family
Happy Ending
Candace narrowed her eyes at her little brother. “Kit, be quiet. We’re supposed to go to bed.” Kit, four years younger and infinitely more obnoxious at only seven, peeked over his quilt at her. It was hard to see him in the nighttime shadows of their bedroom.
By Spencer Reaves4 years ago in Fiction
He Is Lost
He was a man, a father. Father was tall, towering over the two young boys that held his hands. The boys shared a face, but little else. Aiden was bold and boisterous, while Asher was shy and sweet. And Father loved them both exactly for who they were. Father admired Asher for his sensitivity. He adored the way he would sit silently for hours coloring pictures to brighten up their little home. An unkind word was never heard from his son’s mouth and an unkind word was never spoken of him. Asher never questioned what was asked of him and he rarely asked for anything in return. His obedience never faltered. The same could not always be said about his rambunctious brother. Aiden questioned everything. Still, Father loved his curious child. He enjoyed teaching Aiden about the world and didn’t even mind when Aiden questioned what was demanded of him. Aiden would take patience, Father knew, and so patience is what he received. The wild boy was difficult to get to sit still for very long, always finding himself in trouble. Father made sure to keep a close eye while he climbed trees in the yard for Aiden often climbed too high and needed help getting back down. Father gazed with loving eyes at his two different identical boys. They were his entire world, his very own little creations.
By Theresa Euliano4 years ago in Fiction
Marshmallow Memories
The world has changed a lot since those long summer days spent chasing friends around town on the much too large blue Schwinn Continental inherited from my mother. We didn’t know the difference between a girl's and a boy's bike. All we knew was the difference having a bike made. Even if that bike was twenty years old and intended for someone twice my height. Nowadays children have more to worry about than running behind their friends because of a flat tire or a broken chain. It was either pound your feet and keep up or be left behind and miss out until someone came home to repair your steed.
By Matthew Noel4 years ago in Fiction
The Memory of Flowers: Chapter 1-Interior Design
Mrs. Landon was in love with her new living room, the potted plants, the fluffy throw blanket over her chair; the accents were impeccable. She wasn't entirely sure who the decorator was but if she ever ran into him again, she would surely thank him. In fact, as she sat back marveling at his handiwork she decided to see if he was still in the hallway; perhaps she could catch him.
By Alejandra Mora Hendler4 years ago in Fiction
Avi Knows Best
Moshe Avraham Mayze, known as Avi Mayze, had liked the idea of becoming a father when it was still only an abstract concept. He imagined a handsome, well-behaved son, growing up peacefully, with constant respect for his father’s wisdom. Avi enjoyed watching old movies and the series from his childhood in the 1950’s, with names like “Father Knows Best,” that lauded happy families led by kindly, intelligent men, who were flawed only enough to keep the viewer’s interest. These fathers left most of the parenting, it seemed, to their wives, while they enjoyed adult conversations and relaxed cups of coffee at their offices. Their children, growing up in an idyllic world in which human trafficking and school shootings could not even be imagined, got into mild trouble with every episode, but their heroic fathers would swoop in at the end of the day, returning home from work just in time to resolve all the tensions with a few, well-spoken words. That was the father Avi wanted to be. In pursuit of this dream, Avi married a beautiful woman, Naomi.
By Aylya Mayze4 years ago in Fiction
The Missing Ingredient
It wasn’t the first time I’d been to a barbeque. The church held one every year for us poor waifs and strays on the 4th of July. The limp boiled hot dogs and gristly burgers came with a side of sanctimonious piety and a lecture on gratitude. Still, it beat the food in the Home by a long shot.
By Angel Whelan4 years ago in Fiction
Burned to Beta
Lynexia woke the next morning, confused. She remembered being in the fields but not returning to the ranch house. She sat up, stretched, and sniffed the air. The smell of sausage and eggs filled her sinuses. She kicked her legs over the edge. Lynexia slowly got to her feet and left the room. She made her way through the house to enter the kitchen. Alrik, sensing her presence, looked up from his plate. “How did you sleep, Lynexia?” he questioned. Lynexia shrugged her shoulders in response. “Are you hungry?'' he inquired as he got up from the table and approached her. “Not really” she whispered as Alrik led her to his chair and had her sit. “You really should eat something.” Lavender urged. Alrik moved his plate so his grandmother placed a plate of sausage and toast in front of Lynexia. Lynexia was not really hungry but felt all the eyes burrowing through her. She took a small bite of toast. Ginger then placed a glass of juice next to Lynexia's plate. The young female finished one piece of toast and drank the juice. She couldn’t stand the stares, so she left the house.
By Samantha Shaffer4 years ago in Fiction
Burned to Beta
The sky changed and Lynexia could smell the evening coming. The animals of the day started to bed down with the sun. The animals of the night opened their eyes with the rising moon. The insects changed shifts and the wheat smelled different. Lynexia could feel the awakening moon. Every instinct told her to shift. As much as she urged her body, it just couldn't change. The silence of her wolf tore her soul apart. Lynexia stomped through the fields. Her anger and frustration were boiling up inside her. She walked up to the side of a barn and punched a hole through the wall. When she pulled it out she watched the blood streaming out around the pieces of wood stuck in her flesh. She didn't feel any pain from her wounds. She stomped towards the woods. The blood dripped fast to the ground and stained the grass behind her. She reached the edge of the trees and realized that her arm hurt. She looked back at her hand and arm. Normally, by now, wounds like these would have started healing already. Instead, the red blood continued to drip to the ground. Lynexia stared at it confused, then the wind picked up and the torn flesh started to sting.
By Samantha Shaffer4 years ago in Fiction
Sensitive
There weren’t always Dragons in the Valley painting slowly chipping away from the back of my sister’s backpack. Now there's two, one gold and one silver, shimmering in their miniature rhinestone glory. She’s an exquisite artist, so pieces of fabric paint missing from the scene doesn’t lessen its beauty, only adds texture, more interest.
By Zuri the Dreamer4 years ago in Fiction
Proper Pirates
There weren’t always dragons in the valley. When father was a child it was all dry earth and a village deep down in the belly where a village should never be. To-ka says she remembers this too but she has no business remembering this because she is six and father says the water came a long time ago. He told her to stop showing off because who are you showing off for and she didn’t get any meals for two days until she got dizzy and had to lie down. When she was allowed back at dinner her fingernails were all eaten right to the bottom. That’s how hungry she was. I’ve never been that hungry because I don’t show off like To-ka.
By Allie Weaving4 years ago in Fiction
