family
Grandpa's Barn
The little boy bit his lip as he gazed up at the picture. "Grandpa, whose barn is that?" All of the other pictures were of well known faces- there was his mom and dad, and there was one of him and his little sister. There was Uncle Bro and his family, and one of Grandpa with the Grandma the little boy had never gotten the chance to know. But he didn't know that barn. It looked like an old tired place. It didn't seem to fit with the smiling faces.
By Katie Lynn3 years ago in Fiction
A While Longer
My favorite part about summer is visiting the coast. It’s so old-timey. We get to visit a part of the world that’s been swallowed up and spit out so many times that the hard rock has turned into soft sand. Daddy says it’s silly to romanticize erosion, but I think we’re like those rocks. We change over time.
By Alyssa DeMoss3 years ago in Fiction
How my brother got his name.
My parents lived on a property in the wool district of New South Wales, in Eastern Australia. My father had inherited the land from his father who had decided that his joints were far better suited to the warm climate of Queensland. Shortly after my parents married, my grandfather packed my grandmother in their car with as many belongings as could be squeezed in, and headed out along the dirt driveway, straw hat on his head, singing the praises of Cairns. They were never to grace that driveway again.
By Joanne Elliott3 years ago in Fiction
James and the Magic Door
James Patterson was a simple, quiet man but introverted by no means. James grew up on his family’s farm in rural Maine. After his parents passed he realized how important community was to him and so he transformed the modest acreage of his inheritance from a working farm into a venue for weddings, gatherings, parties and retreats. He loved providing a place for people to gather, to be in community with one another and to share life’s joy around a table or a fire pit. James found that when he was able to do so, he felt completed. He would throw lavish parties, spending too much of his own money to make sure that everyone had the food, drink, entertainment and atmosphere that would serve to bring them all a little closer together. Then he would sit back with a big smile on his face and watch them talk and drink and smile, listen to their laughter and their raucous enjoyment of one another’s company. He would participate too, sure, but his true happiness came from providing the space and watching his friends and family and loved ones enjoy one another.
By Rob Cunliffe3 years ago in Fiction
Barn Knights
Two blades crossed under scattered beams of sunlight as leaves gently fell. Relentless foes caught in the dance of battle. One parries, one blocks, the other dodges, and reverberating steel rings the ears of those fortunate enough to be near the nimble pair. Leaping onto a nearby rock to gain the upper ground, one warrior gains the upper hand, landing a fatal blow on the other.
By Anthony Criswell3 years ago in Fiction
A Black Summertime
"To some not insignificant extent, who you are comes down to where you stand in relation to catastrophe. Perhaps it is that they have not been touched yet. Not yet been burnt." Danielle Celermajer ‘Summertime: Reflections on a Vanishing Future’
By Miranda Weindling3 years ago in Fiction
The Brother Who Kept
I was to blame I thought as I looked around the weathered old barn. I was always to blame as I was the one who left. My father said so, the people in town said as much and my brothers would agree I was to blame for leaving and what might have been.
By C. H. Richard3 years ago in Fiction