Stories tagged father

A Moment's Change

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Then he spoke of her cowardice, and from within, her heart fluttered and a soft heat branched out across her chest, face, and stomach pits and she felt imprisoned by that room.

Him and his Father

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Snow was falling. People passed by the window and wore large coats. Inside, Alex stood in front of the window and watched.

Sunday Morning Series- 7: Sunday Morning Trifurcation

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Go diddle in the sand// to save some other sinner/ a death of stones.

And her child

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The mother was happy, though. She was happy because she could make him some soup and then she could feed it to him in bed.

Significant Things

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“This is a Kneeling Bus.” They’re all kneeling buses, why do they even have to say that? Almost every person gets off in the front now when it says it even says right on the bus to please move to the back and exit from the rear side doors. I hate having t

His Father’s Statement

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He didn't want to read his father's statement. Yet still he lingered, poised over the kitchen table, where his father had left it.

You Can't Save Face With A Headstone

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Out of respect, I would honor my father, put on a clean, starched shirt and hand buff my shoes, laced as tightly as the tone that sealed the room. I understood that walking over the dead, barefoot or otherwise, was tempting fate, and will admit…

What my daughter knows I know or some likely version

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He doesn't call, not even on her birthday. She doesn't mention it or complain. She knows she doesn't have it as bad as some, even in this privileged Triangle of North Carolina. She is white and pretty and belongs to what's left of the middle…

My Father's Blood

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At one time, my father's smile was as wide as a lakebed. It was tight-lipped, but soft, as he held me in his arms as a baby. I was swaddled in a mint green blanket that would later become my comfort on nights when thunder roared…

A Good Man

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My father is a good man. He is.


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He isn’t bothering anybody. He’s just sitting in his car in the parking lot by the freshly mown soccer fields, waiting for his daughter to be done with practice. He isn’t looking at anything in particular, just gazing out in the direction of his pony-tail


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Just another two years and he could leave, like Walt had. The steam rose from his mug in a slow brooding way. His mother smiled from across the narrow kitchen table. The tablecloth had a pea-sized brown stain in one corner. A few years ago, Jeremy had cut

The Dances

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". . those incandescent secrets she would pepper in. The sister who ran away."

The Rune

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He reached for him, in a language the father would know.

A Vignette on Fathers

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On 3rd when you looked at your 389th happy New Year greeting, you autotyped “same to you”. No one on whatsapp knew. At week 17 of IVF therapy when you and your new bride could do no more; doctor Mehdi said neither could he. At 5 minutes left, you mi