family

The City of Chicago . Top Story - August 2026.
“Oi that you Fitzy?” “Tis! Who else would be stopping in at this time? Damned cold outside.” “ Gread leat ! Put a log on that there fire then if you’re cold.”
By Matthew J. Frommabout a month ago in Fiction
The Woodland's Child
I’m jealous of her. I know I best not; I should be happy that the woman remains a part of my life, but I can’t help but envy the practices of my mother. Everything comes so naturally to her: the plantings, the rituals, the contacting - I would do anything to have the same ease.
By caitodoesstuffabout a month ago in Fiction
KNOCK, KNOCK, WHO'S THERE?
KNOCK, KNOCK, WHO’S THERE? Is that me or is it you? ** She heard the sharp rapping of knuckles on her door. “Oh, goodness, here we go again,” she thought.
By Margaret Brennanabout a month ago in Fiction
Last Call for having In-laws
Everyone has issues with their families. No one gets along perfectly well and everyone has quirks with one another, but it is so sad to me what happened in the story with my in-laws. Finally to the point of done dealing with them monetarily, the story reaches it's close to me.
By Seashell Harpspring 2 months ago in Fiction
Effie & Simon. Top Story - August 2026.
I am at it again. This thing, it fits me, tight, like a glove. Tighter. Like a second skin. My sister isn't here tonight. She has not been here for several nights. She's so waif-like, now, so whisper-thin, that she's almost not anywhere at all. With the shadowy circles under her eyes so dark you could almost believe they were bruises. Maybe they are. May he hit her again.
By L.C. Schäfer2 months ago in Fiction
These Old Pages
A Beetle pulled into the driveway of a box-like house. The car was old, almost 17 years old by this point, and tan. It had started out cream but years of use and lack of desire to clean had turned it tan. The house it parked in front of was in no better condition. The blue paint was faded and had begun to chip in places. The white garage door was now gray, as was the once white roof. The yard was unkempt, the flowers and grass both overgrown, though that was probably the most beautiful part of the house. It was structurally well-kept, for safety reasons, but was otherwise neglected.
By Stephanie Hoogstad2 months ago in Fiction
Last Call for Mr. Johnny Price
"All aboard! Last call! All aboard! Last call!" The train conductor bellowed loudly. Smoke escaping from the train stack seemed to match the cadence of the train conductor's urgency. People rushing everywhere with their bags and hats, some dragging cedar chests. Women were crying and kissing their men goodbye. Mothers embraced children. With a 'stand up straight,' and a 'fix your bow,' and a 'mind your manners with Nana,' clause.
By A.K. Treadwell 2 months ago in Fiction
Ruby Mondays
“AAAAAAAHHHHH MAAAAN!!!” I yawn waking myself up from a two minute nap. The summer is almost over and I’ve spent most of it staying up all night and sleeping through the better part of the day time. But now, school is almost back in session and I could not be more worried. This year is the biggest year of my school life. It’s my senior year and boy do I have a lot to worry about.
By Joe Patterson2 months ago in Fiction
The Final Call
Todd spent his entire life as a proud atheist. Father Fishman's death destroyed him. That was his best friend, Bobby. He had saved his life. Father Fishman was loved by his clergy, and even when Todd felt unwelcome at church, Bobby had a way of making his worries wither. His first point of call was to ring Bobby's grandfather.
By Chloe Gilholy2 months ago in Fiction
A Forgotten Voice
Nzinga Islam has long been on Google as “The wife of an alleged terrorist”. However, since then her life’s mission has been to erase that tagline from her name and instead be remembered as the CEO of They Told Me Not To Write, a black American publication brand highlighting the forgotten voice. Did her life’s work accomplish this 40-year plight she was determined to conquer, and has her only recent fame defended her cause to never be forgotten?
By #Saba2 months ago in Fiction
Three Sandwiches
“At a wake, mourners may eat no more than three sandwiches” * Senator T.C. R. Noble: So, it was really hot and Old Man Keller’s funeral was the biggest event in town and Madame Curry’s bakery provided all the fixings for a feast for the parishioners. What we didn’t know was that the Gordon Sisters (you know who) would be there to inhale so much before anyone could even see the tables that you would hear stomachs grumbling from here to Nashville. That made a lot of people really red in the face and hot in the head so there were fists flying, legs kicking and even dogs got into it. Poor things kept getting chased away from the tables like it was their fault and my own Rufus…he got hurt. Now, I don’t care what they do when they have a funeral in my church and they are all respectful, but when they go after the dogs, I have to put my foot down! I know that you are going to handle this in court, but don’t forget the rest of us who are just trying to do God’s will and remember the miracles and the loaves and fishes. Maybe if people remembered that they had to share things out, these things wouldn’t happen. And maybe if the judges in this state actually gave us a number – something like the Trinity – there would be real peace when a life passes on.
By Kendall Defoe 2 months ago in Fiction
The Pirate Dragon
Prologue Close your eyes and picture this: It’s a cold, winter’s night; wind still, sky clear of clouds and full of stars, a half-moon illuminates the crags of mountainous stone surrounding a small village. The village is old, wood houses with thatched roofs and dusty, meandering pathways, connecting each of them. At the heart of the village stands the Long House; in it, the village elders are seated around a roaring fire. Scattered about them are children of all ages. Tired after a long day of learning and play, they hold blankets or stuffed toys and pile together on the furs around the fire. As smoke filters upward, through the vent in the roof, the children fight to hold droopy eyes open as the village Elder woman begins a tale of magic … and adventure.
By Eda Marie2 months ago in Fiction