family

Winter Warmth
Fitting everything needed for the week into those brown paper grocery bags was an art form. You had to neatly organize all the food into stacks or else it would bulge out of the sides like an overweight church lady still in the tight clothes she got in her twenties. Then you had to buy things with the weight of them in mind. There was one time, before she knew better, when Sophia had foolishly brought home an eight-pack of sodas. It was when her high school savings started to run dry, and she had to cut back on her subway usage. She struggled the whole way home, and her bag ripped halfway there, spilling cheap ramen packets and wonder bread and pre-chopped vegetables all over the pavement.
By Chris Medina5 years ago in Fiction
The Seventh Autumn
I grew up in a small and charming fishing village called Saint Louvrez. A few kilometres away from the sparkling blue ponds stemming from the ocean île de rien, with just a poorly constructed pack of bamboo acting as the bridge. Saint Louvrez is sentimental, akin to the warm nature of a loving mother. It is littered with wooden houses and stonewalled bungalows, most of which are on the verge of collapse. The debris from those who have succumbed to age, provided the agile kids with tools to build miniature houses. We are the north on the country maps, and the wind on this side is merciless in all seasons. It whistles through the dimly lit houses in the mornings and rustles the leaves into a sweet lullaby at night. Even though polished oak doors weren’t a thing, the white cotton curtains used as interior alternatives made our games of hide and seek way too facile. But we still played anyway. We were young, happy and fearless.
By Damilola5 years ago in Fiction
Spring, Finally.
The air conditioner in the local cafe was generally a safe haven in the midst of a heatwave, but today it felt like it was piercing through Ana’s t-shirt. As if she was self-soothing, she wraps herself in her own arms and creates friction with her palms for warmth, watching the door like a lion stalking its prey. Startled by the sudden clink of the ice cubes melting in her water glass, Ana’s eyes darted away from the door. The interruption made her pause and wonder; when was the last time she had seen Caroline? How many years had it been?
By April H5 years ago in Fiction
To The Smoke That Rose
The ice was the quickest way around when the cold months hit. As much as the horses and carriages had ice spikes attached to avoid the slippage, skating was a prized alternative.
By Oneg In The Arctic5 years ago in Fiction
The Thaw
To call the body of water in the center of my hometown a lake, was to be very generous. Walking the circumference of its shores wasn’t as much a day hike as it was a pleasant stroll; what's more, standing at any point around its perimeter, one could easily see the opposite side, even on a foggy day. I always thought of it as more of a pond, than a lake. Large pond, small lake. Of course, if it had been any smaller, the ‘last big freeze,’ might’ve actually happened.
By Willow J. Fields5 years ago in Fiction
Winter Reflections
Dear Son, I remember the long winter days in Connecticut. As a child, I loved them. Waking up to see snow falling in fluffy, white flakes like little bits of cotton floating down from the sky and coating the yard, watching my breath frost the window and pressing my nose against the cold glass to get a better look outside, feeling the warmth of the old cast iron heater against my hands after I came in from playing in the snow, sipping hot chocolate in an oversized mug, the thrill of missing a day of school and getting to stay home, enjoying the winter wonderland. Christmas was always the best. Our neighbor had a pond in his backyard and when it froze over he would decorate it with a bunch of Christmas lights, deer, angels, all glowing in the night to create a fairytale scene on the pond. As I got older, I played less and shoveled more. The cold irritated me, freezing me from the outside in on my short, half-mile walk to school. In college, my car slipped on some ice and I narrowly avoided death. My love for winter came to an abrupt halt, one that caused me to move halfway down the coast to South Carolina.
By J. Lozada5 years ago in Fiction
Watching The Pond Freeze
He has been coming to this spot for the past fifteen years. He sits, he listens, he waits. She told him if he ever wanted to speak to her, all he had to do, was return here.
By Anthony Diaz5 years ago in Fiction
When Spiders Fly
Tension hung over the room. Pissed off, my fists clamped tight while my older brother sat across from me, speechless. His eyes were full of shock at the outburst. I paced in front of the couch trying to unclamp my fists.
By Jake Hartline5 years ago in Fiction
The Frozen Heart
It had been a long, cold winter. For two weeks, roads were closed due to the amount of ice on the ground. Schools and businesses were shut down, and electricity had been lost. For a small town in Mississippi, this was all but unheard of. Winters were generally mild, sometimes even warm. But not this winter. This winter was different, in more ways then just the weather.
By Judith Jascha5 years ago in Fiction
On Frozen Pond
She was just a child when it happened, but for the rest of her life she would remember the silent scream, the sadness in the eyes of the emergency medical technicians that cold winter day as they braced themselves against the bitter wind, a thin screen of blown snow creating ghostly shapes in the low winter sun as they buckled under the sudden dead weight of a slight, slender teenage girl who had drowned saving her baby sister, an imaginary princess immersed in an imaginary fairy tale, beyond thinking, in a fairytale wonderland of happiness ever after.
By Hamish Alexander5 years ago in Fiction
The Fury
Flashes of color, blinding in their intensity bring pain to my eyes. Great swirling clouds of smoke move between the buildings, billowing high above the rooftops and spreading through the woods, filling the gaps between the trees. I can no longer see the path as I stumble along in the intense heat and choking fumes, but I must, I must keep going; there is nothing behind me now, nothing to go back to. I have to go on.
By Ronald Gordon Pauley5 years ago in Fiction
Storm Damage
The day after the storm, Daddy took his cane and went out to look at the damage. “You’d better go after him, Caroline. He’s got that look in his eyes,” Deb warned.
By Sarah Finley 5 years ago in Fiction