Mystery
What You Leave When You Move
His hand brushed across the top of the shelf, his feet on tiptoes, and his nose itching with dust. Slowly his hand moved along the whole shelf, catching a box wrapped in brown paper at the end. “Honey, the old owners of this house left us something!”
By Noah Glenn5 years ago in Fiction
Delilah's Barn
DELILAH'S BARN Delilah's is just a barn. We have already marked it on our map as we contemplate the journey ahead of us. It'll be tough, a day's hike through a small mountain range consisting of rough terrain and deep woods before a wide open plain...
By Grant Woodhams5 years ago in Fiction
The Truth is like a Needle in a Haystack
Can memories, not your own, destroy a place that has woven itself within the very fabric of your soul? Should someone else’s pain erase a past that never belonged to them? I teeter totter between; I hope not and how can it not. Greedily telling myself to not let it. For some reason these thoughts connect to a mantra that got me through high school, “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” It doesn’t really apply to this situation, but I feel like the intent remains within the same vein. I twist it to suit my current purpose. “No one can take away how you feel without your consent.” But I struggle with the word consent. It implies that a person had a choice to begin with. And all those choices were made by other people and not me. But can I really say that? Just like consent I struggle with the notion of culpability.
By Whitney Theresa June5 years ago in Fiction
Missing from the Farm
I open my eyes just a crack. I try to take in my surroundings, but the light is just so bright, and my head is pounding. Where am I, and why do I hear running water? I lift my hands to my face to try and block the light that I have now surmised is the sun. Slowly I push myself to a seated position and fully open my eyes, wincing from the pain. Where in the world am I? I look around and realize I am seated next to a small, bubbling stream and surrounded by the most beautiful trees covered in fall-colored leaves. I would think I had died and gone to heaven if not for the pounding pain in my head. I try to gather my thoughts and piece together memories, but there is nothing. The only thing I can recall is my name, Abigail.
By Dawn Snyder5 years ago in Fiction
Kakorrhaphiophobia
Deepa always wanted a big farm to grow some animals and grow her own vegetables. All her life, she has been looking for a farm plus house to live happily. She has been looking into horticulture as well. Deepa’s parents were farmers and she grew up on a farm as well so her heart always longed for one. She had to convince her husband and kids that it would be the best decision and move that they could ever make in their lives.
By Kiran Joseph5 years ago in Fiction
Sunflower Butterfly
Every morning she woke up with to the painting on her ceiling, a painting that she created herself. Her two favorite things, a sunflower, and a butterfly. The Sunflower has a gold tint to its petals with the signature black center. The blue butterfly was a nice contrast to the golden yellow flower. Justine was always a talented artist and always came in first place in the children’s art shows. The painting she was currently admiring, she painted at just 14 years old. She had a hard time trying to convince her mom to let her paint the ceiling. Finally, after ensuring that paint would not drip onto the beige carpet or her queen size bed, her mother gave in. After 3 days the painting was finished, and only one drop got on the carpet.
By Heather Skelton5 years ago in Fiction
The Reception of 1927
My dark hands rested against the wizened wooden door, and even though my eyes were closed, the image of the Agnello Family Barn danced before my mind’s eye. Its jagged, towering walls; the support beams which creaked with each breeze; the holes in the bottom of the stage which we had gotten our curious fingers stuck in on every occasion … it was all there, in some aspects untouched and frozen in time. The multitude of tales being withheld in the rotting walls flowed through my fingers like jolts from a lightning storm.
By Katelyn Hunt5 years ago in Fiction
Her Name Is Peace
Farmer Petty from Minnesota recently lost his wife of thirty-five years. His five children are grown and have left the farm; having started their own families and careers. He thought he would love the peace and quiet, and while Betty was alive, he did. Only now, it was strangely and eerily silent for too many days.
By Sunday Gracia5 years ago in Fiction
The Barn Of Speaking Facts
Never thought I would be witnessing this but as I sat in the car parked in front of the barn, I thought to myself who have I become. The people that I called my friends have turned there back on me and all I have is this old run down barn. As I sat there for a minute I just thought about everything that I’ve always dreamed of. What have I been reaching for the most? What am I supposed to be doing in my lifetime. And was this barn a wake up call for my destiny? As I continued to stare at this barn I remembered what my lover told me, you have a dream and you can do anything you put your mind too.
By Tecoria Savage5 years ago in Fiction
