immediate family

Blood makes you related, loyalty makes you family.

The Story of My Father
I want to tell you the story of my father. Even as I begin I am certain of my failure, left with the empty certitude of knowing the narrowness of my understanding, the limitations of my memory. Whatever details of his life I might recount, they are already shaded, coloured by what came after, developed with the chemicals of remembering which produce an accuracy that only further indicts their deficiencies. My father appears to me now as if through the eye of a keyhole, a lingering shadow on a far wall, a one-sided conversation, a past which is obstructed by the stubbornness of my selfishness and childish innocence.
By Eliza 6 years ago in Families
Who knocks?
It is quite beautiful in the Berkshire Hills of Massachusettes. It is very lovely, especially around autumn time. Many people drive through the Berkshire Hills to see the foliage every year. My hometown is Lee and it was founded in 1777. There is a lot of little towns and antique shops throughout this lovely countryside. I love to travel back home, but not this time under these circumstances. My favorite Aunt had passed away due to her illness. I had spoken with her earlier in the week, and we had made plans for the Easter Holiday season next month. She was such a joyful woman and very kind. She was a sewing and quilting woman and has many blue ribbons from winning at the county fairs. Her donations to her community and to other Countries were her way of helping the world. And she did. I always loved being around her. She had a wealth of knowledge and wisdom that I would absorb in our conversations. Every time I would visit her home, we always had our "tea" time. "Tea and Treats" she always called it. And how I always looked forward to it. I now feel dreadful as I pull into the driveway."Get yourself together girl" I told myself as I wiped a tear from my eye and stepped out of my car. "I'm here Aunt Bev" I said aloud. "I'm here."
By Wendy Welcome6 years ago in Families
Tea Stained Skin
Everyone always says that I have this soulless look in my eyes and that my eye color is black. What if I am soulless? What if the towers of pain that I have locked away from the outside hold no depths or definition to whom I truly am? What if my soul wanders this earth searching for a being while my body floats through the air?
By Katrina Lee6 years ago in Families
Carly's Steps
Carly picked up her little black book and started to write - Dear Mother, Today I made it down to post office and I attempted to send my college application. I turned around and walked out cause the line was too long and I was on my lunch break. I’ll try again tomorrow after work when I have more time.
By Julie batt6 years ago in Families
Huckabee's Fortune
Laying in bed, I heard the grandfather clock in the hall chiming. “One, two, three, four, five…”, I whispered to myself. “What was that darling?” I heard from the restless body by my side.
By Rhi Jade6 years ago in Families
ALEXIS
Alexis always knew today would come. She ran around the house looking for her purse as she grabbed for her wrap-around pants and loosely fit blouse. Some might say she dressed to open, and casual but Alexis was a free spirit. God only knows she had spent enough of her life confined. Running out of her apartment, which was a large country cottage that once used to be the towns maternity house. She was on her way to the hospital. Running across the street to the steps she stopped. Standing at the door she closed her eyes. With great anticipation she could not wait another moment. She reached out to open the door. She walked the hall of the hospital so many times. But for some reason today her feet could not seem to find their way. So many memories, and now she is coming out the other side. She was so overwhelmed! So deep in her thoughts, Alexis was unaware of the man speaking to her. “Do you need some help? You appear to be lost.” Lost! Now that was funny! If anyone knew this hospital, it was certainly her. Looking up barely taking notice, she said, “excuse me.” This stranger had taken hold of her arm. Where he touched her, the skin was burning. Alexis pulled back, as if this strange man was invading her space. “I am a student here I have come to get my final grade.” You have been interning at this hospital? “Yes, and tonight I will be graduating.” “Excuse me” Alexis muttered, and she found herself running down the hall. Alexis wondered why she felt such an urgency, as to run from this stranger. Feeling bothered by his touch. It burned her right through her skin until every nerve and fiber in her body was on edge. He probably thought she was quite rude running off.
By Julie Hanft6 years ago in Families
One Last Day
“He’s just out there…waiting for you. He knows what is going to happen, he knows this is goodbye for both of you.” Her heart stuttered, stalled, then started pounding a hard unforgiving rhythm. This all started with a letter…no, this all started with death…but that wasn’t entirely true either…this all started with love…
By Jennifer Renee6 years ago in Families
If you're watching this, I'm not dead
After his shift at the office, Greg Greaves went to his favorite Chinese restaurant on West 38th Street. Thank God, it’s Friday, he thought to himself as he exits the train station. Greg is usually average. He’s lived in the same run-down studio apartment since he graduated from college, although he could afford something nicer. He worked the same job for the past eight years, trying to climb up the corporate ladder. Greg didn’t allocate time for anything other than work, not even a relationship. He wasn’t homely or anything but dating didn’t fit into his mundane schedule. Under his daily suit and tie, he had a robust build, and an olive complexion to match his black wavy hair. A few of the women he worked with have even made jokes about leaving their husbands for him.
By Azarra Lucas6 years ago in Families
Waiting for Sunday
"He would have loved this," Sadie said to Marta, Max's mom. "He sure would have, sweetie. He also would have loved to see you smile. How about some ice cream?"
By Lexi Holland6 years ago in Families
They Lit Up the Night
I’ve been making the trip six days a week for over three years. Monday through Saturday, every day, at 2:30 PM, I walk around the corner to check the mail. Sometimes I have to go back at 3:00 PM because our mailman (mail-person) is not as reliable as that commitment from the Mailman’s Oath would make you think. Ours is deterred by “snow, rain, heat, gloom of night,” and a million other things. The walk is typically a non-event, no one’s home that time of day, there’s never much through traffic, it’s quick enough that weather is not a factor. The mailbox, or the contents do constitute an event for me, akin to opening gifts on Christmas morn when you were a kid. I call it junk mail, as most do, but in my mind, it’s entertainment, the sale papers, coupon books, political flyers, even the bills, the occasional birthday card, holiday greeting cards, a rare magazine—no letters, of course. It’s disappointing that no one mails letters these days—it’s a lost art—the way people used to write letters. Today we get texts with awful spelling and grammar, incomplete thoughts, crazy abbreviations. Anyway, I’m getting off-topic. Earlier this week I was on my way to the mailbox and where I cross the street, right in the middle of the street, there was this shiny black thing about the size of a business card. I couldn’t resist—I picked it up. It was a tiny black book, only about an eighth of an inch thick, maybe ten pages, each scribbled all over, but without a legible thought anywhere, not a single group of letters that made up any real word in any language I knew. There were more numbers than letters, but the numbers didn’t add up to anything cogent either. I decided to check with the neighbor nearest the spot in the road to see if the book was his, but, he said, “Nope, not mine.” So, I took it home with me—better than anything in the mailbox lately.
By Bracy Ratcliff6 years ago in Families
In the Details
Anthea hated dusting. Truly, of all the mundane domestic tasks she had been charged with since her parents had begun their new business venture of buying and flipping abandoned houses; dusting was the absolute worst. The “deal” had been that if Anthea agreed to help her parents with cleaning up these houses for reselling, she could keep anything “cool” that was found inside them. Anthea had agreed; images of lost diamond rings behind radiators and forgotten stacks of cash beneath floorboards flooding her decision making. Unfortunately the most exciting things that had been unearthed after an entire summers worth of relentless toil on Anthea’s part were some fantastically boring old books, some random rusty pieces of silverware, and what Anthea thought was a Monopoly piece, but her mother had informed her was a thimble…whatever that was. The last several months’ worth of neglect to her social life and hard labor she had put into these musty old houses were, in Anthea’s opinion, a complete waste of time.
By Valerie Stumpf6 years ago in Families
Story for a Rainy Day
The notebook didn’t look like it belonged in the bin. The spine was intact, the cover wasn’t peeling, the pages were barely yellowed. At first, Raine thought it was Mr. Mayfaire’s. He was getting up there in years; it wasn’t impossible that he had misplaced it. Picking it up, Raine marveled at the quality. Soft black leather cover with a red silk ribbon bookmark. On the inside cover, in neat handwriting, was a message. “For Morgan and all your wonderful stories. Love, Grandpa.” Raine smiled. They put the notebook in their shopping basket next to an old scarf and a chipped china figurine.
By Chloe "Autumn" Ferrier6 years ago in Families