family
Family unites us; but it's also a challenge. All about fighting to stay together, and loving every moment of it.
The Time Will Come
I felt a deep connection to William from the moment I met him. He was the retired, village teacher, that everyone knew and deeply adored. His endless joy was effervescent. I often wondered what force within him could possibly power that level of happiness, given all he had endured. Now in his 90’s, he peacefully awaited the end of a life fulfilled with a “knowing” that I could not comprehend.
By Carrie Podsednikova5 years ago in Humans
Dance with the Devil
Ruthie felt excited, but vaguely queasy at the same time. She had packed the kids off to bed, made sure the sitter had everything she needed, and laid her false trail. The year was 1991 ... and it was way easier back then to keep prying eyes away from your secret business. Ruthie liked her secrets.
By Gillian Lesley Scott5 years ago in Humans
All about her
“You can’t have her, I won’t allow it!” Mr Blanchet said imperiously, sitting behind his ornate oak desk. I stand before him, defiant. My name is Reynold, and I am in love with Louisa Blanchet, daughter of the local timber merchant Charles Blanchet. He thinks he runs this small town with his millions, but tonight he is not getting his way.
By Alan Ograzden5 years ago in Humans
Where Weeds were Flowers
Scott strode through the tall grass, the jackknife swung in his pants pocket, a heavy weight that pulled his leg forward like a pendulum. He imagined that he was a clockwork man, made of tin, sprayed with Rustoleum. He wiped his damp forehead. The muggy air was dusty and hard to breath. He started to dig out the inhaler in his other pants pocket. Changed his mind. I'm the Tin Man, he reminded himself. I don't need to breath.
By Craig Terlson5 years ago in Humans
Reflection
The mirror came with the money, there was no way around it. Rachel had been right, it was creepy. John was a little over six feet tall and it stood higher than him. Dulled brass curved along the top, ending in a five point crown. The top two corners were decorated with open hands and the bottom of the mirror was supported by clawed feet. A few dark spots could be seen along the sides of the glass, but otherwise the reflection he saw of himself was clear. A little, black book had been affixed to the back with a ridiculous amount of tape and he had hoped to find some answers in there about the strange piece of furniture. He had flipped through it once on the day it was delivered and, seeing it empty, tossed it onto the bedside table next to what used to be Rachel’s side of the bed. Thinking of Rachel brought up the memory of their last conversation and he cringed.
By Rebecca James5 years ago in Humans
The Idol
Michael was born to a middle class Catholic family, Debra and Johnathan Fox. Debra, a staunch and dedicated mother of the home and portrait of classic Hollywood beauty, her brown hair neatly coiffed against a gaunt and almost porcelain face while her ever present brown eyes were glassy and well worn, like an old film kept behind a pane of glass, beautiful and yet still somehow so distant and aloof. Johnathan however, was anything but distant. Bespectacled eyes and a clean high and tight shaven head frame a stern and all-knowing face, worn by a man of enormous stature, towering over Michael's demure and timid frame of 110 pounds at a colossal 230 pounds. Johnathan Fox was not one to be subtle, that is, when he wasn't ensuring that Michael suffer through, or rather, experience life as it was for Johnathan growing up. A true man of the cloth, each day for Michael was exalted in lesson after lesson about the good book. When it wasn't being drilled into him, Michael quickly learned that any act of disobedience in the eyes of his father would soon resort to a fate bent for only the hardest of criminals.
By Brandon Distel5 years ago in Humans
Roots
I have always been proud of where I come from. Just a small rural town close to northern Ohio Appalachia with big rolling fields and the smell of fresh cut hay, the seasonal whiff of manure. There's always a hum of tractors and talk of big machinery, livestock, and crops.
By Emma Stefanick5 years ago in Humans
Gain Through Loss
He sighed, settling further into the worn leather of the old couch. A quick glance down at his watch, then up to the clock ticking away on the wall confirmed that he was still five minutes early. Another sigh, another shift in position. Waiting was not one of his strong suits.
By Katrina Keys5 years ago in Humans
Apsley in the 70's
Feeling the cool, refreshing water caress my skin and my long sun-kissed hair tickle the small of my back, I came up out of the water. I had to carefully steady myself on the boulder in the water because it was still slippery from the algae my mom had asked me to sweep away with the broom. It was a hot, humid, summer day in cottage country just outside of the hamlet of Apsley, near Peterborough, Ontario.
By Annette Schedler-Issler5 years ago in Humans
Home isn't a Place, its a Feeling
When I was younger home only meant one thing to me. It was the place that I lived in. Even after my parents spit, home was where my dad lived and the other was where my mom lived. It was those houses, even if they changed every now and then.
By Shari Baeuerlen5 years ago in Humans
Gator Hunting
My mother is quite an incredible human – no fear, no regrets. She is full of confidence and power. She does not maintain a nurturing or graceful spirit. When she was diagnosed with cancer, she was at peace with whatever outcome might present itself. She was confident in her spiritual home but willing to fight with everything in her body. However, with her diagnosis, also came a sense of adventure – a need to ‘live like she was dying’. Thank you, Tim McGraw, your wisdom has sparked life into many drab, lifeless souls. Please understand, that for someone who is not gentle or nurturing, a sense of adventure truly becomes a series of accosting your loved ones with reckless behavior and reprimanding any level on wariness. In what appeared to be a sweet, loving, gesture, my mother suggested that my sisters and I join her for a trip to Florida. One weekend of bonding and sharing sweet memories. I was thrilled! We planned the whole trip in advance – my sisters would go to Disney, my mother and I would spend the day shopping and communicating about her life, her wishes, her dreams. She did have one simple request – she would like to go on a gator hunting expedition. I reluctantly agreed… Surely, as tourists, we would be in a fairly controlled environment, right? She purchased tickets for the activity which confirmed my belief that this would be a mild introduction into the life of an alligator – little did I know, we were about to understand the depths of Steve Irwin’s soul. On the day of the escapade, all was as expected. We did shop, talk about our hopes and dreams – I ensured that I understood my mother’s wishes if she were to pass due to the illness. We stopped for lunch at a quaint little sushi restaurant where we were served fresh sushi with KC Masterpiece BBQ sauce – I should have known at this point that the day was not going to be a treasured memory. From lunch, she explained that we were headed to go gator hunting. Whew. This. Is. What. We. Play. For. I was nervous. I expected to arrive at a venue – no. We arrived at the address provided, which was a gas station – really, it was a shed that sold chips because it had not sold gas since the 1980s. Mom has no inhibitions. No red flags. Another car arrives – a 1986 red pinto with a yellow door. The man that steps out is slim, he has sunken cheeks and his movements are a bit disjointed. It would appear that this man has found the secret to happiness. Meth is quite magical. He has a partner, however, the second is not memorable. They motion for us to meet them in the building – my mother sends me alone. Once in the building, the man requests my tickets for the gator hunting. NO. STOP. This is not real. This is not the gator hunting experience. It is. I am now informed that my mother has purchased the experience on Groupon – some things you just cannot bargain shop. We sort out the details of payment and are instructed to follow the shiny sports car to the swamp. As the man enters his vehicle, he most certainly felt cramped, as he did not put his left leg in with him, instead, he rested it out of the car window. We followed the pinto down a dirt road and into a field. Still no concern from my mother. I wish I held her level of confidence. I cannot stop praying. If nothing else, I am confident in my salvation. We park and exit and our guide leads us to a structure of rotted wood and ropes – he calls it a dock. There is an airboat tied to the construction, however, it more resembled a canoe with a large fan. We board the vessel. I am shaking. This contraption is supposed to keep us safe from gators – large, angry, aggressive, gators. We are provided with life jackets but informed that in the event that a gator attacks us, the life jacket will not provide life saving measures. Solid. We push into the water – no going back now. My knuckles are white from gripping the bar in front of me. I look towards my mother. She is smiling – she will be committed to a facility upon our return. I have the proof I need – she is insane. The fan is started and our boat is floating across the water. WE ARE HURTLING THROUGH THE AIR SLIGHTLY ABOVE GATOR INFESTED WATERS… we stop periodically to view an eye, a nostril, a tail, a back poking out of the water. The monsters are everywhere and we can no longer see land. There is no option to swim to safety. Our guide is dying for a hit of something. He can no longer form sentences. I cant breathe. This is actually how I am going to die. I meth addict in Florida is going to dump me in a swamp with gators. After nearly an hour of anticipating my own end, our boat glides back to the dock. We are on land but we are not safe. The guides feel that we were not provided with enough of a hands on experience. They duck behind a tree and reappear with a 6’ gator. He has electrical tape around his mouth but his tail is thrashing. This creature feels the same way about his captors as I do. I am instructed to hold the angry monster, his name is Fluffy – I do not. My mother has never been more disappointed in me. I am convinced now that she is the one that intends to murder me. It’s the perfect crime. I find our car and message my sisters for help. They are not in a position to assist, see, they have just been kicked out of Disney. Bless them. We now have a reason to leave! I gather my mother and thank the guides – they seem disappointed that we will not be joining them for dinner. It was a beautiful drive home as I informed my mother that she would no longer be allowed to make independent decisions.
By Abigail Freeman 5 years ago in Humans
