family
Berganashio - Chapter 33
The darkness of night commenced as a blanket. In a tumultuous panic, the fairies flew from the giant's lumbering form. Obediently, the giant followed Whisper's command to go into the cave entrance. It was bedtime for the giant, so he began to lay down on the leather conveyer belt that was near the front part of the cave entrance. The three totters jumped down from the giant's shoulder who had already fallen asleep; he was oblivious to the world.
By Rowan Finley 23 days ago in Fiction
My Dad George Hurst
I got my story in a magazine; it was about my dad, George Hurst. He was the best dad in the world. He loved his family and raised his children while my mum was always ill with her nerves. He cooked, cleaned, and worked down the coal mine. My dad was like me: always happy and helping others, but usually taken for granted, too.
By George’s Girl 2026 23 days ago in Fiction
The Second Place Setting
I still set two glasses on the table. It would look strange otherwise. The larger one goes on the right, where it always has. I polish it before placing it down, though no one comments anymore. The fork rests angled slightly inward. The napkin is folded twice, not three times. Precision keeps things steady.
By Jeannie Dawn Coffman24 days ago in Fiction
FUZZY BEAR
*Fuzzy Bear: A Hug You Can Trust* In a cozy little forest surrounded by tall trees, colorful flowers, and chirping birds, lived a teddy bear named *Fuzzy*. Fuzzy wasn’t like other bears—he wasn’t wild or loud. In fact, he wasn’t even real. He was a soft, stuffed bear with button eyes, stitched paws, and golden brown fur that was always warm, no matter how cold the night was.
By Ibrahim Shah 25 days ago in Fiction
A Special Mug Of Tea
Agnes always made two cups of tea in the morning. She’d set out the matching mugs, one far more faded than the other, put a spoonful of sugar in each one, and add whichever flavour of tea she wanted. The kettle would boil while she potted around in the kitchen, dragging her tartan slippers on the tiles as she moved about the small room. The whistling would stop; she would add the boiled water and stir in a dash of milk when she was ready. The teabag would find its way to the bin, and she would take her own, faded mug with her as she started her morning routine.
By Maddy Haywood26 days ago in Fiction
