Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Families.
Passed By
It was 7:30 p.m. on a Thursday night. Mom was usually home from work a couple hours ago, especially in winter. It is January after all. Dad tried calling her and so did I. She didn’t answer. Not a big deal. Every once in a while she does go to check on her friends. A little while later, dad got a call. Everything seems fine. Dad, my little brother, and I hang out and watch a movie.
By Veronica N. Lewis6 years ago in Families
The Joy's Of Uncertainty
I use to wake up every morning and before I’d leave for work I’d always look at the news. I knew I wasn't going to see anything that was going to make me happy. But I felt it was important to develop my understanding of the world in order to be a better part of it. I would see people both locally and around the world who were stricken by poverty, not by their own decisions, but by the time and place they happen to be born. The only real difference between the kinds of people who have had to live their lives starving and freezing and myself, In my comfortable, normal, first world life, is the lives that we were born into.
By Tyson Rich6 years ago in Families
Pomegranate
Jemima was 10 years old and could not remember a moment in her life when she had not been hungry. She knew her father worked hard to earn money, but she also knew that not a lot of it made it into her mothers worn leather purse, so there was rarely much food on the table and her two older brothers were quick to grab what there was. When she tried to fight them for her share, her mother stopped her saying that the boys needed it more than they did as they must grow into strong men, girls shouldn't eat too much anyway, no one wants a fat wife. After helping her mother clean the kitchen Jemima would lie in her bed telling her rumbly tummy to be quiet as she imagined the delicious meals she would make when she was a grown up and never have to share.
By Rebecca Speirs6 years ago in Families
Little Black Book
Shakti stared at her book and wept tears of joy knowing that she would never forsake her - she couldn't. She'd never before allowed herself space to grieve for all she had lost, her thin, calloused fingers cramping as she torqued them against the threadbare stained cover. Inside, her memories, her beloved letters from Jahad on tissue-thin paper, the yellow flower pressed by Mama when she was five, tucked inside as bookmark, were all she had left from another land and time. She knew the well-worn journal would protect her treasures, they had seen her through the worst part of the last trip possible here. The bittersweet anguish could not hurt her precious diary, nor the spider-webbed pleas she had etched inside day and night. This little black book was holy writ - and hers alone to carry forward.
By Julian Grant6 years ago in Families
