family
Death by Chocolate
Death by chocolate was a summer’s afternoon at my best friend’s house. Her family bustling around the kitchen in organised chaos. Nothing like my quiet household; there was no death by chocolate at my house, there was no hustle and bustle Sunday lunch tradition. There were only the four of us, though, compared to this family of seven plus visiting family. I think they did this every Sunday. My best friend Arielle was adopted by her aunt, I guess. Her aunt was the matriarch, revered and respected. She had a partner, Mr Horton, whom everyone despised. They didn’t call him Dad or Grandpa; he was just Mr Horton. Arielle said her mother would never marry him; he was just there for companionship (she did, in fact, marry Mr Horton a decade later). Mr Horton was only tolerated on the condition that his position and presence was temporary and served their mother’s need to have someone, but she was still in control. As a mother to three daughters, it was her responsibility to show strength and reserve. Or so was the impression. Mr Horton knew his place, a dark brown lazy boy in front of the television. He didn’t say much, clearly an accessory to the matriarch and possibly overwhelmed by her strong-willed daughters.
By Culture Salt3 years ago in Fiction
Icebreaker
On a cold cloudy afternoon Tommy had awoken to a snowy wonderland waiting for him outside. The winters in Wisconsin can be pretty brutal. His mother had fed and milked the cows before sunrise. Tommy gets away with sleeping in from time to time. For a single mother you have to pick your battles with teenage boys. Early mornings are at 5am and spent helping his father with chores on the farm. Everyone pitched in. But, all that changed since the Great War began. Tommy became the man of the house very quickly, attending to most of the physical labor and anything that needed fixing and mainly being extra hands for his Mother. Today was special, for his birthday, Tommy gets to be a fourteen year old boy. With life on the farm there’s really never a true day off. He’s lucky to have such a mom who looks out for him and teaches him that sometimes growing up too fast can make you forget how to enjoy being a kid.
By Allison Seney3 years ago in Fiction
Continental Divide
For as long as I could remember, Grandpa always had a big car. Not just any car, a Lincoln Continental. Cadillacs were for pimps and gangsters. A Lincoln exuded luxury and the American dream. At the time, the American dream involved waiting for “even” or “odd” days based on the numbers on your license plate in order to get gas.
By Dutch Simmons3 years ago in Fiction
Go Ahead ... Go For It!
Melody! Melody!! Melody!!!! My mother’s impatient voice finally broke through, pulling my attention from my personal game of I Spy. For as long as I can remember, my eyes seem to be constantly drawn to random things in the world around me. Now at fifteen years old, it has become a part of my everyday life.
By Nedra Epps3 years ago in Fiction
Weezle's Snowflake
There was a time when snow wasn’t like the snow we know today. Snowflakes used to be very big, so that the children of the world could see each one clearly and marvel at the different shapes. They were so busy watching the snowflakes fall from the sky and melt they didn’t see Santa delivering presents. That’s what snow was for.
By Paul Wilson3 years ago in Fiction
Sharing with Pop Pop
I will start by admitting that my father and I have large sweet tooths. In fact, they are large enough to possibly qualify as sweet bones. I’d always thought it was a learned trait and I could possibly prevent my kids getting the same. That is where this story begins.
By Michelle McBride3 years ago in Fiction
The Pear Tree in My Old House
Ramesh Goyal was looking forward to retirement. His last posting was in Darjeeling, India and he had about a year left before he would retire and then go live in his ancestral house in Patna. Right now his son Sooraj and daughter-in-law Malti lived in his ancestral house because Ramesh was working at a law office in Patna. Ramesh wanted his son to live in their house as for the past few years he was living and working in another city. It was October 2007 and Ramesh was delighted to visit Sooraj and his family because Sooraj and Malti became parents of a new baby daughter a few days ago. They named their daughter Vinita.
By Anshuman Kumar3 years ago in Fiction
Bad Drugs
I literally have no clue what I’m doing or what the purpose of my life is… not anymore, at least. Sometimes, I feel like I took a bad drug and my life experiences are the result of me just going completely insane. I don’t really smile anymore, not the way I used to at least when my dad would make his infamous chocolate cake. I was addicted to it, like a bad drug. Now I wake up, knowing that I’ll never be able to look forward to those moments again. My dad took bad drugs… and bad drugs took him.
By I-Asia Brown3 years ago in Fiction