literature
Families and literature go hand in hand; fictional families to entertain, reflect and inspire.
The Little Black Notebook
Intact dignity has proven to be a rarity by the end of many in their thirties. Brenton always blamed himself for working too hard and had lived with the guilt heartily. Thinking back on his grandiose wedding day, there certainly were flickering red flags from her displayed tantrums. Despite the pain of the divorce, he had composed himself quickly and proceeded to bury himself into work. Brenton was athletic and disciplined in many areas. He didn’t do this for revenge but had a refusal to fall into his own depressive thoughts. As an entrepreneur, he dabbled in unspecified investments while married and afterwards fully executed them. After being pulled through divorce sludge, losing his home, his wife, his pets, and money, perhaps the universe would finally come back to his favor.
By Serra Nicole6 years ago in Families
Found in the Woods
“Jacob, Buddy, I love you and I’m sorry. I never wanted this and never thought it would come to this. I only wanted to make things right for you and Mom, but….well, life happens. You would have found that out soon enough, but I hate that I’m the one teaching you that lesson.
By Patrick Rose6 years ago in Families
The Sacred Blank Page
Ever since he passed away three years ago, I’ve felt lost. The world seems to be void of magic; made up of solid things, and it never tires of reminding me where I belong: at the bottom of it all. Yet, every now and then, something happens that just… well, that just rekindles the sorry remnants of an ancient flame.
By Keyrad Mehr6 years ago in Families
Kitchen Oddity
“Wake me up, before you—" Groan. I forgot to turn off my automatic alarm. You’d think it’d be easy to set it up so it would only go off on weekdays to let me sleep in on weekends, but evidently not. I ventured a single appendage out from under the comforter to turn off the alarm on my phone, making a mental note to delete this “wake-up music” alarm app—the music they choose may be great for my parents, but in the month I’ve tried it, there has not been a single song that was written in my lifetime.
By Jessica Rugani6 years ago in Families
The Unknown Soldier
To be honest, I hardly knew the man. He was a divorcee living in Bridgeport, and I a film student in San Francisco. There are two pictures of him hanging in my parent’s hallway, one wearing an army uniform and another jamming with some rock band as a teenager. I heard very little about him until the eve of my graduation, when my parents announced his death. His belongings were poured over without much fuss. I, being the only child, was awarded the box of leftover items –a weathered black notebook, guitar picks, a key, and a some Italian currency. The notebook’s pages were filled with carefully scripted writing. After determining that the sixty thousand Lire was all but worthless, I filed the box in the back of my closet where it stayed for the next couple of months.
By Brant Blower6 years ago in Families
Red King
We split the house, Simon and me, and I couldn’t complain. I got the garage. Simon had it worse. God knew what was still collecting dust in the old house, our father’s collected history of us, of his life before the divorce, before he moved in with Denise to hers, and, eventually, the pair of them pulled up stakes to find their own new frontier untrammeled by memories of either ex. I visited that new house once, the year after they moved in. It looked like a real-estate staging. Here’s the living room. Here’s the dining room. Here’s where we’re planning the addition. Here’s the kitchen. No pictures on the walls. This is the world we built, without you in it. And why shouldn’t he? He brought us up, as best he could, along with our mother. Why did I feel like he owed anything to us?
By Matt Largo6 years ago in Families
