family
From The Deep Blue
After three long weeks under the hotel we were running out of ideas for a way out. The meals were sparse and the beds were unbearable. You would think for the quality of the resort that we were under that our kidnappers could do better, but no. That is the way that it was and we had no choice but try and get used to it. How we wound up below here was beyond our control and all we had was one another until we either died or escaped. The way we figured that if anyone could find us they would have by now.
Ruby EstellePublished 3 years ago in FictionHopeful Glow
This piece is a bit different from the short fiction I had written before. I am going to describe a dream that I had a few nights ago in as much detail as I can remember. Before I do so, I feel some real-world context is required. I normally do not talk about my personal life, but I feel it necessary in this case to establish what brought up this dream. See, I have been fighting mental exhaustion for the past month. My significant other Ally (whom I have mentioned multiple times in the past) had to leave her job, partly due to mental burnout and partly to care for her ailing mother. (No, it is not COVID.) With that lost income, I have been scrambling to keep the house's finances in control. Fortunately, we are breaking even but only just. I have been trying to find new sources of income since then, but my desperation had increased as the reserve savings decreased. Ally kept trying to tell me that things will work themselves out, but my conscious mind did not want to process that. I guess my unconscious mind had to take over one night...
Adam WallacePublished 3 years ago in FictionA Girl from the Third World
The sweetest smiles hold the darkest secrets. The endless sighs hold a million reasons. There are always some things in this world that are beyond our comprehension. No matter how much we try to run towards them, we will always return empty-handed. The light creeping out of our souls will die out eventually from this thirst and hunger for knowing more, for digging deeply into the reasons of our existence. at well-lighted with fluorescent and incandescent bulbs and neon, is still full of odd dark corners and unsettling nooks and crannies. We reach out towards these unsettling nooks. We reach out towards the dark! Why would we want to light the already lighted parts of the world? We crave to discover the darkness inside and around us.
Umama ZahirPublished 3 years ago in FictionThe Last Eight Seconds
“Bull riders face their fears by riding them,” that's my mantra, and it's been playing on a loop in my brain for the last twenty minutes.
Gerald HolmesPublished 3 years ago in FictionCicada
The light-blue Holden Camira rumbles down the gum-tree streets on this Melbourne evening, late in January. Inside, embraced in the back-seat Selene dozes.
Sarah AbdurazakPublished 3 years ago in FictionThe Fifth Season
We had a pear tree, and it was the joy of the neighborhood. It, and my mother. My beautiful, bright-eyed mother, with her aprons and baking prowess and generosity. She baked pies and tarts with our fresh-grown pears, giving them to our friends and neighbors like a plague. She made jams with them, sorbets, salads.
Grace DerderianPublished 3 years ago in FictionNamesake
August in New York is a season of its own: Humidity is high and the sun rises with a temperature of eighty degrees most days. If the power goes out on your block, the option to fry an egg on concrete lies available, but there’s certainly no street in the city clean enough to wear flip flops without concern, let alone to whisk up a meal. The only thing Sunny Side up on a New York corner are bags of trash, which spent the night marinating in the summer heat. The locals know they’re cooked by their pungent scent which travels up to the nose of passersby or anyone brave enough to crack a window and let the warm city air into their apartment. The scent never comes alone; it’s usually escorted by the sound of music from passing cars, sirens from blocks away, or maybe even a couple of dogs meeting for the first time, barking ecstatically at the sight of their own kind.
Jessica S FlayserPublished 3 years ago in FictionMy Fathers Marigolds
When I was a little girl, my father planted marigolds in our garden. “Daddy?’ I would ask him “Why do you plant those silly orange flowers between our other plants?” “They protect the other plants from the baddies!’ His British accent came in strong, he would smile at me in his usual way, his eye creasing in the corners, his high cheekbones covered in their round lumps. He would laugh and tickle me as I tried to escape him through the tall, wooden garden beds in our yard.
Erin BeasleyPublished 3 years ago in FictionTHE WANDERING ANT.
Once upon a time in a village called Timeless there lived a family named the Samuelsons. Every morning they would begin their day with a moment of meditation. Then, they'd take a walk to scout out the land and pick up needed items - such as different type of debris along the road to do their daily routine.
Dr. Totziette SlaterPublished 3 years ago in FictionCan You Imagine?
Here I go, I tighten my laces, pull my coat closer to my body and tug my hat down tight. I look up at the mountain above me, it is so cold! I am ready for this adventure! Spot barks at my ankles also excited for the adventure, I never go anywhere without Spot! He is my companion, my sidekick, my best friend!
Becky ArthursPublished 3 years ago in FictionGrowing Up With Sharks
Curiosity as a young child came with the territory for Aesop. That extended to sharks because of all the tales that he heard from his mom, Pamela, who often used scary tales as a disciplinary tactic. She told him that disobedient children were vulnerable to shark attacks whenever they visited the beach.
Anthony ChanPublished 3 years ago in FictionA Locker with ... Love?
“It’s just a storage unit.” She told herself standing in front of the dingy garage door. “Just a ten by ten space rented and forgotten by Michael before he died. I’m surprised it’s still here.” She stood back and waited for the lot manager to use her drill to take out the lock. The squealing of the metal was loud and shrill and went on for longer than Jeanne was comfortable with. She had to admit that that somehow going through Michael’s things after he was gone was leaving her feeling kind of ghoulish. At the same time, there was a definite dullness about it all, and still a mercenary interest for all that he owed her after 14 years together. She just wished he had family closer than 600 miles away in another state.
Lois BrandPublished 3 years ago in Fiction