Kristina Henry
Bio
Kristina Henry is a wife, girl mom, and dog mom from Louisiana. When she's not writing or editing, she's usually hanging with the family, on the golf course with her husband, in the garden, or reading.
Stories (9/0)
Truer than Fiction
The stretch reached from my toes to the top of my neck and I groaned as I reached for a pillow to dampen the noises so rudely interrupting my nap. My fingers scanned the space beside me searching for the coolness of the white linen pillowcase. Instead, they brushed an upright backing of what felt like worn leather and coarse stitching.
By Kristina Henry2 years ago in Fiction
Cheetos
My daughter loves Cheetos. Since the first day she was able to eat solid foods, I believe. I wonder if kids are just born with a predisposition for loving the powdery, orange puffs. “What kind of chips do you want with your peanut butter sandwich?” I’d ask, always met with the same answer: Cheetos.
By Kristina Henry2 years ago in Feast
Unseen
Dear hero, Last night you wondered what it would hurt if you didn't wake up in the morning. You took a deep breath as you walked down the hallway and stood in the door frame of your son’s bedroom. You turned out the lamp light before tucking Thomas the Train sheets tighter around him. You whispered, "I love you,” then gently leaned in to kiss his small, freckled forehead. You trapped a tear with your sleeve—afraid that, even in slumber, he would know what you were thinking.
By Kristina Henry2 years ago in Humans
The Weekend
Hi, I’m Owl. My mom pokes fun of me because my head was big when they first brought me home. She said she was surprised I could hold it up. So, they named me Owl because baby barn owls sleep laying down. They do that because their heads are too heavy.
By Kristina Henry2 years ago in Fiction
By the Blueberry Bushes
Twenty years ago it was my escape. Acres of grass lined with blueberry bushes surrounded the two stories of weathered wood. Time had taken away most proof of the original bright red color, though the secret escaped the doors edges when I opened it just enough to slide through. Inside, hay collected in the corners showing the ground dry and dusty.
By Kristina Henry3 years ago in Fiction
