literature
Families and literature go hand in hand; fictional families to entertain, reflect and inspire.
The Boy and His Father
The boy had many friends as he grew up, some he still talked to and some he did not. He had moved many times but now he was a man and he felt he had moved for the last time. He had met a girl and she was the one, he was sure. She had been with him when times were bad and even though they argued he still loved her more than life.
By Edna Hampton8 years ago in Families
Lincoln, I Love You
My life has always been a mess. At age five I almost drowned, at age six I was raped for a year, age eleven I was attacked by a grown man, and age seventeen I was robbed at gunpoint. Basically my entire life had been a constant barrage of shit thrown onto my plate, which made me hate myself. The only thing that ever made me feel like I wasn’t worthless, the only thing that made me proud, was my family. I had found the most amazing wife and we had the most beautiful and intelligent children; I was ecstatic. Until I got that phone call, which changed my entire life.
By Garrett Lukenbill8 years ago in Families
Homecoming
When I was a kid and storms woke the family, Mom would come into my room with a lit candelabrum to watch the sky with me. It was only fitting that lightening would dance for her funeral. The heat storm scared away most of the family and friends, but me and a few others stood around the hole in the ground. My mother wasn’t Catholic, but was close friends with Father Welch, so he spoke today in full regalia. My grandmother, a proud Protestant, would have rolled in her grave, if she had one. Father Welch finished his prayer and the crowd dispersed. He came over to me and clapped his fat hand on my shoulder. His grim demeanor looked wrong on a face cut with laugh lines.
By Ashleigh Walker8 years ago in Families
Memory Lane
Jenna had walked down this road many times, yet she had never noticed it before. The tiny alleyway, its entrance covered with hanging ivy. Fiddling with a strand of hair that had fallen over her face, as she had done for many years, she felt an urge to lift the ivy and go in. It was a strong pull and she didn't resist. She pulled back the ivy and gasped. It was a little country lane, peaceful and serene, with many different doors scattered down the length of the seemingly endless lane. The ivy across the entrance was now blocking out all the noise from the street; all she could hear were birds tweeting their many different songs, bees buzzing around in the sun, and what sounded like the trickle of water. It reminded her of the creek she used to play in when she was a child.
By Michelle Shaftoe8 years ago in Families
A Short, Wartime Bedtime Story
Necla opened her hazel eyes at the sound of an immense explosion. She bolted upright in her chair and ran to the dingy room at the end of the dark corridor. Her young sister was sleeping still, miraculously, a torn doll tucked under her dirty chin.
By Busra Bayram8 years ago in Families
