Like Mother; Like Daughter

“Time’s up!” The cry echoed through the room, resonating in my ears and making my heart pick up speed. I dropped my legos, making sure to bump the bottom of my structure, turning it so the un-finished part faced me. I held up my hands pretending to be done. I high-fived my sister, who was my partner on the show, doing my best to look normal. Discreetly, I gathered the pieces that the structure would need to be completed and stuffed them into my pocket. We all rolled our builds to the middle of the room. Abbi looked nervous, we hadn’t finished ours. I squeezed her hand reassuringly. I was going to fix it. We all stood in the middle of the room. Our builds were against the wall to my right. I excused myself for a moment, and while everyone was focused on the brick masters, I snuck around the corner and assembled the legos I had brought with me. As I walked back over to the group, I stuck it onto our build. Making sure no one was looking, I rearranged a few things. There, it looked ...

I sat, pen in hand and stared at the paper. I had no idea what to write. So I decided to write that. I scribbled it down before continuing to stare. I had an idea yesterday that would have been a lot of fun to write about, but I didn’t write it down so I don’t remember. Maybe I could use one of those story generator things. I opened my computer and searched for a short story generator. I clicked on the first one I found. No, this one wrote the story for you. I just wanted an idea. I went back and clicked on the next one. You could choose a genre and it would give you two characters, a place, and a plot twist. I clicked the “random” button a few times until one of the characters caught my eye. A young enchantress in training who always seems to attract trouble is the description they gave her. So, I started a story about a young girl who went to an academy of magic. She was struggling with her homework assignment, which was making things float in mid-air. I wrote for a few minutes ...

I can feel it. I can feel his absence. Even if no one else can. It doesn’t fit, it just isn’t right. He’s supposed to be here. But he isn’t. He’s gone. If I had just stepped in maybe this wouldn’t have happened. I could’ve done something. Instead, I sat back and watched. “He can take care of himself,” I thought, “I don’t need to protect my older brother.” But I was wrong. The sound of laughter startles me out of my musings. It’s my dad, laughing at the movie. Chris had loved that part. I could see him now. Rolling on the ground, laughing so hard he was almost crying. I always laughed right along with him. If we had guests over Mom would scold us. “Chris, Kayla, be quiet, we’re trying to watch a movie.” Now that would never happen again. The phone rings in the other room. I suck in a breath and cross my fingers. “Please please, please,” I whisper to myself. I hear Mom from the other room, “Hello? Hi! That was fast. Are you there already?” She talks for a few more minutes before I he...

Amelia Ann and I made the long journey from Missouri in the year 1865. There were many factors that went into the decision, but mostly it was my adventurous spirit. Curse that longing for the next adventure. It killed my wife. ~~~~ "Nicodemus? Have I lost you again?" She asks quietly. Her question brings me back to the present. "Yes, I suppose so." I answer her. I smile and look into those gentle blue eyes. "Just thinking about the land again. The weather can't warm up quick enough for me." She laughs. "I know. And here I keep praying the next snowfall will stick a little longer." I can sense the hesitation in her and I want to sooth every worry and put to bed every concern, but I know that nothing I say will help. We've gone over each detail more than once. "We can stay." I say, knowing it's what she wants to hear. "No." She whispers. "No, I know you. You'd never be happy here when there...

I am the most famous 12 year old in the United States of America. Famous is an adjective used to describe something that is widely known, or honored for achievement. In our screwed up society people honor a 12 year old for being a complete idiot. How do they honor me? Well, by watching my video over and over and over. First, my mom shared it with a trusted friend. They got a giggle out of it. All was fine. Next, that "trusted" friend had a dinner party and showed the video to a small group of her friends. As the video was just on her text messages it was no big deal. They chortled and moved on, or so we thought. Turns out, one of those friends of my mom's friend air dropped the video to everyone in the group. It was then posted to Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest, Twitter and the worst of all the social media beasts, YouTube. Now, the video of me... in the bathroom... talking to a spider I named Ted... while I poop... is not only a vine, a video that has had over...

"She what?" "Ms. Trist asked you and a couple of other students to have tea at her house on Friday." Mom replies. "But why?" I ask. "I don't know Cena, just be on your best behavior." I roll my eyes. "Fine." Mom glares at me, "Sorry, sorry. I'm just tired." Her look softens. "It's okay. Why don't you go upstairs and get ready for school?" She starts to walk away. "Wait, do you know who else is gonna be there?"  She counts on her fingers as she talks. "Nadia, Navi, Asia, and Augustt." As soon as she says Augustt's name my heart starts pounding. “Cool, thanks.” I turn away and walk up the stairs to my room, but all I can think about is Augustt. I’ve known him since middle school, but I only really started liking him last year. I push open the door to my room and flip the light switch. I stand in front of the mirror frowning at my reflection. I pull a denim skirt...

It was a bad day. Her morning and reminded her of that children's book, "Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day." Cold shower, Cheerio dust in her cereal bowl, uneven eyeliner, favorite bag of chips taken by a greedy sibling and now, her normal seat was taken by someone she didn't recognize. Gerty slid into the isle opposite of her usual spot. The seat was not nearly as comfortable. There was a spring poking her in the back and something lumpy in the seat. No wonder kids didn't ever sit there. That was part of the appeal of her favorite bench. The tall seats made it so that you couldn't see in front of you or behind you and if no one sat across from you, you had the feeling of being alone. Gerty liked being alone, or at least pretending she was alone. She bounced on the seat once, twice, three times trying to get the lump to shift. It didn't budge. There was a piece of tape over that section. Gerty picked at the tape still feeling gr...

“Trish.” It’s Mr. Keely this time. I really really don’t want to talk to anybody, but Mr. Keely is nice and I know he’s just trying to help. So, slowly, I pull the covers off my face and sit up, propping myself up with my elbow.  “Yeah?” “How are you doing?” he asks, slowly crossing the room to my bed. Mr. Keely is about sixty-something years old. He has a little bit of dementia, but he’s nice. He remembers I like to be called Trish.  “Okay,” I reply, “Just trying not to think too much.” He nods.  “Yes, the first year is always the hardest.” He reaches the bed and sits on the edge, looking at me. “It gets better over time though, easier.”  I tilt my head at him, and my eyebrows scrunch together making my forehead wrinkle a little bit. This is my confused face. I don’t really like it, but I can’t help it. Peter loved it. He would always smooth the wrinkles in my forehead while he explained whatever I was confused about. I hardly ever understood wha...

My heart was racing, my head was spinning. My brain was a tornado of words. Endless phrases, things said wrong then corrected. It seemed never-ending. I took a deep breath and climbed into my bed pulling the covers up and settling on the pillow, but I was still anxious. I hadn’t had problems with anxiety in a while. Then again, I had been reading the most intense part of Divergent , while my family was watching reality TV. Super fast stressful music, and the most intense part of a book mixed with my crazy racing thoughts. Of course, I was feeling some anxiety. What did I usually do to calm down? I took slow deep breaths, focusing on that instead of my thoughts. A song! I needed a song. What songs do I use to help myself fall asleep? Of course! Labor of Love, by Andrew Peterson. How does it start? The guitar. The first few notes play in my head. I feel myself relax. I focus on Jill Phillip’s voice singing along with Andrew Peterson’s guitar. It’s such a beautiful song, about Mary on th...

Miss Flemming's wig had gone missing. All the students sat at their desks with guilty looks on their faces. When questioned however, no one said a word. The teacher turned and walked over to the door. She propped it open and stepped into the hallway to take a deep breath. As she left, the kids in the class looked at one another sensing the situation was more foreboding than they realized.  Slowly the note passed from the back of the classroom one desk at a time. It reached the front row. Stacy took the note that had her name scrawled on the front and carefully unfolded it. "Where's the wig?" it said. "We entrusted it to your care and now it's gone? What have you done?" Confusion filled Stacy. Not only did she have no idea what the note was talking about, but she couldn't believe someone would accuse her of hiding Miss Flemming's wig. Pretending that she wasn't flustered by the accusation, Stacy carefully folded the note again and tucked i...

I’m the most famous sixteen-year-old in the United States. Whoopie. To tell you the truth, I hate it. I hate being famous. It sucks. Especially because of the reason I’m famous. It’s not because of anything I did, but because of what I didn’t do. I’m stuck with everyone jeering at me, hating me. They think I’m this brutal, heartless person who doesn’t care about my family. I mean, that’s what it looks like. No one knows what actually happened, because no one ever takes the time to ask me what happened, they’re too busy despising me. It’s not like I want to relive it anyway. I have enough reminders of what happened.   I’m awakened by the sound of birds outside my window. It’s the first pleasant wake-up I’ve had in a while. I’m still in the happy-sleepy stage of the morning, so I’m not thinking clearly. “You know,” I think, “today might actually be a good day.” I smile and sit up in bed stretching. That’s when I see the calendar on the wall, that’s when reality hits. I fal...

Born 14th in a line of 18 children, Feydra was born small and ill favored. Now at 13 years old she was still small and ill favored. People joke about the red headed step child, but Feydra, though she was not red-headed, nor a step child felt as though she were treated as such. The only time she got anything new was on her birthday. Otherwise all of her things were hand me downs. Clothes, shoes, backpacks, books, even her mattress was a lumpy old thing that her older brothers and sisters had used. She hadn't grown in years. She was still the same height at 13 as she was when she was 11. 4' 9". "Feydra!" the call came from downstairs. "Ma wants your help with dinner." She rolled her eyes. " Of course she does,"  she thought. " Anytime I sneak a moment to myself, someone else needs something. It's like I'm freaking Cinderella!"  She pushed up from her bed closing the journal she'd been writing in, lifted the covers to ...

Kathey Trist sighed as she adjusted the teacups one last time. She hadn't done this in over fifty years. Of course, she couldn't let the children know that as she appeared to be in her twenties. She glanced at the clock on the messy mantel. 10:15. Fifteen minutes till they arrived. She fell back on the rough couch letting out a huge breath of air. She hoped this would go well. She wasn't sure what she would do if it didn't. She couldn't ask for help, she had lost that option when she, no she wasn't going to think about that. At least not right now. She'd make it right someday. Standing, Kathey walked to the floor-length mirror next to the fireplace. She straightened her shirt and smoothed her hair trying to keep herself busy. Reaching up to the mantle to grab a hair clip some pieces of paper caught her eye. She picked them up instead and scanned them quickly. They were notes she had written for herself when she'd scheduled this meeting. Her lips curled i...

She had one green eye and one blue eye. It was a unique feature regardless of what they allowed her to do. She'd known all her life that she was different. From the first time she could remember people would do a double take when they realized that her eyes were two different colors. This added moment of deep eye contact allowed them to feel inquisitive and it allowed her the moment that she needed to see into the person's soul. The first time she remembers it happening was with her mother. It was bedtime, the lights were dim and because her mother was so comfortable making eye contact with her the vision lasted a long time. Bethany stared into her mother's eyes and with one side of her brain she saw fear about the future, despair over their financial situation and a frustration with the fact that they were being wronged. With the other eye she saw the truth that her mother loved her more than she could ever know, that her mother had confidence in their family's abil...

“Be nice,” Dwayne says, “after all, he’s your brother.” Kyle scowls, “No he’s not.” Dwayne sighs, “Listen, son,” “I’m not your son, stop saying that.” A look of hurt washes across Dwayne’s face and he lets the boy go, stepping back. “Please Kyle,” he begs. “I just want to do what’s best for you.” “Then leave me alone!” Kyle snaps back, “I don’t want anything to do with you.” He turns and walks out of the room, his face scrunched up, trying not to cry. He didn’t want to hate this family, but he had to. He never stayed in one place for long, why would this be any different?  “I don’t know what to do. He doesn’t have any family. We’ve already started the adoption process, but I don’t want to follow through with it unless he wants to stay here.” Dwayne sat in a chair across from his wife Charlotte. “What did you say to him?” She asks quietly. “I told him to be nice to Jim” he replies, “I said they were brothers.” “And I’m guessing he didn’t like that?” “Nope,” Dwayne shook his he...

  O nce upon a time, in a land not so far away there was a mother who dreamed of becoming a published author. She passed the love of words and stories on to her beloved daughter, who also dreamed of seeing her stories in print one day.   They longed to write more often and to write better, but Time was the enemy. Sometimes it took the shape of a horrible beast named Writer's Block. Sometimes it morphed into a darkness that settled upon the creative mind, and then other times it simply sat as doubt; Time in its ugliest form.   When it sat as doubt, they wondered about their writing abilities, about the validity of their stories, and if anyone would ever desire to read their work. However; they had a friend who knew when Time, cloaked in doubt, was present. This Friend was good at coming alongside and wrapping them in a comforting embrace of confidence. This Friend was the Creator of words and the teller of the Ultimate Story. When the Mother and the Daughter felt the emb...