family
Ice Princess
As she ran through the field behind her aunt’s house, Serena could feel the warmth of the sun on her skin. She was grateful for the experience. Growing up in Alaska, she yearned for the heat. Tall green grass enveloped her legs, and she couldn’t help but wonder how she could ever live in a place that was cold and damp most of the year. If it weren’t for her family and her job, she would have left the cold years ago. She cherished the summers where she could swim freely in the lake and sit on the dock, doing nothing but staring off into the distance. She felt as if all her worries were lifted. Worries about her job. She had worked as a steward on the Alaska State Ferry since she was 18 years old and never really felt it was a fit for her. She worried about her family, while her father was sick with Parkinson’s. She worried she was a burden living with her sister and her husband. She was scared. She knew she was moving into a new life, a life she’d always dreamed of, but never thought possible. Serena was an amazing painter and landscapes of mountains with nature set as the main character, were her specialty. She limited herself because of where she was, because of who she thought she should be. Visiting her Aunt Magda's house in South Carolina, she felt free. She felt it was the only place she could be herself, with no expectations. She painted almost the entire time she vacationed there aside from days she helped her aunt at her flower shop. Paintings of flowers and streams adorned with children playing in the distance. She expanded her talent. She allowed herself room to breathe.
Roberta DeAndradePublished 3 years ago in FictionThe Deferment
Growing up, our family dentist loved his props. He had serious dental models appropriate for most patients from my conventional Upstate village. He had “fun” cartoonish ones for the kids. Then, he had a reserved cache of items shown only to the unconventional. No family was less conventional than mine. The term I heard, most often, was quirky. I suppose from the outside looking in, we fit no mental model to which the neighborhood conservatives could relate. Dad drove British sports cars and Mom never set a table without silver and candlesticks, candles alight through the window of our miniscule dining room. Despite our “airs”, we were living in a cinder block rental abutting the highway. We were tolerated by our neighbors although never socially accepted. This did not seem to bother my parents who had plenty of friends elsewhere.
Alexander J. CameronPublished 3 years ago in FictionThe Cold
It was freezing for most of the year where they lived. The wind was whipping, snow was always on the ground, and there was never enough salt to clear the roads. The house they lived in felt empty these days. It sounded like air swirled through a hollow shell whenever a door open, echoing off the eggshell-colored walls. The paint was begging to separate itself from the sheetrock, and the tile was escaping the kitchen floorboards. This house that was once a home was dying, but neither of its residents’ felt motivated to prevent further dilapidation.
Kawan GloverPublished 3 years ago in FictionThe Minibike Incident
We were flying, the three horse Briggs and Stratton maxed out. Little did we know what was in store for us. It was the last day of school 1966. We had a plan. we were going to celebrate summer vacation, the mini bike was waiting.
I tried to hire a hitman
THE TURN OF THE SCREW "Meet me at the Darkside Pub, 7pm sharp." Click. My heart was beating so fast I could hardly breathe, and I started to sweat. "What am I doing, am I crazy." But the anger was burning hot. The hate was such a palpating thing that I could literally reach out and touch it.
Novel AllenPublished 3 years ago in FictionUnder Her Branches
Under her Branches School was out for the summer. My brother, Darryn, and I were about to spend the entire summer vacation at my aunt and uncle’s fishing cabin in Cross Creek, Florida—a world away from Miami. Earlier that year, our Uncle Stanley had moved his wife, Aletha, and their three boys up to north central Florida to raise his family in a more country atmosphere, away from the hustle and bustle of a big city. His intentions, though good, disrupted the family, which in the years that followed caused a migration of our entire family in that same direction.
Tari TemplePublished 3 years ago in FictionShadow Dance
I want a divorce. There. I said it. Loudly, if only inside my head. The walls have been closing in for a while now, and this thing has now become a choice between him and me, between my life and ours. The dogs are now barking, growling, gurgling; attacking each other again. I can hear them from my bathroom, where I have the door closed. I let their sounds become white noise to my drama. This bathroom is my tiny greenroom, and it allows me to find myself in the pupil of my eye before facing the world again. It allows me space and privacy to perform Kintsugi to my mind when it is shattered, like it is today.
Grace TurnerPublished 3 years ago in FictionFrozen Dreams
Gay-Lynn glided swiftly around the edge of the frozen pond. She had always wanted to skate and this rough surface was her learning ground. Initially, she had joined her friends, watching and learning as she observed the side to side motion of their blades circumventing the outer edge of the pond.
Pamela JohnsonPublished 3 years ago in FictionBurning Out
It’s only when I’m left alone that I can hear my body scream. That I can feel all the pain and hurt. That’s why I will do whatever it possibly takes to avoid it.
Beth (Halo) HansonPublished 3 years ago in FictionTHE FIVE WIVES OF MR. ZHARTIE
The legal wife, the work wife, the housewife, the trophy wife, and the wife who got away; walking aimlessly in the middle of the night, I wallow in misery, wondering who am I among the five.
LolakwentoseraPublished 3 years ago in FictionGrandad Lives in the Pear Tree
Grandad lives in the Pear Tree now. That’s what they told me. I didn’t understand it then. Did he live in the branches? Did he live among the leaves? It was a big tree to my small eyes back then but I still didn’t see how he could live there. It seemed too small for him. Where was his bed going to fit? I wanted to ask, but Grandmama was too sad at the time. So I sat by the kitchen window of their old rickety house and stared out at the field. At the lone tree at the bottom of the garden. Surrounded by Grandmama’s flowers and Grandad’s vegetables. Next to the little wooden shed where Grandad kept his tools.
Winter Barbegazi
Winter had set in Asomala, a small forgotten gnome village in the southern mountains of the Kingdom of Daroloc. We Barbegazi live here and fancy ourselves as the mountain's alarm and safety system. With our tunel system we are able to navigate through the snow covered landscape faster and more efficiently than our human neighbors.
Freyja CrownPublished 3 years ago in Fiction