family
Ice Princess
As she ran through the field behind her aunt’s house, Serena could feel the warmth of the sun on her skin. She was grateful for the experience. Growing up in Alaska, she yearned for the heat. Tall green grass enveloped her legs, and she couldn’t help but wonder how she could ever live in a place that was cold and damp most of the year. If it weren’t for her family and her job, she would have left the cold years ago. She cherished the summers where she could swim freely in the lake and sit on the dock, doing nothing but staring off into the distance. She felt as if all her worries were lifted. Worries about her job. She had worked as a steward on the Alaska State Ferry since she was 18 years old and never really felt it was a fit for her. She worried about her family, while her father was sick with Parkinson’s. She worried she was a burden living with her sister and her husband. She was scared. She knew she was moving into a new life, a life she’d always dreamed of, but never thought possible. Serena was an amazing painter and landscapes of mountains with nature set as the main character, were her specialty. She limited herself because of where she was, because of who she thought she should be. Visiting her Aunt Magda's house in South Carolina, she felt free. She felt it was the only place she could be herself, with no expectations. She painted almost the entire time she vacationed there aside from days she helped her aunt at her flower shop. Paintings of flowers and streams adorned with children playing in the distance. She expanded her talent. She allowed herself room to breathe.
By Roberta DeAndrade5 years ago in Fiction
The Deferment
Growing up, our family dentist loved his props. He had serious dental models appropriate for most patients from my conventional Upstate village. He had “fun” cartoonish ones for the kids. Then, he had a reserved cache of items shown only to the unconventional. No family was less conventional than mine. The term I heard, most often, was quirky. I suppose from the outside looking in, we fit no mental model to which the neighborhood conservatives could relate. Dad drove British sports cars and Mom never set a table without silver and candlesticks, candles alight through the window of our miniscule dining room. Despite our “airs”, we were living in a cinder block rental abutting the highway. We were tolerated by our neighbors although never socially accepted. This did not seem to bother my parents who had plenty of friends elsewhere.
By Alexander J. Cameron5 years ago in Fiction
The Cold
It was freezing for most of the year where they lived. The wind was whipping, snow was always on the ground, and there was never enough salt to clear the roads. The house they lived in felt empty these days. It sounded like air swirled through a hollow shell whenever a door open, echoing off the eggshell-colored walls. The paint was begging to separate itself from the sheetrock, and the tile was escaping the kitchen floorboards. This house that was once a home was dying, but neither of its residents’ felt motivated to prevent further dilapidation.
By Kawan Glover5 years ago in Fiction
I tried to hire a hitman
THE TURN OF THE SCREW "Meet me at the Darkside Pub, 7pm sharp." Click. My heart was beating so fast I could hardly breathe, and I started to sweat. "What am I doing, am I crazy." But the anger was burning hot. The hate was such a palpating thing that I could literally reach out and touch it.
By Novel Allen5 years ago in Fiction
Under Her Branches
Under her Branches School was out for the summer. My brother, Darryn, and I were about to spend the entire summer vacation at my aunt and uncle’s fishing cabin in Cross Creek, Florida—a world away from Miami. Earlier that year, our Uncle Stanley had moved his wife, Aletha, and their three boys up to north central Florida to raise his family in a more country atmosphere, away from the hustle and bustle of a big city. His intentions, though good, disrupted the family, which in the years that followed caused a migration of our entire family in that same direction.
By Tari Temple5 years ago in Fiction
Shadow Dance
I want a divorce. There. I said it. Loudly, if only inside my head. The walls have been closing in for a while now, and this thing has now become a choice between him and me, between my life and ours. The dogs are now barking, growling, gurgling; attacking each other again. I can hear them from my bathroom, where I have the door closed. I let their sounds become white noise to my drama. This bathroom is my tiny greenroom, and it allows me to find myself in the pupil of my eye before facing the world again. It allows me space and privacy to perform Kintsugi to my mind when it is shattered, like it is today.
By Grace Turner5 years ago in Fiction
Frozen Dreams
Gay-Lynn glided swiftly around the edge of the frozen pond. She had always wanted to skate and this rough surface was her learning ground. Initially, she had joined her friends, watching and learning as she observed the side to side motion of their blades circumventing the outer edge of the pond.
By Pamela Johnson5 years ago in Fiction
