literature
Families and literature go hand in hand; fictional families to entertain, reflect and inspire.
The Boneyard
"What does it matter who you are in your past or in your future if you are no one now." ,My Grandfathers sharp last words to me echoed in my mind as I stood in his tractor barn...wind blowing the loose tin panels above me up to rattle back down hard again. This place was deteriorating since his death. His impact on this world slowly fading away, we had already sold most of the equipment, Tractors, machinery, and various other farming implements from a lifetime of the honest and grueling work of supporting a family of 10 with peanut and cattle farming.
By caleb zammit6 years ago in Families
Lucky Sevens
Part I I was seventeen when I learned that my aunt Janice had won $20,000 on a scratch-off. It was after school and I was glued to the t.v. watching soaps. The phone rang but I was splayed on the floor with a bowl of cereal and didn’t feel like getting up. My mother answered in the next room. “Oh, hi Jan.” I turned my attention back to the show. A bellow broke the lull—“You’re kidding!” and in quick succession, “How much?” and “My Lord!” I bolted upright. I went to the doorway and tried to make eye contact but was shooed away.
By Michelle E. Maitland6 years ago in Families
One Million Times
I watched my grandmother cook a million times. She’d bake bread when she could have bought it. It’s what she’d always done. And weren’t we happier for it? I always marveled at how she could knead the dough with her frail arms. I tried, many times, and each time my arms gave out before the gluten could bond. She made wheat bread, rye bread, refrigerator rolls, potato loaf, and focaccia and sourdough and pumpernickel. Richness of the dark grains, light break of the crust, the structure so dense it seemed to defy logic that butter melted so well into its grained web. These bread recipes were all captured in a little black notebook.
By Heather Wyse6 years ago in Families
Water of Life
I have been on this all my life and again last night, I fell asleep dreaming about its wonderfulness and when I woke up, my skinny arm stretched to reach the glass of water. I am here, naked in the depth of this old apartment as it became quite cold on Atlantic Avenue.
By Alice K.S.6 years ago in Families
Little Black Book
I felt the same way they did. Looking for the answers to the same problems, but I was not traveling to three countries in three months or hiking the Pacific Crest Trail to find answers. I had a family to care for and a job that made it possible. So what about the rest of us that feel lost or stuck without time off to adventure away?
By Marion Ray6 years ago in Families
The Dreamer
In the dry south of Italy, in a small town in Calabria, a small boy with dark curly hair skips along the stone path, painting each stone a different color as his foot touches it. The sidewalk comes alive as he travels down the path to the bakery. The baker leans out of the window, waving vigorously to the boy and he waves back. He gives the baker three euros in exchange for a fresh loaf of bread to bring his family.
By Madison Tyler6 years ago in Families
The Inheritance
“Finally, I’m home.” The young man that stated this stood in front of the burgundy red door of his apartment as though he was waiting for something to happen. However, after several minutes of standing the hallway, he decided to open the door. Despite the place being well furnished, the apartment felt cold and empty. Like a creature of habit, he went to the kitchen, opened the mocha brown cabinet next to the fridge, and grabbed a half drunken bottle of Hennessey. “Bottoms up.” With no hesitation, he finished the bottle in its entirety.
By Salvian Barnes6 years ago in Families
The Gray Sky
The sensation of fear is birthed from a part of the mind that cannot comprehend anything besides the daily drudgery that weighs down every human on earth. It acts almost like a womb, producing unimaginable dreams of terror and atrocious surroundings. While cautiously glancing at an obscure unfinished gray painting of the sky in the basement, Violet wondered if her father was somewhere dreadfully dim, unwillingly watching the fear begin to coil around the last pieces of hope in his head. She morbidly imagined dissecting his brain to see which of his thoughts would spring forth eagerly like a rusty jack-n-the-box.
By Fatima Juarez6 years ago in Families
The Black Book
The sound of a ringing phone can elicit many emotions, from anger to curiosity or even fear. At 03:00AM, a ringing phone is rarely a good thing and usually means nothing but trouble. Occasionally it was a drunk waitress or girlfriend looking for company, but mostly it was trouble.
By William Reilly6 years ago in Families
