle’s bequeathal. She already had a house; she had money, too, but receiving a small chunk of her uncle's hoard would have been less cumbersome than stripping all of his junk out of the decrepit building, and then trying to peddle it off on someone else. All her cousin’s received a check, or at least she felt fairly certain that was a safe assumption. Finally, she was able to put the truck in park, and paused to stare at the unextraordinary house.
By Quinton Jones5 years ago in Humans
Midpoint
I can’t help but wonder at it - how it is that I left my house with the intention of bringing back a quail and instead returned escorting a vagabond trespassing on my property. My land hasn’t much to harvest, but we’re close to the eastern border and maybe that’s what attracted the lost soul to cross my land with nothing more than a small satchel and a few layers of torn clothes. Not even a weapon. I suppose she saw an older woman like me walking down the path and assumed I could not keep my hands on my rifle in a scuffle. Well, she thought wrong and her trophy for the encounter is the prod of my gun’s barrel against her lower back as we move closer to my home.
By Amelia Smoak5 years ago in Humans
What Happens When Nothing Is Done
The worst kind of running away, he knows now, is that from your own country. Standing on the wooden dock of the cargo ship, a pack on his back, Hmin Myint Lu withered silently in the smoky winter air. No breeze blew to lighten his breath, so he felt for the last time the suffocating city smog, watched as the heat of the late afternoon shattered against the golden tip of the Shwedagon Pagoda. As the ship crept downriver, Hmin wondered if this was the last of Myanmar that King Thibaw and the beautiful Queen Supayalat had seen, too, upon their exile more than a century ago. The city of Yangon would’ve looked different then—no grand colonial buildings imposed in the centre; no rickety, low-cost development complexes cluttering the skyline; no glossy skyscrapers lifted in celebratory dominance—yet the unfaded green and gold, he knew, had been there, the brushes of jungle and glittered pagodas that endured war, earthquakes, democracy and dictatorship. Hmin wondered if the King and Queen had considered them all as he did now—lost to him yet timeless, as momentary flashes of the dearest memory. But his musings were short-lived, for he remembered that as captives of the British Empire the King and Queen must've been held below deck. So he watched it all shrink from view, and he knew then that his body, too, would stay suspended in this air—held as it was, burning and stifled, in the broken beams of the same, endless sun.
By Rose Mitchel5 years ago in Humans
Dream in a Drawer
Opening his small mailbox Abbot found it stuffed with a bubble wrap lined brown envelope. The carrier had wedged it solidly in place with a fast food flyer, a car dealership postcard, and a bill. Abbot grumbled at the bill while walking to his apartment. Unlocking the door he read the sender's address on the brown envelope. Abbot told his phone to call ‘ Auntie Dearest’. The nickname was a bad joke picked up from a highschool literature assignment that examined ‘ The letter in the Victorian Novel.’ Holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder Abbot tried to tear open the package.
By Brent Merrill5 years ago in Humans
The Old Man´s Diary
1. Our car rolled slowly along the moss-grown driveway. You could hear the gravel under the weight of the vehicle and thus provided an acoustic background for our arrival. I had been looking forward to this moment for so many weeks. The windows of our Ford were wide open and the scent of the thick forest slowly filled the interior of the car. My girlfriend deeply inhaled the summery smell of pine needles, damp grass, and the fragrant country air.
By Gunther Polnizky5 years ago in Humans
The Black Notebook Tale
The Black Notebook Tale There was once a popular fiction book that an author had once written. The tales of Red Riding Hood. Many versions have been taken from the original Little Red Riding Hood story, but what many do not know is that the book comes from a true story. A little black book holds contains this true tale and it had belonged to a young girl who lived in a small village that was tormented by a big bad wolf. It all began on a cold winter day.
By Krysta Anderson5 years ago in Humans
Unusual Scavenger Hunt
My phone woke me in the middle of the night. It was my Mom; she said my Great Aunt Marla died, she had been ill. There would be a Wake and a funeral over the next few days. After the funeral, family members would meet with Great Aunt Marla’s lawyer to discuss her Will. She didn’t have any kids. Her only living relatives being my Grandpa, my Mom, my Uncle and his three kids, and me.
By Amber Dulaney5 years ago in Humans
A Morning in Manhattan
“All Done!” Alice smiled as she reread the 70 names, written in the small black notebook, one last time. Then, satisfied, she set it down gingerly on the edge of the coffee table. Jack, her old, fat, and half-deaf beagle was sprawled out lazily on the living room rug. Alice bent down to scratch behind the ear he could no longer reach with his bad leg. Jack leaned into her, grateful for the help.
By Sara Dillon5 years ago in Humans
