literature
Families and literature go hand in hand; fictional families to entertain, reflect and inspire.
A Sunday Kind of Love
I guess you can call it dumb luck, if luck is what you really want to call it. But luck for me is never like it is in the movies. No, my kind of luck happened to me on a day when I decided to go to a fast food restaurant for a five dollar meal. I was standing in front of the register when one of the machines started malfunctioning. A rather large employee walked over and tried to fix it as best he could. You could tell that this was an ongoing issue as he was getting agitated and just started hitting and shaking it.
By Zarinah Tillman6 years ago in Families
The Cocoa Farm
Syncopated rhythms played together to create the perfect beat on the tin roof. Orchestrated by the rain, these rhythms dissolved into dissonance as the rain got heavier. These sounds grew louder until it no longer sounded like rain but like a car whose engine refuses to start. The beat was then enhanced by sounds of thunder and flashes of lighting. Ashanti curled into her bed, soaking the warmth of her cotton cloth. The piercing feeling of the springs in her bed overshadowed the least bit of comfort her cloth was giving her.
By Naana Yawson6 years ago in Families
Junk Treasure
Walking down the textured hall, located off the service doors of his local mall. Jeremiah approaches the Lost and Found. Keeping to himself, as one of the workers passes, he spies the giant steel blue bin. The mother-load of discarded items from the entire mall. The last stop on a long road of the bygone. Lost, broken, unwanted and forgotten objects languish before the dump.
By Georgianna Panopoulos6 years ago in Families
The Heiress of Cherith Manor
During the mid day, a winter storm rolled in with freezing rain an a mix of sleet and snow. The old Cherith manor stood off in the distance of the country side of Oakland Main. With the marble stone structure being cracked with mold growing along the walls with vines snaking up the sides with its woodsy stems swirling through the small spaces of the cracks. Charles Cherith glanced up to his wall clock, he stood from his burgundy arm chair and walked over to the stain glass window. With green fallen leaves cascading down while the rain beat down heavily against the glass with pat, pat, pat sounds.
By Jana Mccraw6 years ago in Families
The Secret
It wasn’t until the thunder clapped that she realized it’d been raining. Her drenched face wasn’t solely due to the tears that escaped her eyes as she stared down the newly occupied hole in the ground. Life would no longer be the same now that her soulmate was gone. His sudden inexplainable and rapidly progressing illness shook the foundation of the family and caused administrative crisis for their business. Yet she silently sighed relief knowing that she had urged her husband to complete his last will and testament in the past months so all was not lost. She slightly shifted her feet as the moistened ground began to give way to her weight, the mud now making its way into her shiny patent leather Louboutins. This was probably a good time to head back to the car she thought, to find some semblance of shelter, heat and repose. Each step away from the grave felt like moving in slow motion, weighted and sustained. Leaving her life-long partner in his final resting place meant she now had to face the world alone, but then again, where were her children?
By Danielle Joseph6 years ago in Families
THE DAY A MORTICIAN BECAME FAMILY AT A FUNERAL
THE DAY A MORTICIAN BECAME FAMILY AT A FUNERAL The day started like most others, dressing, and casketing loved ones for their funeral services and cremations. I logged in all the new residents at my care center, they had arrived overnight. Our facility prepared all the loved ones for 11 funeral homes in our Southern California area. Things could get busy at our care center, but we all loved what we did for a living, so it made our days go fast and felt rewarding.
By Lorie stewart6 years ago in Families
Knowing me was Key
The Lobby I stood in this dark, poorly lit parlor trying my hardest to remember some of my earliest memories with my mom, but I felt like a mental fog had descended on me these last 2 weeks and everything was harder to navigate. Strangely, I could only remember very early memories that included both my mom and dad despite them having been apart for most my life. The memories were of them being warm and kind to each other which if you had seen them sharing a table at my college graduation dinner you would have never believed. I quickly did the math on this bittersweet memory that seemed locked into the front of my mind like the slides of an old picture show in constant rotation around my fragile emotional state. Twenty-two years ago sounded like a terribly long time ago, but being 26 years old in this position I was in today felt like I was terribly too young to be dealing with the loss of my mother. I felt the prickly sharpness of tears fighting their way forward on the back of my eyeballs and that strange but familiar tightness in my throat that signified my mascara was 7 seconds away from creating a hot Crayola disaster down my face. I felt them, the tears, as they well up in the basin of my eyeballs and glossed over the surface of my eyes.
By Andrea Elizabeth 6 years ago in Families
Room 36
Green light. Wheels screeching and high pitch honks. The jolt. Then the crunch. A flash of blue disappearing in smoke. Her mother's cries and broken glass scattering across her lap. Sirens. Ambulance lights, red and white flashing above her against the car ceiling as she lost consciousness. The last thing Mia Conner saw was her leg stuck underneath metal.
By Nina Elise6 years ago in Families
Strays on Fourth Street
I. To call this place nothing would be an insult to emptiness: tattered streets, faded houses held together by spider webs, and air that was always grey. “Fourth Street” had been untouched by the postwar booms and was bedrock in the economic chain. That fact radiated throughout the street emitting permanent misery. Except, not everyone on the block was miserable. In fact, there was one little girl—who “was growing up too fast”—that became one of the few things worth fighting for on Fourth Street: Ally Rumm.
By Mark Perkins6 years ago in Families
Love of my life
As long as I could remember, I saved my change in large jars. I delivered papers and mowed lawns, collected bottles and ran errands, anything that would bring me closer to realizing my goal. I carried a little black book in my chest pocket, where I kept all my hopes and dreams, and how I would achieve them.
By James Peck6 years ago in Families
Are you serious?
It was drizzling, wet and misty on this Thursday afternoon. She was late and hurried along the muddy path through the backyard leading up to the backdoor of her father's cottage. Breathless, she gave a quick rap and waited for the door to open. She smiled up at her father's face as he opened the door and welcomed her in.
By Diamond Kim6 years ago in Families
