humanity
Humanity begins at home.
Impossibly Cold
It was february, the trees were tall and crisp, they looked like something out of a fairytale, every snow flake glimmered like the tiniest cut diamonds when the glistened in the sun. The bark was aching from the cold- fifty below zero and it wasn’t letting up, the treees begged for mercy as they lightly swayed with the blistering cold breeze. Some days they wondered how they’d made it so far.
By Karyssa Wick5 years ago in Families
Beacon Of Light
Tonight was the darkest I’ve ever seen it, maybe because this night is a chance for me and my children to escape to freedom. I have been preparing myself since I made my decision to leave this God-forsaken prison. I refuse to have my children become another lost generation.
By Maria Gomez-Cruz5 years ago in Families
Moving To The Edge of the World
Wind flew down the main road, over the bridge and through the trees, past the open horse field, and down the road that looked much more like a 60-year-old veterinarian and farmer’s own personal driveway. This is what she and her family of four considered to themself as they turned down this road, driving past seven or so houses before finding the one at the end of the lane.
By Katie Lawrence5 years ago in Families
Clouds
It was Mom who taught me to look at the clouds. She would say there is always that one cloud in the sky that is just for you at that exact moment. Sort of like if God was a merry traveler in the middle of a festival creating animal balloons and he hands a special one to you. Whether it was your favorite one or not, you still felt loved and important.
By Jacob Samuelson5 years ago in Families
The Red Bull: Transmutation of Violence
For a long time, a memory lingered just below the surface of my consciousness. Indistinct, felt, so real. Sometimes it rose above the realm of intentional thought and made itself known. I could not discern if it was a remnant from a childhood experience, the residue of a film or book, my own imagination seeking solidity or completion of a fairy tale begun . . . or the shadowy images, provocative and powerful, of a dream. I only know that when it dropped into my mind, and then departed, it nearly overwhelmed me.
By Amara Mahrala5 years ago in Families
Shaping Stewart
In her sixties, my mother picked up puzzling as her main hobby. I say, “hobby”, though what I mean is her coping mechanism. Rest assured; I could count on her to see through the highs and lows of each day, given that there are still pieces to put together. My mother could leave no task, project or mission incomplete. I, on the contrary, had a history of fragmentation; I could be given a whole picture but, fail to see or understand it, until I dismantled it piece, by piece. This was my hobby and my coping mechanism, especially when it came to the untimely death of Stewart Willow.
By Gee, Thanks5 years ago in Families
