family

Humans Disrespect the Creator
May was a devoted mother, a community advocate, and someone who held her faith close to her heart. One crisp autumn evening, May was participating in another weekly church meeting with some of her friends and other members. Her friends were Elena, a feminist activist, Marcus, a retired teacher, and young Lila, a college student questioning the world around her.
By Jyoti DiClemente4 days ago in Fiction
What Now?. Content Warning.
I wasn't what you'd call a golden child. Let's just say that my single mom had her hands full. One of my earliest memories happened the summer before I turned five. My mom took me to the park. I was curious how far I could fly if I jumped out of the swing. When I landed, my squall may have awakened the dead. My mom came running and yelled, "What now, Lucy?"
By Julie Lacksonen4 days ago in Fiction
The Cultist
”Dude! My dad is pissing me of so bad lately. You’ll never believe where I just came from.” The boy picks up a flat, smooth stone and slices it through the air with a flick of his wrist.
By Sam Spinelli4 days ago in Fiction
As Wise As an Owl
As Wise As an Owl Deep in the quiet green woods, where a clear stream moved gently over smooth stones, there lived a great white owl with wide golden eyes. She watched the forest from a tall branch, seeing far more than most creatures ever noticed. The animals of the woodland spoke often and loudly, yet the owl remained mostly silent, listening and observing the world around her.
By George’s Girl 2026 5 days ago in Fiction
The Architecture of Normal Things
The First Door The first extra room appeared on an ordinary Tuesday morning while my mother was trying to remember where she'd last left the vacuum cleaner. She was standing halfway down the hall with one hand on her hip, staring intensely at a door that had absolutely not been there the night before.
By Shannon Hilson5 days ago in Fiction
Butter Upping to Easter
Easter was never about Jesus to us scrawny egg headed heathens, we'd run around in itchy dress clothes, wide-eyed and goofy looking for marshmallow chicks hidden in the house way before Granma arrived. Aunts and mothers made food in the kitchen, none that we liked except for chocolate pie. It seemed like forever before we could change into our play clothes and move on with the hunt, the required croquet games and finally one doozy of an easter dinner.
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)5 days ago in Fiction
There’s a Cow in the Room
Brian was attending the wake of his work colleague, Barry Rajacostellino. He never really liked the guy that much, although he had sat next to him at work for the last four years. Four years of putting up with garlic breath and his constant snorts instead of just blowing his nose.
By Calvin London5 days ago in Fiction
My Pen is
My Peace is My Pen Arguing happens again, the police at the door making reports of domestic abuse. Screams can be heard down the alley from my bedroom window. Gunshots ricochet from the bricks of my home, on the floor we sleep. We wake to see the damage, blood spilled in the streets where we played. Let’s see who can catch this football in the vacant lot of a church that supplied the neighborhood with supplies such as clothing and food. The neighbors running trap houses as kids wait for seven o’clock to hear Mr. Frostee tunes blaring from around the corner. I can remember begging for dollars from the locals just for a vanilla soft served cone. My mother always liked hers dipped. We get ready for dinner, another soulful meal prepared by the man and woman that loved us.
By Charelle Landers6 days ago in Fiction
I Came to New York with $300—and Fear. AI-Generated.
I counted the money three times before the plane landed. Three one-hundred-dollar bills. Two twenties. A ten. And a ten folded so many times it looked like it had been through war.
By Jenny 6 days ago in Fiction
I Never Imagined Starting Over at Forty Would Be This Hard. AI-Generated.
The alarm rang at 4:30 a.m. For a moment, I didn’t know where I was. The room was dark, unfamiliar. The ceiling low. The air carried the faint hum of a refrigerator somewhere beyond the thin wall.
By Jenny 6 days ago in Fiction
The First Time I Was Rejected in Chinatown, I Finally Woke Up. AI-Generated.
The paper sign was crooked. It hung inside the restaurant window on a strip of yellow tape, its black marker letters slightly faded:
By Jenny 6 days ago in Fiction
In New York, No One Cares About My Past. AI-Generated.
The first thing New York taught me was silence. Not the silence of emptiness, but the silence of indifference. It was February, and the wind cut through Manhattan like broken glass. I stood outside the subway entrance at Canal Street, my fingers buried deep inside thin gloves that were no match for winter. Steam rose from the grates in the pavement, twisting upward like ghosts escaping the underground.
By Jenny 6 days ago in Fiction