S. A. Crawford
Bio
Writer, reader, life-long student - being brave and finally taking the plunge by publishing some articles and fiction pieces.
Achievements (15)
Stories (218)
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Unpacked Boxes
The brown box is a sentinel of sorts and a gravestone. Festooned with tape that no longer sticks, torn away and replaced too many times, that declares "FRAGILE" with ironic truth. It landed there five years ago, just for a while, and stayed there carrying the sentiments of a dead life as the new one went on without it. Scabbed over, it's disappointment and accusations are the reason that the door to the front room stays closed more often than not,
By S. A. Crawford3 years ago in Confessions
How to Lose Weight Fast
We drove up the snowy, winding road towards the cozy A-frame cabin. Cody told me that this getaway would change everything: a weekend away to heal our ailing marriage and gloss over his vast indiscretions. It would be a boot camp, he had said, we could work on our flaws.
By S. A. Crawford3 years ago in Fiction
"I Know Who Killed Me"
The snow came down in wet, grimy sheets, somewhere between frozen and liquid; on a night like this, the whole city seems to be in mourning. I am, certainly, because the pretty girl on the news, the sixth victim of the "subway ripper" is my friend. Was my friend. Alyssa was the kind of girl that everyone loved, but few people talked about; when her body was found, so disfigured that they had to use the ID in her wallet to find out who she was, people came out of the woodwork from all over the city. Her funeral was standing room only, but that didn't help. Nothing helped.
By S. A. Crawford3 years ago in Fiction
Holy Roller
It's not easy to be a Minister in the modern age, though no one believes me. You see, the world wants drama and excitement; they want ex-prisoners, reformed and born again, or glamorous TV evangelists who promise the world in return for a phone donation. Nobody wants to sit with the local Minister and drink weak tea while they arrange for a knitting group at the care home, or help them to cook and clean for old men who can't get about anymore. Certainly no-one wants to cut their toe nails or help them change their sheets, but someone has to do it.
By S. A. Crawford3 years ago in Fiction
Let Them (Not) Eat Cake
We take people in at Christmas, my family; we always have. A small family of mostly women, we don't have many children around to watch, in fact at 29 I'm usually the youngest at the table. So we take people in - friends and neighbours. Over the years our table has seen food, jokes, and customs from Baltic, Celtic, and American friends of all ages, and usually, it goes well.
By S. A. Crawford3 years ago in Families
Queen Maidhe's Gift
The Age of Progress dawned with smoke and fire. Things were changing in the cities and fields of the world; men and women toiled in hell-hot workshops filled with molten metal and flying cotton. Arabella Luton watched the changes with untrained eyes, but at the age of eight, she already understood that there was more than one world. There was the world of liquid metal where grey-faced men and women in drab clothes were free to do what they wanted, but lacked the money to do it... and the world she lived in, where money was no problem but freedom was in short supply. She lived like a doll, dressed and coiffed and plucked by her mother until she chafed, patted and petted by her father when it was suitable and ignored when it was not.
By S. A. Crawford3 years ago in Fiction
