Love
New Traditions
There must be music and laughter around, but she cannot hear it. There must be lights and joyful faces, but she cannot see them. The world around her rests beyond her view as all her focus resides within two small metal spoons. The gentle ting they make as she brings them together, tapping them over and over again, is louder for her than any part of celebrations taking place around her. The dull shine of their form stands within the spotlight of her focus, as the memories of past years flood her vision.
By Bree Beadman5 years ago in Fiction
Birthday surprise, the box that came and........
I had just finished my shift at the restaurant, and it was 12.00am in morning. I unlocked my car and got in, and as I drove, I fell into my pattern of digesting and thinking about my day, week, which all blended into each other.
By Emma White5 years ago in Fiction
Absence Makes the Head Grow Dumber
My hands are shaking as I tighten my tie and smooth my hair in the mirror. Only one hour until I get to see the most amazing woman I have ever met. I shouldn’t still be nervous months into the relationship, but the idea that she would choose to be with me is still incredible to me. She had just returned last night from a 2 weeklong business trip, and I can’t wait to see her again. Just as I turn to leave, my phone dings. I look to find a text from my love.
By Christan Tracy5 years ago in Fiction
Monsieur Death
He was eight years old. A talkative little thing, brown hair and big brown eyes. It was supposed to be a car accident on highway 11 on his family’s trip down south to meet his grandparents. And I was supposed to be there, just like always, watching, waiting for the right moment to arrive so that I could take his soul and bring it to face Judgement and Punishment, and start a new life as a female. But maybe it was because of his determined dream to be come a Lego designer, or his eyes, or, most likely, my rebellious spirt finally breaking the surface, because as I stood there, watching the accident happen, I didn’t take his soul as it flitted out of his tiny body. The soul had nowhere to go except back to him. He survived that car crash, and I could only hope I would survive my punishment. I could smell Claude Judgement’s anger even before I reach court, but I suppose anyone could. It’s rather hard to miss when the king of the gods is ready to rip your face off. The rest of them were already gathered around it’s throne, nervously chattering about me. I heard several growls from the crowd, as well as an excited yip from Gossip. I approached Claude Judgement’s throne, and was unsurprised to be unable to find any remorse or nervousness inside me. I felt angry and moody, as usual. Unfortunately, pity nor a sharp tongue was going help me against Claude Judgement. I considered myself lucky, to be truthful. A few decades ago, Punishment had been king of the gods, and I still remembered the last Hope, who had bestowed hope on someone who didn’t deserve it or something stupid like that. She was replaced. It wasn’t something I wanted to see again. Especially if it was happening to me. As the god of death, I couldn’t feel much, but unfortunately, pain was one of the few.
By And I am Nightmare5 years ago in Fiction
The Total Package
He was down in the basement, and he could hear her walking on the floor above. Even her footsteps sounded angry. It hadn't always been this way. He used to have his own appliance store, where he did quite well. He was a pillar of the community and people respected him. That was up until the super store moved in. Two years later his business was shuttered, and now they lived on social security. People hardly knew his name.
By Carl Smith5 years ago in Fiction
Annalise
Annie stood before her mother's closet, one hand resting on the door handle, the other hanging limply at her side. All I have to do is open the door and walk inside, that's all, she thought to herself. She'd been standing before her mother's closet for over an hour, but no matter how long she stood there, she couldn't force herself to enter.
By Cameron Scott5 years ago in Fiction
Remember me in the meadow
Every time they had visited his mothers grave stone his wife had made him repeat the promise , the plan they had made many years before. That when one of them died that they should be cremated and their ashes scattered in the marigold meadow that was growing in the corner of the cemetery. They always sat on the bench looking at the beautiful colours during the spring and summer, always waiting for their return when the weather was harsh.
By ASHLEY SMITH5 years ago in Fiction
Lyla's Box
It was a morning like every other morning, except it wasn’t. Lyla couldn’t quite put her finger on what was different about this 26th day of July but from the moment her eyes opened and she rolled over in bed, she had a feeling that today was going to be different. Memorable. She arose from her bed and slipped her pink satin robe over her shoulders and went into the bathroom to splash some water on her face before making her way to the kitchen to make some coffee. She had to hurry. Her shift at the hospital began at 7:00 and it was already pushing 6:00. As the coffee was brewing and filling her house with its aroma, she went about beginning her day now that the sleep was leaving her eyes. She brushed her teeth and ran the water for her shower. That feeling in the back of her mind about today being different had not gone away, quite the contrary, it had only gotten stronger the more she tried to ignore it.
By Brianna Edwards5 years ago in Fiction
Under the Pear Tree
In a small town lives a young woman named Lyla with dreams of being a simple baker. She adored the artistry of pastries and cakes, especially the ones with fruits and fillings. To fulfill her wish she works eight hour shifts, sometimes doubles, six days a week at a diner down the road. On her only day off she spends her time sitting under a pear tree in the forest behind her house. It was planted there and cared for by her grandmother before she passed. The tree has become a loving memory and her most favorite place. She always brings with her a basket of baked goods she experiments with at home along with a pen and notebook to write down all of her ideas for her bakery. Everything she could possibly think of like the calligraphy of the menu, the source of ingredients, the color of the walls, and all the flavor combinations she could think of. She could sit there in the soft grass for hours on end as she lives everyday with imagination and possibilities.
By Brooke Freerksen5 years ago in Fiction
Paper Boats
Paper boat makes me smile. It has become part of my life. Has become part of the life of many children, indeed. When we were children, we usually fold a used piece of paper to make one and let it float inside a basin with water. Then we blow air to make it sail around its limited ocean until it soaks and slowly sinks and we could not make it move anymore. Again we build another one until we give up thrusting it with the air from our lungs.
By M.G. Maderazo5 years ago in Fiction
