family
Family unites us; but it's also a challenge. All about fighting to stay together, and loving every moment of it.
Moving Out
I've lived with my parents for nearly 19 years. My childhood home is rich with loving memories, nostalgic smells and unfortunately quite a bit of dust. My materialistic behaviours have made me an unwilling servant to capitalism, no matter how many times I buy 'Eat the Rich' stickers off of Amazon. My father and I both share the tenacity for collecting stuff. Myself favouring nerd culture and my father with a hobby for old books and war replicas. We both fill our personal spaces with memorials to our passions, decorating shelves and cupboards with nick-knacks and memories. But as I am moving out this year to head off to university, I need to pack all of my possessions into my 2012 Volkswagen polo. A relatively small car; that I bought second hand, designed for zipping place to place in the city. Not really designed for hauling my original trilogy Luke Skywalker shrine across outback Australia, nor any sort of journey set in a fiery dust ball. And unlike Luke Skywalker I can't hire a dashing rouge played by Harrison ford to sweep me off to other planets with nothing but the clothes on my back. This is more of a do-it-yourself kind of mission.
By Bridie Shephard5 years ago in Humans
Apostle
She stood on the weathered deck of this house she once loved, where she felt loved, imagining herself younger, wilder. Dancing through the bull dust, down over swatches of grass. The sting on her skin from rolling into the bindi bur that filled in more land than lawn. Lazy days on this deck, giggling at the Apostle birds chatter and play. Images and sounds, the smells, all shifting in the hot winds, contorting into unreliable memories.
By TerriLee Robinson5 years ago in Humans
The Nile's Edge
It is a beautiful day my husband and I are sitting on the water’s edge of the Nile. We are celebrating the great news about expecting our first child. We have an incredibly happy marriage with a great love and a mutual respect that I have never experienced in this life.
By Leisa Coffman5 years ago in Humans
Rest stop angels
At a rest stop off of I-95, I learned men don’t seem comfortable with a woman in the men’s restroom. I don’t know what I expected when I entered while helping my dad inside, but I figured we’d mostly be ignored. After all, there was nothing really to see. Just a short half-Filipina woman helping her tall, ailing, confused, Caucasian father inside.
By Kerry Eldred5 years ago in Humans
Find What is Missing
Lydia sat in her car looking ahead at the home of her aunt. While the house still stood, it no longer held the same charm as it had when she was a child. The wind chimes that tinkered in the breeze no longer stood from the porch ceiling. The strawberry pink roses that grew wild and lush no longer climbed the railing of the porch where it caught meddling fingers and airy clothes in its short thorns. It was the first time in years that she had been at this house. Not since that accident when she was a child.
By Bianca Hubbard5 years ago in Humans
Grandma's Treasure
My grandmother passed away when I was twenty-six. She was a very typical grandmother. A soft, gentlewoman, feeding my brother Phineas and me only the best snacks. Fresh lemonade in the summers, and pecan pie in the winter, made from the pecan tree that grew in her backyard that shaded her pool, where for many years my tiny hands would become pruney, and I would be forced to come out of the water, the water that soothed us from the sun that baked our skin, in the dry Oklahoma heat. My brother Phineas who's a year older than me would run wild through the acre of land my grandmother's house sat on, playing with her Dobermans Black Jack and Gypsie. At night, our grandmother would tuck us into bed, but not before telling us about the great treasure that she buried when she was around our age. Year after year we would beg and demand that our grandmother would tell us the story of her buried treasure. In detail, our grandmother would describe to us, what the box looked like, and the willow tree that it sat under for over fifty years. As we grew older we stopped being tucked in and stopped hearing about the treasure that my grandmother had left behind. When I became an Adult my grandmother relocated to Atlanta to finish out her final days with my uncle. I was on vacation when I got the call. I had just visited the MOCA in Chicago, something my grandmother had loved doing, going to museums, talking about her favorite artists. It happened so fast. Pneumonia, and within just a couple of days it had taken her. My family decided to fly her body back to Oklahoma to be next to my grandfather, the way she would have wanted it. I remember when she passed, I dozed off on the plane, with her face so vividly in my mind, almost telling me how everything would be alright. Her funeral was beautiful, all of the people that loved her wore leis and celebrated her life singing and dancing to her favorite music. I gave her eulogy, and spoke about the treasure she would tell us about, not knowing if it existed, but that her existing was one of the best treasures we could have all had. My mother has asked Phineas and me if we could help clear her childhood home, something she wasn't ready to do. So we did. I had only been to my grandmother's home a handful of times once we relocated her to Georgia. As we entered it was as almost as if we were taken back into time. There were so many things that my grandmother hadn't touched in many years. Many times I would feel myself tearing up, and I would look over to my brother who shared the same sentiment. It wasn't until we started clearing her bedroom did our solemn faces change. Her dresser sat as it always did. Her favorite perfumes, a silver brush, and matching mirror all in the same place collecting dust from the years that they went untouched. The first drawer I opened smelled of cedar and was filled with her favorite silk scarves. As I took out her scarves, I found myself tying one around my neck. One by one I packed them into a box, and as I pulled them out, that's when a little black book fell out and onto the floor. "Phineas" I cried, as he was pulling her clothing out of her closet. "What is it?" He asked. He stepped over to me, and we just stared at this black moleskin that looked as though it hadn't seen light in many years. "Should we open it?" I asked. We both at that moment knew we had discovered something. This was the legend to her treasure. Our hearts raced as we flipped through the pages. "Do you think this is real?" I asked my brother. Finding it alone almost felt like it was all we needed. A few days after discovering the book I flew back to Los Angeles. Months went by and I kept dreaming of my grandmother, and the story she would tell us for so long. I would flip through the pages, and try to put clues together, scouring the internet for any information I could find. Finally, I called Phineas and talked to him once more about the possibility of this book being real. Within a week I had flown to Missouri, where my brother had met me by car. We ended up in a small town outside of Kansas City, where my Grandmother grew up as a child. We put together all of the clues we had found, with information that our uncle and mother had provided. As we drove into almost nothingness, we came across a plot of land that had once belonged to my great grandfather. The land was overgrown, with a house that had seemed to haven't been touched in many years. I could feel my palms become sweaty as thoughts raced through my mind. "Could this be it?" My brother parked his car just on the outside of the gate. "It's now or never!" I said. We combed through the tall weeds and made our way past the leaning house that seemed to barely stand on its own. There was a picture of the house that my grandmother drew on one of the pages in her little black book. As we kept walking, wondering what might we come across, snakes, or other wild animals, we kept going. An old barn sat to the west, the paint weathered and peeling from being abandoned for so long. We glanced over to the east, and before our eyes, stood a weeping willow. Just as the story was told, and as it was in her book. My brother with a shovel in hand raced me to the tree. Phineas immediately started digging, and as he kept digging we almost felt hopeless, hole after hole, until he hit something. We looked at each other. I dropped to my knees and started digging up the soil with my bare hands. With dirt under my nails and sweat upon my brows from the blazing sun, I had reached a box! It was a gold-tinted box, that seemed to have stood the test of time. My brother joined me on the ground. "This is it!" He exclaimed. We couldn't believe that after all of the years of being tucked in at night, and told about this treasure, that it actually existed. I struggled a little with taking off the lid, and then all at once we finally knew what had been buried for over eighty years. A paper doll set. A metal top, marbles and jacks, A Buffalo Nickel, a little metal car, a family photo, and finally a note from my grandmother. She had buried her treasure upon learning that she would be moving with her family due to the dust bowl. Work had dried up, and my great grandfather packed up his family and had moved them to Oklahoma to try to provide for his wife and children. She had vowed to one day come back for her treasures, and even though she wasn't able to, Phineas and I knew at that moment we had discovered the best thing that had ever happened to us. It didn't matter if what was inside the box had any monetary value, it was just nice to feel close to our grandmother again. Once we were back at our motel, we had Facetimed our mother to let her know what we found. She had tears of mixed emotions pouring from her eyes as we showed her the contents of the box. That night Phineas and I both had a very similar dream. Our grandmother stood hand in hand between us, as we walked to the willow tree. She kissed us both on the cheek and let go of our hands thanking us for bringing her home. We had both awoken to a beam of light glaring onto us through the window. We both felt like she was with us, and now she was finally at peace. My brother drove me to the airport, we decided to give the box to our mother, but I held onto her little black book which is now in the top drawer of my dresser, and now and then I think about how I will forever have my own treasure, and once I have my own child, how I will someday be able to share the same story with them, and perhaps in my own little black book, create a map to a buried treasure that my grandchildren will also one day be able to find.
By Liz Rowley5 years ago in Humans
The Kingdom
It is hard not to think about money and riches when you are apart of the poorest families in the world. Daily we go ravaging through garbage cans and begging for food. We beg so much that the dogs in our city trying to give us their portions. Most days I look out the windows of these broken-down buildings we live in trying to believe that one-day things will change for my family.
By Jeromy King5 years ago in Humans
Domo arigatou Bitcoin Boy
Charene was stuck in traffic and getting more irate by the minute. She'd had the usual over the top busy day at work and all she wanted to do was get home to her apartment, cook dinner and collapse on the couch with a glass of wine. She didn't know if her teenage son Ethan would be home - lately he stayed out more often than in and even though he was only 14 there was little she could do about it. Ethan's father was not on the scene, after leaving Charene earlier that year for "the Skinny Bitch" as Charene called her. And to make matters worth her beloved brother Eric had recently died of pancreatic cancer, which was a blow she was still reeling from. When Richard left her after 24 years it was a shock, but when Eric died it was a visceral blow that still at times left her gasping for breath with the pain of knowing she'd never see him again.
By Helen Smith5 years ago in Humans
Never Stop Believing
The girl dreams of fairy tales. Not because she believes in prince charming but because she still must believe in magic. Believe that good will concur evil. Believe that there is still love in the world. Believe that having imaginary friends is okay because she had so many. She had many conversations with her imaginary friends because before the age of 11 she had been to 13 different schools and at this point she had learned she only had herself to count on. As long as she can remember it has always been about survival.
By Melissa Buchanan5 years ago in Humans
