Love

Eve of the Harvest
My family owns a sizable pear orchard—the main source of jobs in our little town. Although I stand to inherit the farm in the future, I have not been home often or long enough to learn the ropes. I have chosen to pursue a law degree, so I spend most of my time in a prestigious university in the East Coast. I would normally be in the library or in the law office at this time of the year, but this summer is different. My mother suddenly passed away a couple of months ago; succumbing to a disease I was unaware she had. And though the traditional mourning period has elapsed, I decided to take a leave of absence from the academe and my internship. I needed to come to terms with the loss of the most important woman in my life.
By Y Owens4 years ago in Fiction
Another Way
Our story begins, as so many do, with a bubbling conflict beginning to brew. The signs are there, it’s plain to see, the readers know it and so do we. But those whose lives reside within the words we write, the tales we spin, are all too often unaware of just what we have in store.
By Bree Beadman4 years ago in Fiction
The Living Must Live
The living must live, life does go on. At the time, it was nearing Halloween. Plans were being set, with no expense spared from LJ’s grandparents. They had always been generous for their children's holidays and special events. Gary was going all out to haunt his man cave, while Helen decorated cookies and filled goody bags for the kids. A pot of stew, cheddar biscuits, and apple pie would be offered to their guests. A few of LJ’s classmates would be coming, with longtime family friends joining the fun. LJ would become a robot this year; his grandmother was a creative genius as far as he was concerned. He marveled at each new component his AI guy would receive, “How do you do it, Gramma? It’s the best costume ever!”.
By T. A. White4 years ago in Fiction
Enough
She stood there looking in the mirror, watching a single tear slide down her cheek slowly, feeling the warmth on her soft skin and the stinging in her eye. Her chocolate brown hair was perfect, not a single curl out of place. She’d spent hours getting her hair just right, making sure that her makeup was flawless, and choosing a dress that loved every inch of her body. Tonight, was supposed to be special, supposed to be perfect, what could possibly go wrong?
By Carly De Anda4 years ago in Fiction
The beginning of something new.
I've been coming to the park every day for a month. Hi. My name is Jack. I am not a writer, I am an artist. But I felt the need to chronicle this adventure. I will try to stick to the point, but it's so exciting I tend to get flustered.
By J. Langer4 years ago in Fiction
The Woman of my Dreams
Jim’s throat was dry and he had a strong desire to cough as he sat at the bar of the smoky tavern. He was not one to spend a lot of time in taverns or bars, but he had just moved into town, his car was still on the trailer behind the moving van and he needed something to eat and drink. This tavern was the closest place, about a mile from his new home, the next place was five miles further down the road.
By B. K. Garner4 years ago in Fiction
First Christmas in Dustwater
Sabrina stood on the sagging back porch of the old bar and grill, surveying the scene with sullen eyes. She didn’t care how pretty her mother thought the snow-tipped mountains were, dotted with their evergreens. She didn’t care that her father loved the bare branches that scratched at the late afternoon sky and whose leaves had fallen and crisped on the cold December ground. She only cared that she was stuck in dustbowl Virginia for Christmas and wanted to go home—back to the city, back to her friends, back to real Christmas.
By Karen Sullivan 4 years ago in Fiction
Meet Me Under The Pear Tree
It was late afternoon the weather had been warming up. Leila was preparing her evening meal. Tomorrow will be the first day of summer. It’s time to pick the remainder of Springs fruits and vegetables, she thought. Then finish planting what’s needed for the Summer season. The orchard has supplied a bumper crop with all the winter rains that fell. As did the vegetables and other edible plants growing across the twenty-five garden beds. Plus the fact that Leila returned to the farm two years before her parent’s passed away in a tragic accident. She had turned the farm around from bankruptcy to producing high-quality foods that sell well. They would have been so pleased with her.
By Graeme Waddell4 years ago in Fiction
Love me love me say that you love me
Love is painful, love is exhilarating, love is happiness, confusion and sadness. Love is a mosaic kaleidoscope of colors that symbolize all emotions.
By James Eli4 years ago in Fiction
My Date with Harry
I do not want to go. WHYYYYYY???? are they making me do this? Oh goodness, I wish I'd never told anyone that I had broken up with James...damn, I have a big mouth.
By Teresa Powe4 years ago in Fiction
Quiet love flowers where the road is bad
Halfway through the second act of a new stage production of Cider with Rosie, my Nana stands abruptly and declares at the top of her voice the script is banal, the actors as wooden as the set, and the direction a farce. Then, despite her great age, she clambers over several members of the audience and an usher to get to the emergency exit.
By Elaine Ruth White4 years ago in Fiction
The Pear Tree
You open your eyes. The pitter-patter of raindrops on the window has woken you from a dreamless sleep. Another night of delicious nothingness. But now you are awake and the teardrops sliding down the window- pane match those that have begun to trickle from your eyes. A teardrop sneaks its way into your ear, a ticklish reminder of whispers of love. You blink slowly, turning onto your side. Funny how an empty space can feel so full. You turn to face the window, unable to look at the reminder of enforced solitude. You close your eyes and sigh, swallowing back another outpouring of god-awful grief.
By Julie Murrow4 years ago in Fiction