family
Magical Love
In the bustling streets of Seoul, amidst the vibrant city lights and bustling crowds, there lived a girl named Ji-Yoo. Orphaned at a young age, she found herself navigating the harsh realities of life with only her resilience to lean on. But despite her gentle demeanor and kind heart, Ji-Yoo seemed to be cursed by the judgmental eyes of those around her.
Baking’s a Blast!
I was so excited to be in the Baking’s a Blast competition. Some of the bakers of our town have come to showcase their cake that makes a blast. Last year a rocket launching cake won. No one understood how the baker made the sugar come out of the bottom of the cake without flying everywhere in disaster. It somehow ended clean with the rocket boosted above hardened marshmallow fluff. This year I have already seen a mermaid cake splashing “water” icing with a lemon flavor on the inside.
Shelby HagoodPublished about 2 hours ago in FictionAncestor's tale
Alex's mother stopped by to drop off his great-grandfather hand carved clock he inherited through the family line. He had it placed in his living room next to his 95-inch television and surround sound theater system. He watched Sportscenter at 6:59 awaiting the clock to strike seven.
T. Eugene WilliamsPublished about 4 hours ago in FictionThe Importance of Safe Choices
In a world filled with choices, the importance of safe decisions cannot be overstated. Every decision made has the power to shape your well-being and future. By prioritizing safety and mindfulness in your choices, you pave the way for a brighter and more fulfilling journey ahead.
Mamoona RanaPublished about 13 hours ago in FictionHow Margaret was Deceived from Having Children
Margaret sat in her small, modest living room, a sense of frustration and longing filling her heart. It had been six long years since she and her husband, Daniel, had made the mutual decision to stabilize their financial situation before starting a family. Back then, Margaret had agreed with Daniel, understanding the importance of financial stability for a secure future. But now, as the years passed by, the desire to have children grew stronger within her.
Emmanuel OjenikePublished about 17 hours ago in FictionBeyond the Lost Horizon
In a world where destiny weaves its intricate threads through the fabric of existence, there lived a girl who was left to navigate the tumultuous currents of fate from the tender age of three.
"Scroggy"
Bath-time was over. The nightlight emitted a soft and friendly orange glow. The toddler, smelling of baby soap and clean pyjamas, lay in the crook of her mother's arm. Her hair curled away from her temples, framing big, wide eyes.
L.C. SchäferPublished a day ago in FictionThe Last Ride
Hammad Mehboob heard his son’s voice, full of joy and wonder. “Father! Father! Look at our new car!” Musa shouted with glee, running towards the shiny orange Lamborghini parked outside their mansion. “Can we go for a ride, please?” The seven-year-old boy did not know that his father could only hear him, but could not or speak to him. He was in a coma, his body connected to machines that kept him alive. His wife Rahmah sat by his bedside, praying for a miracle. Hammad had everything a man could dream of: fame, fortune, success. But he had nothing that truly mattered: love, family, happiness. He had lost his parents and his sister in a brutal robbery, his first wife and his unborn child in a tragic accident, and his health and happiness in a stressful career. He had everything he ever wanted, except the one thing he needed: a family. After hearing the words of his son Hammad Mehboob could not control his emotions, a tear popped up from his left eye, flew down, and soaked in the pillow, he started crying but he could not help.
What is Real Work?
Housewife: “I feel like I’m working non-stop. There’s always something to do at home, no breaks, no holidays.” HR Manager: “I understand your point. I’m also getting more work. But, I do get weekends off.”
Ameer BibiPublished a day ago in FictionRocky
In the bustling streets of a sprawling metropolis, a small, helpless puppy was born on a cold, unforgiving road. Its cries for help were met with indifference as the relentless tide of traffic roared past. But fate had a different path in store for this abandoned creature.
Two Pink Lines
I had never really felt like a child. I'd always had to raise myself. My mother was just a teenager when she'd had me and consequently, we had spent my whole childhood arguing and fighting like a couple of sisters as opposed to mother and daughter. My father was older than my mother but still had some maturing to do himself. He focused his entire life on me, his little girl but never realized the pressure that put on me. I always felt I had to raise him even as he was trying to raise me. We raised each other. Then, I met him. He cares, he shows me a love like I've never known. For once, it's about me and I don't have to focus on other people's needs and what someone needs from me. Someone always wants something from you. That is what my parents have taught me. Love is selfish but it isn't with him. He is perfect, beautiful, funny, and can take me to places I've only dreamed about. Places outside my mind and my own pathetic life and I know that I will always love him. When we first met, I wanted him to have my children, but now? Right now, with us both still in high school? This is all happening so soon. I slipped into the restroom at work. It had been 6 weeks since my last menstrual and this was not normal. I couldn't wait any longer. I put the top on the test and waited. These 60 seconds felt like forever. What would we do? We were both seniors so we didn't have long to go before school was over but this was not the plan. The plan was for him to join the Army and me the National Guard and for me to get my associate's degree and then we marry, then have kids.
Lindsey AltomPublished a day ago in Fiction- Top Story - April 2024
Reaching Out
I promise her. I'd do anything for her. She's my mom. Even as Lanie and Deanna are flying home, Mom is scrappy fighting dying. She lays too still in that too-big bed with all the toasty white hospital blankets, in the south tower, at the broad end of a long slow-turning corner that delivers me again to her private room with the view she can't see through, with the beeping that tells us nothing new, and all these ice chips she can't swallow, and a flood of well-intentioned nurses who cannot do a damned thing all the same.
Christy MunsonPublished a day ago in Fiction