family
An Autumn Day
It was an ordinary autumn day, much like any other in the picturesque mountains of Morana, Colorado. The vibrant foliage had transformed, adorning the landscape with a tapestry of colors, while the fallen leaves scattered beneath the trees. In the suburban neighborhoods surrounding the emerging downtown area, the once-lush green lawns had given way to the seasonal transition. Amidst the crisp air, families gathered in local parks, couples strolled hand in hand, bundled up in scarves and sweaters, and preparations for Thanksgiving and the ensuing Black Friday shopping frenzy were underway. However, amidst this apparent harmony, Mrs. Velez struggled to find solace.
By The Liv Chapters5 years ago in Fiction
Love Isn't Silly at All
The first time I heard the song, “Silly Love Songs” by Paul McCartney and Wings I was in my brother’s white 1965 Cadillac. My brother was driving, and my sister sat in the passenger seat as we made our way to the mall. Even though I was only six years old at the time, I remember the day as if it were yesterday. It was one of those summer days where the sky was as blue as the Pacific Ocean with not even a wisp of a white a cloud to be found. The sun was shining bright and warm into the open car windows. The breeze whooshed in from the side of the car where I sat in the back seat and stopped to tousle my hair before it whooshed out the window on the other side of the car. We were laughing and singing, and I was savoring this shining moment with my siblings. When we arrived at the mall my brother and sister dragged me around to a lot of stores that any six-year-old wouldn’t find particularly engaging, but I didn’t mind too much, because my payoff would come at the end of the trip when they bought me an ice cream cone. All was right in my little six-year-old world, and the ride home was as happy as it was on the way to the mall, if not happier because I had a chocolate ice cream cone.
By Adrianna Costello 5 years ago in Fiction
Hauntings & Horses
Thanksgiving was going to be different this year. My parents were coming over for a feast my husband and I were hosting. Mother of course, considered it inconvenient as always. She found alternative plans preferable, but showed up anyway, albeit grudgingly. Dad, always the whimsical sort, decided to meet us at an alternate location prior to our celebration. I wondered what this cadre had up his sleeve, but knew there was no point in guessing. He always had his own plans, and usually everyone else went with the flow. You could call it his charm or charisma.
By E.L. Martin5 years ago in Fiction
A Glint of Something Else
Sasha’s mother calls her every week day at 4:15pm. It’s the exact moment Sasha gets out of her last class of the day. So exact, in fact, that the first call usually goes to voicemail, Sasha’s phone still on silent as she picks up her books and pen. A quiet echo of what could have been, a daughter who wants to speak to her mother as much as a mother wants to speak to a daughter. A relationship that rarely springs out free from the ground without a few tattered twigs and latent leaves.
By Robyn Bower5 years ago in Fiction
Recipe for a Perfect Family
Jenna is in the kitchen, peeling vegetables on her black marble countertops. The warm colours of the season pour in behind her through the window above the sink, the beige walls bouncing the little bit of afternoon light that remains from the day. Soft Jazz plays from another room, and Jenna sways from side to side, humming to the tune.
By Noémi Blom5 years ago in Fiction
The farewell trip before our divorce. Top Story - December 2021.
I want this trip to be never-ending. I look at the scenery in front of me, and fear the moment we’ll reach our driveway, park our Devil’s Red Citroen Berlingo and she’ll take her luggage and head for her new life. I fear the moment I’ll stop seeing long empty roads stretching across different climates and at different hours, because when that moment does arrive, I’ll be going home to an empty bed. A bed without Sophia and her extravagant ways. A bed without her messy hair all over my face, her legs intertwined with mine, and her left arm always reaching for my left hand. She hates being the small spoon, and for twenty two years she’s ruled my world, the color of our bedsheets, and our sleeping positions.
By Lucia Carretero Sierra5 years ago in Fiction
Life's A Bitch
LIFE’S A BITCH BY: Jack Nanuq Lt. Col (Ret) Henry Mirh was attacking the earth with a vengeance. The ground couldn’t be described as dirt, or even soil. It was a conglomeration of roots, rocks, and rubber-like clay. He swung the pickaxe over his head and let it fall, thunk 2001, again thunk 2002, again 2003. At a count of 2009 he had to stop and take a breather. With each swing he loosened a fist sized chunk. In the past the three hours he had only been able to move two feet below the surface. This ground was giving him a workout. His hands were beginning to burn with the advent of blisters. He wished the going was easier, but he would finish this task. When he set his mind to something nothing would or could stop him. Although 70 years old he still had the frame of a lumberjack, or more accurately the frame of a Special Forces Warrior. On most days he could do his 100 push-ups without breaking a sweat. But today was different. Today he was using a set of muscles he hadn’t used in years. During his career he dug numerous holes, fighting position, latrines, even a few clandestine graves; just like this one. By the end of the day THE BITCH would be taking a dirt nap.
By Jack Nanuq5 years ago in Fiction
Sensually Devious...
In August of the year Nineteen Ninety-One a beautiful baby girl was born at precisely Seven Thirty-Seven AM. By all accounts she, like most of the other newborn infants in the hospital had a full life ahead of her, and should have been raised with the belief that being American meant that the world was truly at her fingertips. Her parents named her Marisol Evette Jameson, and she was born to a Hispanic mother, and a Caucasian father. Neither of which were actually married by any definitive means of law, but in the eyes of Marisol's mother they were what would have been considered common law married.
By Sai Marie Johnson5 years ago in Fiction
