family
Captain Willem Sterling George Braunbauer, IV
Willem Sterling George Braunbauer, IV wasn’t a Grandpa Bill or Billy. Grandfather Willem, the W pronounced like a V, was actually Captain Willem Sterling George Braunbauer, IV. The epaulettes of his drab green military uniform and piercing slate eyes sear from across the room, even after so many years. The oil painting, stark but beautiful, is accurate in its dismal precision: back, ramrod straight, strong jawline, blazing eyes with no hint of smile. Sterling could nearly smell the sweet acrid scent of the cigar aura that swirled around his father as he sat by the fire each evening, reading his papers.
By Cathy Schieffelin7 months ago in Fiction
There's A Hole in My Bucket. Top Story - February 2026.
It’s a well-known fact that Liza Dufresne was always the brains in the family. She was the one who always came up with the brilliant schemes the Dufresne kids carried out when they were younger. Like when they tricked Mrs. Claybourn into paying for a trip to Disney World. Liza convinced her that their parents had been kidnapped and were being held for ransom for the total price of three tickets. In reality, they were away on a weekend getaway for their anniversary. When they returned, Liza told the Claybourns that they did not like to talk about the ordeal. Their parents never found out how they got the money. Mrs. Claybourn never found out that the Dufresne parents were never really in any danger.
By David E. Perry7 months ago in Fiction
Daedalus's Sacrifice
The terrible news came in the morning after the banquet. King Minos spent the previous evening celebrating the death of Theseus, and his daughter's safeguarded purity. Minos drank and sang, elated by his victory. His precious, Ariadne, was tucked into bed, alone in his palace, as her would-be lover turned to acid in the Minotaur's stomach by now.
By Kera Hollow7 months ago in Fiction
Finding My Familiar ...
Soul's heart beats flicker across the dappled white moonlight. Etches of a familiar in the fog of time, reverberate across the vast, expansive earth. My hands are scratched and brown, streaked with the marks of dirt I have dug with my thin, exhausted fingers.
By Susan L. Marshall7 months ago in Fiction
The House Of Quiet Evenings
The light always entered the hallway in the same way, though no one could say exactly when it began. Sometimes it seemed early, sometimes late, but the family received it as if they had been waiting for it all afternoon. It wasn't something they talked about. It simply happened, and they adjusted to it without thinking.
By Lydia martinez7 months ago in Fiction
The Last Voice Message
I wasn’t asleep. I never am anymore. Night has become a quiet battlefield for me. Thoughts line up like soldiers, memories attack without warning, and silence feels heavier than noise. So when the screen lit up, I stared at it for a long moment, unsure whether to breathe or panic.
By Salman Writes7 months ago in Fiction
