Write a story about an object that has been around for centuries or passed down generations.
Posted in Kids on Oct 31, 2022
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✍️ 46 stories
“Blawan” by Katharine Widdows
The raised bands and gold leaf of the worn spines, stood to attention in rows of mismatched heights and colours, on antique, wooden shelving. Coloured headbands, only visible if you peered over the spines, protected ancient text blocks, bound by dextrous hands generations ago. Delicate pages concealed within, played host to a plethora of type-set prints, pen and ink lettering, and hand painted illuminations. Every wall, floor to ceiling, in the L-shaped shop, displayed its share of literary beauty.Bethan breathed in the ...
“The Curse of Pentewere's Amulet” by Chris Campbell
Richard ‘Dickie’ Ramsbottom fumbled with his box of matches in the dark tomb. Frustrated, he repeatedly struck a match against the side of its box, trying to get it to spark. After a few unsuccessful attempts, it finally flared into life. “AT LAST!” He gleefully exclaimed, as the match took light. Applying the flame to an improvised torch of kerosene-soaked rags wrapped around a pic-axe handle, illuminating light filled the chamber, revealing its anc...
“The Boots” by L. E. Scott
The sun was shining bright outside, but Sangue’s parlor was shut off from it. Priceless antiques that would fade in the sunlight were stored in here. There was the vase that had once belonged to Louis the XVI. It was rare in that it had escaped the revolution unscathed. Sangue was particularly proud of it, but even it wasn’t the ultimate piece in his collection.Esmerelda Alvarez was coming to tea. Sangue asked his cook to prepare something particularly tasty for the occasion. He was hoping to show off his collection. This was one o...
“The Inheritance” by Frances Hogg Lochow
“For his grandson, Eric, I will translate,” said the white-haired lawyer.Eric felt embarrassed. Why was this old guy rubbing his face in it? Was it his fault that his mother died when he was a baby, so he had never learned to speak Chinese?Mr. Po settled his spectacles on his nose and looked at the document in his hand. “Chen Wang provides to Ling-Yu, his eldest daughter, the jade horse.” Everyone clapped as an assistant handed a statuette of a galloping green horse to the lady sitting across from Eric....
“My Grandmother’s Apron ” by T W
I hate my grandmother’s apron. I know that’s an odd thought to have on the day of my mother's funeral, but I do. I hate it. Eventually I force my gaze away from it and find myself in the back hallway. Hundreds of photos crammed into dollar store frames, hung clumsily on the wall. This array of photos represents her life from start to finish. I find myself staring particularly long at one of myself. I was ni...
“Winds of Time” by Zoë Page
Time has changed me. Time has been my friend. Time has aged me. Time has rejuvenated me. Time will never end, and neither will I.I start off fluffy and stout, hardly visible as an individual amongst the mass of fuzz that sticks out at odd angles from the rest of our nesting place. Our nesting place, a little yellowish bird, does little except wobble around consuming most things in its path. After time, the yellow starts to fade, and I’m one of the first of us to turn brown. Our nesting place grows bigger and plumper and ...
“Heikel” by Cindy Calder
I don’t really know why I gravitated to the old, dilapidated trunk in the antique store that afternoon while wandering amidst the many vendors’ galleries, but I did. I was compelled and drawn to the old piece of furniture for reasons unbeknownst to me. I remember running my fingers over it, feeling the raised ridges of peeling paint before I lifted the faded, damaged lid. From what I could see at the time, it held an assortment of old clothing, costume jewelry, books, and other such items. It was an intriguing assortment of unknown treasu...
“THE TIN BOX” by Francesca Zanoni
Aaron was in the attic, his granny’s attic. I don’t know what it is with attics and children but they are constantly seduced by its dust, its chaos, its smell of old memories. Because that is what grannies’ attics are: living memories of past lives that still talk to us from beneath layers of dust. Indeed, children are able to infuse dust with new life, through the touch of their hand, driven by their wild imagination. <...
“Old Oak Tree ” by Lancia Stewart
Old Oak Tree By: Lancia Stewart“I love it, Bill!” My wife squealed with excitement as I unraveled the red silk blindfold from around her deep brown eyes. It was her dream home.As I hugged her tight and I watch our next generation of two girls and two boys run around the yard filled with an array of green vegetation and spring flowers which were at the peak of blooming. The vibrant pinks, reds, and purple flowers gave the house an artistic look. It was like we were standing still in an art exhibit, looking at a Realism Style ...
“The Diamond's Curse” by Bree Adly
[Very VERY loosely based on an old tale, mostly fiction.] The Diamond's Curse I'm not nearly as dangerous as the humans believe me to be. Well, not usually. Humans are fools for mysteries and conspiracies, I have learned. I've spent many years near them and I know they'll believe anything. Just like lambs, they will follow any keeper they ...
“Son of A Beach” by Susan Dalziel
I am inexplicably powerful. And I am one of so many, there are not stars in the night sky can outnumber us. Sometimes, one of us ends up in your pocket. Other times we get dropped but we move around anyway, cradled by the great forces. And after countless centuries, I have become the most beautiful form of myself I could ever have dreamt of becoming. I'm how I always hoped I would be. I am smooth, polished, slee...
“The Things We Do For Love” by Atrice J. R.
You are a statue of She of the Burning Clouds and you are being blasphemed against. This declaration had come nearly every day since the wedding was announced. You had heard it all before, but today seemed to be one of the worst. Before you stood two women, brides draped in layers of white embroidered blue silks, facing one another with looks of pure, unfiltered love. They were unphased by the raucous chanting outside your gray brick edifice. The protestors had shown up the evening before and stood just outside...
“Seeing the Future ” by John Casey
I come from a long line of fortune tellers. Diviners was the word my grandmother preferred to use. I can still hear her voice in my head: “What I do is divine the future for those who lack the ability to see it.” She didn’t help people connect with the dead, and she wasn’t there to help people understand events from their past. The future was her specialty. She actually married someone ...
“The Old Clock Stopped” by David Ader
The old clock stopped. Facing it was its chronological counterpart; a mirror suffering age spots that distorted the clock’s image stuck at 6:32. It was like the final date on a gravestone. Its brass pendulum dangled dormant below the face. It was new on their wedding day. The groom’s father called it a “Regulator,” an accurate wall clock that would ring out the hours 24 times a day. ...
“The Coin” by Finn Williamson
My father was thirty when I watched him through the crack in our barn door talking to my grandfather. I was nine, and had recently taken up snooping as a casual hobby. I’d been caught a couple of times, nothing particularly awful, mostly listening in on my parents arguing about money late at night or overhearing my sister’s conversations on the cellphones. Nothing terrible enough to warrant more than a slap on the wrist ...
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