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I always expected greatness from myself. I took pride in somehow always being better than those around me. I don’t really know what it is, but it’s almost as if I have to prove myself over and over again. A lot of people say I’m conceited, and maybe I am, but I don’t see it that way. I don’t care about materialistic things or anything like that, but for some reason I have to be better, to do better in every way. My mom says I have a perfectionist complex, who knows, maybe she’s right.
The Immortals
For generations they have guarded over our family. From the time of my great-great-great grandfather, they have kept us safe. All our lives, we were given a safe haven to eat, sleep, and be merry in. We were given purpose in serving them, and in return they made sure that our lives were as comfortable as possible. I had a giant heap of hay all to myself, piled on the ground, and the Tall One had even given me a blanket to put on top of it.
The box in the floor
There it was, the box. Wrapped in grandmas old silk scarf. The map led them straight to it! Let me rewind a little. About five days to be exact.
Britt DawsonPublished 3 years ago in FictionThe Box It Came In
Gemma raced around the house, snatching toys off the couch, ripping clothes off the backs of the kitchen chairs, and trying to pretend the sink would magically empty itself while she wasn’t looking. She’d spent all day yesterday cleaning. How did a house with just one mom and just one toddler manage to self-destruct overnight?
My Mother's Calling
Every year, my mother entered the local hog calling contest. After 60 tireless attempts, she never won. For weeks leading up to the Iowa State Fair, she would practice in the barn, her voice somehow never giving out.
Unknown markings
It was long after the end of the war that I decided to go back to the old barn by the house in which I grew up, back in the days when it was still primarily occupied by hens and chicks, and one feisty rooster who would cry loudly throughout the day when I would least expect it. It used to scare the living daylight out of me, I was just a small child back in the day, and would only venture into the barn, terrified, to pick up the precious eggs from the hens' nests once I had deemed it a safe distance away, that would let me run back to the house before he could get to me.
Laureline LandryPublished 3 years ago in FictionMrs. Hinkle's Barn
Mrs. Hinkle’s Barn When I was growing up in a suburb north of Detroit, Mrs. Hinkle and her housemate lived next door to us. My definition of “old” has changed since then, but even by my present-day standards I am pretty sure they were very old.
Martha AllenPublished 3 years ago in FictionStill Standing
Veronica wore an invisible veil that covered her excitement as she walked back from Mr. Rays appraisal shop. The news she would share with her family had been baking in her belly for years. But how? Should it be over dinner? Her mind raced with perfect scenerios on how to unfold the truth about her families heirloom.
Oandhi BrownPublished 3 years ago in FictionIsolation
14 March 2020 I was standing at the kitchen island when I got the text. Vivian: So sorry but it's happening, the virus got me. You’re all gonna have to self isolate. See you on the other side guys. Xx
The Cold Barn
The Cold Barn Waking up to a beam of sun burning through his eye lid, John could already feel the pain in his bones. Attempting to stretch his legs he felt his foot brush against his sister’s head. He could feel her begin to squirm around, because of his actions. I best get up John thought before I wake them all up. He looked around at his family all huddled together in the hay. He could see the snow coming in through every hole in the wood of this old barn. He walked over and moved a bale of hay out of the spot where there was a huge hole and headed through the snow towards the field. He could see that there was no hope for warmth today, because no one had dropped any wood into their yard. Some days other people in the village took pity on them and would give donations of food or wood, but this snow had made it so it had been many days since they had any sign of help.
Deanna WilliamsPublished 3 years ago in FictionThe Magician's Trick
“Dad, dad! Tell us the story! Pleaseee!” My son was pulling on my pant leg with beaming eyes, hopeful that I would tell the story to him and his two friends. I chuckled and nodded, “Alright, alright, sit down you little nugget.” I roughed up his hair, “I’ll tell the story.”
Katie ShayPublished 3 years ago in FictionThe Road Home
Zap had reached that age, when a man has to do what he believes is right. He needed courage and endurance to follow the road ahead, that led to an uncertain future.
Katherine D. GrahamPublished 3 years ago in Fiction