Holiday
The Year We Gifted The Silence
Every December, the Bellweather family exchanged gifts beneath the same crooked star. It had belonged to Grandmother June, who had painted it gold from the inside of a cereal box. One point leaned permanently to the left, as if the star were tired of shining. For thirty-seven years, it had watched over the Bellweathers as they unwrapped electric blankets, pocketknives, porcelain angels, slippers, watches, books, cologne, and—once, disastrously—a singing fish.
By Kristine Romeroabout 18 hours ago in Fiction
The Thanksgiving Quads
It was getting close to Thanksgiving, and these four turkeys were discussing how they were going to escape before that Thanksgiving meal. They were huddled in the barn gobbling to each other so that the humans could not understand them, but if they only knew. The humans always seem to know that there are always some turkeys that plan to try to escape before the holiday. The leader of this group called 'The Thanksgiving Quad' knew that they had a true escape plan. Their plan which still needed to be tweaked a little for they hope would work.
By Mark Graham6 days ago in Fiction
Travel Suspense
Travel — Cards against normality prompt: A change of scenery can do wonders. Take your hero somewhere new. List three reasons your hero might need to leave town right now. Brainstorm four settings that would be challenging for your hero to navigate. If your hero could call home who would she call? What would she say? In the past, did your hero travel someplace particularly important to him? Is there a reason to go back now?
By Denise E Lindquist19 days ago in Fiction
The Summer We Left Behind
I was staying with my dad for the summer, and I decided to get a job until I went back home with Mom. I always stayed with Dad during the summer, and it was always magical. My dad lived in a small town, while I lived in a big city, so it was a nice change.
By Dee Johnson28 days ago in Fiction
Moment of respite
You shouldn't turn here, but there was no other way to break away from the crowd for at least a five-minute break and give your eyes a rest with a bit of green grass and plants. You walked straight ahead; the buildings all around were shades of gray. You couldn’t see anyone behind or in front of you, as if this whole space were suddenly meant just for you—this time, this moment. Suddenly, you felt as if this were it— that’s exactly how you feel freedom—that’s exactly how you feel and experience true silence and relief, as if hope had suddenly come to life right at that moment—from the complete dim into an incredible abyss that transports your thoughts to a completely different world and reality—something very close and familiar to you, but only beginning to take shape for a while—just for a moment—just a few times in your life, you’ve felt this thing that you couldn’t quite put into words, but you knew exactly what it was, and despite the immense weight emanating from the buildings and the vastness of the city and the people all around you in that space, you were completely free. That moment of respite—that was it. Suddenly, someone started talking to you; who it was, you don’t know—you didn’t see them, you only heard a voice, as if coming straight from you, from that space—both known and unknown—and also from this new one just coming into being. That voice seemed to have been waiting for you right there, in that passageway across from the hotel in the city center called Mestre; out of the sort of silence of the gray walls, that voice appeared That voice was familiar to you; it aroused neither fear nor uncertainty—as if you had been waiting for it for a long time, but it had never appeared before.
By Antea Lumina Kala Matylda about a month ago in Fiction
