Love
Marigolds…
Brandon couldn’t get to the cemetery fast enough. The day had gotten away from him, with work and the drama with Eunice. All he wanted to do was put it all behind him and get there in once piece. But it wouldn’t be easy because the hurricane headed their way was creating gridlock on the highway.
By Alejandra Mora Hendler5 years ago in Fiction
Immortal Love
Marigold Williams. That was my name. My mother had named me after the bunch of flowers that my dad had gotten her on their first date. She would repeatedly tell me that it symbolized positive and energy and how it was the perfect name for me because she and my dad loved me immensely. I never argued about the name. Some of my friends at my old school would say that I was ancient for having such a name. In their eyes, a more modern name like Kylie or Chloe was more acceptable. But to me it didn’t matter what they thought. Even though I was constantly reminded that my name wasn’t good, it was the perfect name for me because my mother had chosen it for me. And my name was a mental picture of how much my mother loved my father and how much the both of them loved me.
By Ranul Amarabandhu5 years ago in Fiction
White dresses and Marigolds
Stacy looked down at her dress, today was one of the most important days of her life. She smiled to herself as her fingertips glided down the beaded seams of her dress. Inhaling for a moment she whispered to herself. “I wish you could be here today, mom. I hope you’re proud of me.” A tiny tear formed in the corner of her eye and she whipped it away before it could fall.
By Amber Klepper5 years ago in Fiction
A Bed of Molten Flowers
The foyer was empty. I glanced right, then left, scanning the separate rooms in the old funeral home. The two-story, white mansion had been the final gathering place for most who had lived in our small town. I didn’t see anyone but could hear faint voices deeper in the house.
By Amy J. Markstahler5 years ago in Fiction
The Orange Flower
Bella. Ms. Bella. A jewel, inside of a gem. She learned at an early age that her skin color would always betray her. It didn't matter what, she saw in the mirror. She knew she was beautiful. But, Bella just couldn't fathom when she stepped outside, why the world didn't accept her beauty. Her shade was the color of the sweetest chocolate known to man. Yet, to most her shade was the shade of ugly; Darkness. Despair. A con artist. A criminal. A menace.
By Adrianne Kirksey5 years ago in Fiction
The Addiction and Rebirth of Love
Addiction, in the human dictionary, is defined as the fact or condition of being addicted to a particular substance, thing, or activity. To witness an addict is always unusual if you cannot understand the cravings. Addicts are everywhere, for there is an addict in most of us. Many are hard to pinpoint to the average naked eye. Here in this fancy restaurant branded as The Cheesecake Factory, are two addicts on a date. The two are on their 2 year anniversary on this planet Earth date of July 28, 2022. I have studied female specimen named Lavender, all of her 33 years of existence. The male specimen with her named Jeremiah, has just become part of her picture, as they say, for almost 3 years.The two has become insatiable for each other, inseparable and yolked as one. Those that encounter them tonight are utterly intrigued, having amazing awe at the sight of them. They are creating their own atmosphere within the classy restaurant's environment.
By Ebony Burns5 years ago in Fiction
Hopeless Romantic
“God I wish this moment would last forever…” she wept. He didn’t want to cry but that sentence broke through that barrier. Tears built up and formed out of his eyes. He let out a whimper after holding his breath in as if he was holding that emotion inside his body. He stood as strong as he could. He hugged her tighter. She ran her hands from his shoulders to his middle back. She hugged him tight around his waist. Then the release of emotion expressed itself. She grabbed him as hard and tight as she could. He let it all out.
By Kohl Younger5 years ago in Fiction
The Marigold Theatre
Sat in the middle seat of the middle row, his arm across the back of the two seats on either side of him, looking wistfully at the stage was Aaron Benson. He had been in the exact same position for the past two hours. He was the only one in the very small theatre. The silence sang a sweet melancholy song. A familiar melody; a low-whisper that entered his head and pulled memories down from the top shelf. Today makes 10 years since he had been trying to put his play on stage. He looked around – to the far right, just before the 3 black steps that lead onto the stage, was a green emergency door that opens to an alley just off a mildly busy London street. The door seemed to have a beckoning glisten around it. Tempting. If ever he felt like giving up and running away, it was today.
By Azuoma Obikudu5 years ago in Fiction
To Lay Amongst the Wheat
Hues of gold and yellow danced along her pale skin, haloing her form sprawled out amongst the wheat. Cicada song enveloped the atmosphere, a hypnotic hum broken only by the rustle of leaves in the warm, dry breeze. Time hung over us, brought to a standstill by yet another quiet afternoon in the endless summer. But I didn’t mind. I never wanted time to creep forwards again.
By Jeanie Mae5 years ago in Fiction
