family
Family unites us; but it's also a challenge. All about fighting to stay together, and loving every moment of it.
Growing up in Grief - Part One of Many
The teenage years are the most formative ones of your life. Every gust of wind pushes or pulls you in one direction or another towards who you will eventually become. Every shade or nuance shapes our views of the world… of ourselves. We are truly a product of our environment. With all this change, it’s an understatement to say that the transition from childhood into teenager land can be a tough phase of life – no salt added.
By Rachel DuRossier 5 years ago in Humans
Daydream Believer
It wasn’t a good day for a crisis. It was cloudy, and the air smelled of rain. Jean’s favourite sort of weather. So she tried to stay calm. Almost there, I’m leaving soon, she thought. Or staying, maybe I should stay. She had been feeling quite despondent towards the idea of leaving her childhood home. She was almost to the point of being maudlin.
By Ava Violet5 years ago in Humans
The Key
Life has a way of throwing many curve balls. No one knows this better than I. Fifteen years ago, both my parents' life was swiftly and tragically snuffed out, leaving me the “text book” orphan at the tender age of three. I don’t remember much of them...only faint echoes of my mother's contagious laughter and my father’s hypnotic singing voice that would lull me to sleep. Mom was in the final stages of expecting the little brother I never knew. While in their haste to hurry to the hospital to deliver him, their truck was hit by a drunk driver, killing all involved. People all over town said this was the day that turned my beautiful Nan’s hair completely white from the excruciating shock and sadness she had endured that day. She said she kept it that way as a morose reminder of how frail and precious life always was. I was lucky to be left to the mercy of my beautiful Nan and her free spirit kid brother, Uncle Moe. If it truly wasn’t for these two, I surely would have had a cursed life. Uncle Moe was near my father’s age when he was forced to taking on the role of “Dad” to me, and was around for most of the important life stages - like teaching me to ride a bike (much to my Nan’s chagrin) and how to climb the old oak tree like a chimp in order to reach our ponds swing rope where I ultimately learned to master the biggest splash that could be heard from miles away. That's where my bravery ended, and stagnated once I set foot off our property line. As I got older, he started taking off on occasion to travel and dirt dig, not surprising...as it was always in our blood line. My family’s ancestry was filled with all sorts of professions involving numerous great adventures... archaeologists(like Uncle Moe), engineers, and many high-ranking brave military career members. Nonetheless, I was destined and most reluctant to follow in their foot steps.
By Jennifer Bowers5 years ago in Humans
His Father's Book
A final chord rang out into the atmosphere signaling the end of the hymn, but long before, the pews of the small chapel had begun to empty. Henry Wilkes was dead, and the world was all the better for it, though no one would have dared to admit it aloud.
By Galilee Buerger5 years ago in Humans
Sky Inside
An older sister is a strange thing - always a few steps ahead, just around the corner no matter how fast you run. Alma has always been like that, just out of my reach. For a while, I’d look at her and think I caught a glimpse of who I’d eventually be, but it doesn’t work like that.
By Elizabeth Kirkpatrick5 years ago in Humans
Grief doesn’t always take
My uncle handed me a black notebook that could fit in my hands. His eyes were bloodshot and his face was red and swollen from crying. From alcohol. From everything. He started and restarted like the words hadn’t loaded correctly. Like his throat was too dry. Like he didn’t really want to say it.
By Ollie McLaughlin5 years ago in Humans
Life isn't about where you end up.
No more than eighty pages long, about a hand's length and thin enough to grasp between my thumb and index finger, there lay a black book. Labelled "Dream Notebook," this notebook once belonged to my mother, who I'd borrowed it from for some time. That is to say, it was handed down to me about 15 years ago, when I was 10. I was finally cleaning my room - like any typical mid 20's live-in child, my stagnant life had made me grow complacent with the state of my living area. Unfortunately, this clutter was rooted in a deeper issue, however.
By Zion Hines5 years ago in Humans
Good Hands
Michael is a soft-spoken half African American and Caucasian kid that looks no more than eighteen but is in his mid-twenties and well dressed for his age. His hair is well trimmed and is his most prominent feature. Everything else about him seems to be plain. Michael walks through the door of his small studio apartment a few miles away from Harvard University, where he is attending. As little as it may be, it's currently his home, and home is how it feels. Dark with soft washes of light coming from small lamps throughout his apartment. This is how he likes it. Quite chirps of local news are playing from a small flat screen on an end table next to Michaels's bed which also serves as his sofa and dining chair.
By W.C. Burge5 years ago in Humans
My Souls
I love you with everything that is inside of my soul! I have looked into your eyes so many times and seen the most beautiful human that I believe could have ever been created! When you smile for absolutely no reason or even at the silliest of things, I fall in love with you more and more! It has never taken much effort on your part to show me the whole and complete meaning of life and or what my purpose is for being on this planet.
By Dawn Irene Haschalk5 years ago in Humans
Finding Sophie
“He's gone,” I cry lying on the sand cold and wet, the first rays of sunshine peeking over the horizon. Pushing to my knees, I rip the little black book from my jacket pocket, shred it, and throw the pieces into the ocean while screaming at the top of my lungs. If only we'd never found that book, John would still be alive. Exhausted, I look around and see the reason I lost John. I get to my feet, stomp over to the briefcase and wrench it open to stare down at the stacks of money inside. Enraged, I kick the case over strewing its contents along the sand. I grab a couple stacks of money, intent on punting them into the ocean, when I spot something black. I drop the money and fall to my knees, mortified. “I just shredded this thing and threw it into the ocean!” I think aloud, grabbing the little black book from the sand. I open to the first page and realize it is a different book. I let the book fall to the ground and close my eyes, feeling overcome with exhaustion. “Come with me.” I open my eyes to a beautiful woman in a long white dress with brown hair and blue eyes reaching toward me. Knowing I can't stay here I try to stand but my body refuses. I feel her arms wrap around me as she guides me to the base of a nearby tree, away from the waters edge. I lie down and try but fail to convince my eyes to open again.
By Donna Harris5 years ago in Humans
