Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Families.
The Bad Little Brothers
“Run!!” he cried out. Both boys threw open the door to their house and fled on foot down the street into the evening fog. Behind them, they could see the light shining through the front door as the silhouette of a maddening creature roared violently into the blackening sky.
By C. Taylor Eason6 years ago in Families
FOR REASONS BEYOND CONTROL
I thought at first when I was small. Those adults always seemed to speak loudly and because they were taller, they appeared larger than life, intimidating, vicious and relentless. I soon realized calling them that was giving them too much credit. Their boisterous and overbearing attitude is a way to conceal cowardice. When confronted, they scare easily and like rats scurrying back into the gutters. They do not deserve being held in such high esteem, because such attribute is far beyond their limited capabilities and will power, something they could never achieve and do not even know exists. They remain indifferent; weaklings who excuse their narrow-mindedness with words of serenity and logic to explain the inability for wanting more and expecting more. Conformism is always excused as the will of a god and hardships are always caused by the government. They deceive themselves into believing in a reward afterwards, peace and contentment that will be placed at their feet by some deity, something that they know it is not true. Otherwise, they would be happy and always content with the crumbs they possess and must survive with. They know deep in their hearts they are barely surviving and rejoicing for nothing, only enjoying brief moments of glee that soon are overshadowed by a harsh reality of needing and wanting. They feel oppressed by those small abodes they occupy, continuing to add inhabitants because they cannot control themselves and see their already small portions being reduced by yet another mouth. They cannot breathe; too many lungs seek the precious oxygen from a space already crowded. Movement is hindered by overcrowding. They cannot stretch, condemned to a packed space where they cannot express what they feel, for voicing such words would take away the space they detest but cannot escape. They cannot say what they feel, and if they think it, they do not reveal it, for such utterances may cause great grief. Religion is used as an excuse for remaining in an unsatisfactory status quo — the foundation for all religions, otherwise how could nature maintain its evolutionary perfection?
By Pedro A. Idarraga6 years ago in Families
THE MASK
Once upon a time in the small town of Normal, Illinois, lived a girl named Ndim. She was American, but her father was from an African country called Cameroon. That is why her name did not sound America. Her mother was American. When Ndim was three years old, her parents told her stories about witchcraft and sorcerers in African countries. She was scared about these stories because she did not like witchcraft or sorcerers.
By Sandra Bongjoh6 years ago in Families
Brighter Days
It is midnight on a Tuesday and my sister and I are getting pulled from our beds by our mother to run off to a hotel, or what I called apartments at the time. This was normal for our family about once a month, when my dad would lose control and back my mom into a corner unleashing on her things that should never be unleashed. My sister and I would share a hotel bed and get up and go to school the next day as if nothing happened. Honestly, as much of a disruption this was I felt more at peace on those nights then when I was home in my own bed because the endless fighting would keep me awake. Shattering glass on the wall, the yelling and hateful words spewed from my parents mouths. School was my safe haven, school was a sanctuary and a safe place. Population 1,600, graduating class size 46 a place where you knew every person and they knew everything about you or at least what you wanted them to know.
By Tara Horvath6 years ago in Families
Birth and Rebirth
It is May 31st, 2020 and I am watching the news at 6pm with my partner. I’m only half watching as the latest numbers dead from the virus is announced. My mind is preoccupied, constantly, as it has been for forty weeks. As I look down at my pregnant belly, immense and ripe enough to drop like an apple, emotions come filtering down through my mind. Like dappled autumn light they hover, each thought distinguished from the others yet none have any strength. Fear. It’s there, ominous and clever. Fear of giving birth of course. But another, the fear of being a mother. I can not honestly say I love my baby yet. I don’t know how I feel at all, except perhaps there is a sense of detachment for now. Doubt. I doubt very much that I’ll be a good mother. I lost my own mother at eight years old. Her cancer ripped my world apart and my childhood fled before my eyes and in its place crouched a dark new being composed of loss and wilderness. I do not know how to be a mother. How do I hold this baby, his entire world in my hands and guide him through this terrifying world so that he is not alone? Hope. I think I see it, further off, a faint star. Is there always hope? I hope that labor will not kill me, that the baby, my baby, will be well and that I will love him. He kicks inside me and I feel the thrill of the unknown, always accompanied by the oppressive weight of doubt and fear. My belly ripples and moves as he stretches out inside me and I look with wonder at what my body has accomplished. He is late, by three days. Does this mean he’ll get too big and I’ll have more pain? Is he ok in there? I am so afraid. His birth has felt like an eternity in the making and somehow it still feels like it will never happen. The imminence and unavoidable truth of it is almost surreal.
By Freda Ellis6 years ago in Families
Grandmothers And Coffee Are Heaven Sent Blessings.
Recently it was brought to my attention how absolutely fucking PRECIOUS grandmothers and coffee are. Conveniently enough I was in a coffee shop sitting with a delicious brew, while my daughter munched down her sushi and lemonade next to me, when this epiphany came to me.
By Hannah Pitchers6 years ago in Families
Grandma's House
She stepped into the house for the first time since her grandmother had passed. She breathed in the familiar scent: mothballs with a hint of those peppermint LifeSavers her grandmother couldn’t be caught without. She had been in this house countless times over the years, but she realized she always took the same path: through the side door, across the kitchen, and into the living room where she sat on the couch and read the Ten Commandments out loud, while her grandmother sat nodding along in her chair. This house, built in the late 1800s, was full of relics she had never stopped to appreciate. Now, taking stock of the things around her, she was sure her grandmother would have had captivating stories to tell about why she had so many pig figurines, or who the people were in the painting done by her grandfather that hung in the dining room. She walked around room to room, surveying each one’s contents, and figuring out where to start clearing out first. She paused at the door to the basement, giving it a hard tug—the wood often swelled in the humidity and was difficult to open. Making her way down the steps, she remembered the story her dad used to tell her about the Boogey Man who lived in the crawl space down there. She was older now, and she knew there was no Boogey Man, which was why she laughed to herself when she felt a nostalgic twinge of fear as she passed the crawlspace door. She waved her arm in the air, searching for the string that would illuminate the one dim bulb that hung in the center of the room. She wasn’t afraid of the dark, but she also didn’t like being in the 200-year-old basement of her dead grandmother without any light. Finally, her fingers closed around the frayed end. She let out a shriek as the dusty bulb flickered on and shed light on a skeleton propped up on the old workbench next to her. She bent over with her hands on her knees and let her heavy breathing morph into a laugh as she recalled the haunted house they had set up down there for the neighborhood the previous year. She made a mental note to make sure she got rid of it—the realtor probably wouldn’t find it as funny.
By Chris Walden 6 years ago in Families
A Hypothesized Barn Owl
My early childhood is blurry, specifically memories with family. The blurriness focuses around the age of seven- which how incredibly convenient, considering the most impressionable years of a child’s life are their first seven years. My foundation was beautifully damned from the beginning. Beautiful, because if it was not damned, I never would have known resilience. When trying to access and reflect upon these aged memories, I’m met with flashes of emotionally charged situations a seven-year-old child has no business being a part of. Most of those emotions fueled of anger and spite, stemming from personal unsatisfaction. My parents were unhappily married with troubled backgrounds themselves, so they did the only thing they knew how to when being faced with unprocessed emotions. They would take out their frustration on whoever or whatever was around them, or they would run from their demons- and their children. I can attest to the saying “you are the natural byproduct of your environment.” As a result, I become an anxiety-induced, socially awkward kid and later teen. However, opposed to the voluntary element implied in that saying, there is not much a child can do to change their surroundings. Despite the limited freedom a seven (or so) year old has, I was lucky enough to discover an escape of sorts. The tiny blue barn offset to the right of our cookie-cutter farmhouse.
By Finley Gray6 years ago in Families
It's ok Mom... Your doing great!
I question my parenting a lot! "Am I a good mom?", "Do I show my kids enough attention?", and, "I hope I'm raising them right.", are my all time concerns. I want them to grow up and be happy and to know that I will always be there when they need me, no matter what! I love helping people. It may sound strange but I am such a people pleaser that I will go above and beyond to make people smile. I'm the type of person that lives my life like, “ if i've got it, I'll give it”, and I won't ever expect anything in return.
By Valerie Martinez6 years ago in Families
You Saved Me, Son
There could be no possible way. I literally almost died from a fentanyl and cocaine overdose a week prior, where they had to give me Narcan at least three times that I can remember. The nurses had asked me at the hospital if I could be pregnant, and I laughed it off. How could I possibly be pregnant? With my life? What a joke? They did not test me that day, which they probably should have.
By rachel west6 years ago in Families
