Mystery
An American Marigold
An American Marigold A Short Story by Sam Wilson Part I: A Family History The boy began walking down the driveway as if his shadow were attempting to hurt him. His pace quickened and he found himself panicked in a way he wasn’t prepared to be. His mother had just told him to go play outside. Her exact words, “go find something meanwhile to do”, rang between his ears. He headed right out of the driveway as he decided to walk down the dead end street and into the cornfield west of his house to Schlabaugh Farm. There was a feeling, something in his lungs as he drew each breath, pulling him towards the farm. He felt a sort of subtle energy dragging its way through his body, limb by limb. It felt thrilling somehow. At 14, Tanner didn’t have much going for him besides a curveball that made his elbow hurt all the time. He helped his baseball team win the local 2007 14U championship. He was named the tournament MVP. He was the oldest sibling of his family, his younger sister, Sarah, was 11. She was away for the day at a nearby amusement park, riding roller coasters and swimming. Summer though, had now reached the point where the thought of fall had overwhelmed everyone’s minds. Baseball would sleep until April of the following year.
By Sam Rutledge5 years ago in Fiction
Disappear
I don’t know when it happened. Like depression, time is a stealthy enemy, you never see it coming and you surely don’t see it pass. Suddenly the shroud is upon you and there is nothing you can do to reverse the devastating effects. I don’t know when I disappeared, when I became obsolete, when I stopped being loved or even spoken to by others. One day I just no longer mattered.
By Zane Motteler 5 years ago in Fiction
Beware the Pear
Eve basked by the bonfire, fascinated by Dario's tales of his world travel. She sipped away on the glass of William's pear brandy he had offered her. He told her of driving in the French countryside, where he saw the sun glinting off something in the orchards. Drawn to the glistening bottles, he visited the orchard and learned they put bottles over the budding pears on the tree. The pears grew inside and were harvested together.
By Mary Haynes5 years ago in Fiction
Ms. Jenny & Alexias
Hi, so I’m Alexias and I’m highly loved in the Bakari’s home, so much so I’m in every room. Also, they’re constantly bragging about how much easier their life is, now that they don’t have to deal with keeping track of everything. See I’m a pretty good multitasker. I was manufactured that way and I can’t help my greatness but that’s enough of muah. I want to share this epic adventure that took place. So quite recently, I woke up feeling like I had a blazing trail of new features. One of which the nine year old Ms. Jenny loves. Now, I’m not saying I’m an expert but she is the sassiest, sweetest, smart button I have ever known. Whenever she comes home she asks about my day and I can’t respond yet, so I just sit there as she tells me about hers.
By Karimah Peart5 years ago in Fiction
The Parting Gift
This day will remain with me forever. It was the day I finally said goodbye to my wife. It was the usual story of two people deeply in love who had kids and steady jobs whilst balancing a busy social life. But then life gets in the way if you're not looking forward enough.
By David Boatswain5 years ago in Fiction
Death From Above
Amelia was driving down the road, following her GPS. She was trying to find the place where this dreamcatchers meeting was taking place. She had to travel to the next town over, which was a town right beside a large military base. It was probably the reason Lieutenant Schwartz had a card from these people. Would that mean he will be there? She hoped not, because she would like to avoid any awkward moments with people she acted stuck up to. However, this was bigger than him or her. She had to get to the bottom of this.
By Stephen Portis5 years ago in Fiction
Frozen in Place
The Center was teeming with people. Typically, this place was a barren wasteland; the tattered wallpaper ever so slightly inching its way to the floor, the cracking foundation holding on for dear life and begging to collapse at any moment. No one liked to be in the Center if they didn't have to be, but once the United States government disintegrated, the Center took on a whole other level of despair. Every year on November 5th, begrudging daughters and heartbroken mothers trudge through the thick Minnesota snow; counting every footstep, tree branch, and snowflake as if to remember the vivid details of what could be their last day alive.
By Amelia Clarke5 years ago in Fiction
