family
The Meaning of Crows
Jacob trudged through the trail on his walk home from school, kicking mounds of snow with the toe of his boot every few steps. He shivered and hunched his shoulders in, bracing himself against the wind that seemed determined to seep into his bones. Finally, it was Friday, and Jacob wouldn’t have to walk the kilometer home from school for two days. ‘When I get home,’ Jacob decided as another gust of wind stung his cheeks, ‘I’m gonna make hot chocolate and hide under a blanket until I can feel my toes again.’
By MaKayla Chartrand2 years ago in Fiction
The Gift
Alissa watched the sunlight recede from the surface of the lake, and the shadows settle in. The insects had begun their chorus and a rustling in the fallen leaves heralded the stirring of the nocturnal creatures. She drew her cardigan in closer, overlapping it across her chest, drawing in against the dampening chill. Her hands receded into her sleeves, and she drew her knees up, hugging them, tucking her bare feet onto the bench.
By Amber Yozelle Barber2 years ago in Fiction
Going Back Home
Maggie angrily slammed the door shut behind her with all her might, storming out of her parents’ rickety farmhouse. Dust cascaded down around her in a cloud as the screen door banged behind her. She sneezed and futilely waved the dust from her face. Stomping down the steps, she pulled her winter coat tight around her to keep the cold at bay. Her anger radiated off her and she fumed at what had just happened.
By Maeve Calloway2 years ago in Fiction
Common Ground
Awoken by a most frightening sound I turn over in bed and open my eyes. It’s what I imagined the banshees in my grandfather’s folk tales would sound like. I wonder if he sounded the shrieks of the nightmarish creatures as he passed on the stories to dad. Not knowing the sound of my grand dad’s voice, I try to imagine his accent. Did he try to hide it to fit into his new home? Again I hear the hisses and the screeches, this time closer than before. Out my window a flash of white swoops through the midnight black. Our local owls which frightened me as a child were considered noble by that man I never knew. The same one who built this home and fed so many mouths that have all moved on now. The swift white beacon circles around again. It draws me up and out of bed. It’s shriek sends shivers down my spine as it passes.
By John Kovalsky2 years ago in Fiction
The Dark Harbinger
I walked outside one day, it was hot and humid in the middle of the summer. It was also broad daylight and as I was going about doing chores, I started hearing an owl hooting close to me. It sounded as if it was only about 30 feet away at the edge of the barn. I tend to stay away from this barn. First of all is not on our property even though it's very close to our house. It's on the other side of the fence. In addition, it is also creepy. My kids have explored it a couple of times. It's weird because it's abandoned but is in great condition. It would be a perfectly good barn for hay or whatever else people use barns for. I looked closer in the open door of the barn and I could see the owl. He was just staring at me and it gave me goosebumps all over my body.
By Mikey Lane, MS, LPC, Energy Healer, Medium2 years ago in Fiction
The Boy and the Barn Owl
Shortly after Mexico won its independence from Spain in 1824, Marco Castillo Lopez and his family relocated to a farm on the outskirts of Sinaloa. Marco’s father was a Captain in the Mexican Army during the war and had been rewarded land from Mexico’s first president Guadalupe Victoria.
By James Carabello2 years ago in Fiction
The Uncle, An Owl, and The Lunatic Child
Before I turned twelve years old my parents were in the throes of what may indeed go down as the messiest divorce in history. It was chaos and it would last for some years before the blitz finally ended. Like most warzones though even as the buildings were rebuilt and life moved on the scars on the ground remain. To this day occasionally I’ll be doing something and the disruption of those years will surface. Not as bad now of course and when a memory like that pops in I treat it much like a tour guide would when leading people about London or some such historic battlefield. A point of mild interest or curiosity but with a background of gravitas that cannot go unfelt.
By Simon King 2 years ago in Fiction