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Write a creative nonfiction piece about something you're grateful for.

Posted in Nonfiction on Jul 26, 2024

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✍️ 66 stories

Dear patients, here are the things I never said

Submitted to Contest #261

One early summer morning in the quiet hour of dawn, I opened the door to let in some fresh air and was delighted to be greeted by a feathered guest. In the curvature of my hanging wreath, a beautiful round bird nest of twigs and dried moss was tucked away perfectly between two silk flowers. Inside the nest, a mother sparrow sat very still on her eggs. She looked at me curiously and cautiously from the side of her head, tilting slightly without making a sound. For the next couple of weeks, I was in awe watching her sit patiently on top of wha...

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Car Crash Rollover

Submitted to Contest #261

I awoke to the sound of thunder rolling across the sky and smiled wide. Waking to thunder is almost as good as falling asleep to it. Dim light radiated from around the curtains that keep my bedroom womb-like after sunrise. It was unusually dark for 8AM. My smile faded realizing that I had to drive down I-45, to the underbelly of Houston at 10AM in heavy rain. I hoped it would stop by then. I needed to get my personal effects from my car, totaled in a wreck. Seven hours later, I returned home tired and cranky. A headache had landed in my skul...

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The sum of 1 plus 1 is 11

Submitted to Contest #261

Life can be a tricky process. Appreciate the positive aspects and stay in your magic.Tailed Flower, a girl, she moved to London with a scholarship to study. There, she developed the power of listening and observing the world. She came from a homogenous country. People were a little bit racist and with an absence of activism. There, she also evolved and changed."You need to understand the British jokes", her classmate said, and she giggled at her friend.The city was radiating below grey clouds and rain showers that she loved. She loves to dan...

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The Puppeteer

Submitted to Contest #261

The time: around 1955, I would have been ten years old. The place: Woodville Church of England Junior School. The day: irrelevant, but probably Thursday of a balmy Spring afternoon. It always seemed to be Thursday and balmy in those days, with the smell of chalk dust in the air and lazy motes of it drifting in the shafted sunlight through the windows. It’s a wonder we didn’t all come down with silicosis. It always seemed to be springtime then as well, and if it wasn’t there always seemed to be snow on the ground with cream bursting...

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JOYce.

Submitted to Contest #261

I was doing the same thing I did every day; absentmindedly, driving home for lunch after my morning work routine was finished. I was fortunate to work just a few miles from my home, when ahead of me on the shoulder, I noticed a small, African American woman, in a white dress, a tattered crocheted shawl covered her shoulders in an attempt to escape the unpredictable chill of the late October mountain winds in the lake communities.  She wore a raggedy blue backpack secured across...

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The Best Kisser Ever

Submitted to Contest #261

Before public transportation, Los Angeles was a sprawling collection of self-contained neighborhoods connected by freeways where residents couldn't exist without automobiles. Teenagers got their driver's license at sixteen and access to a car as soon as possible, which was crucial for survival because automobiles were more than transportation. Cars were private spaces where teenagers learned about sex through the ritual of parking, a euphemism for sexual foreplay. Parking also meant experiencing the sound of crickets, the musical insects in...

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Grateful to the Rector

Submitted to Contest #261

My life at school was not good. I got into all sorts of trouble. I failed my eleven-plus and ended up at Tayport Secondary School. That was supposed to be the pits. But I actually had quite a good time. I came second in my class. But the discovery in primary school I couldn’t see, and wearing glasses as a result, helped me write everything down correctly.Tayport School shut after a year and I went to Bell Baxter in Cupar. I did okay, but not great. Dr Maclaren called for a meeting with me and my parents at the end of the third year. I was to...

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The Pacemaker Blues

Submitted to Contest #261

I would rather die than have a pacemaker! That was my reaction when it became a possibility. Forty years as a marathoner and triathlete and I could possibly have a heart issue?  No way! I had no family history, ate well and exercised more than most people on earth. The possibility just did not compute.  It all started during my Sunday mile swim when I couldn’t catch my breath after two laps and almost passed out on the fourth. It had to be a fluke. Maybe I was overtraining. In any case, I slowed my pace and finished the mile. ...

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Finding the End of the Rainbow

Submitted to Contest #261

My little cousin's hand slips into my own as we walk along the lake by her home. Her small fingers intertwine with my mine and I look out with love in my eyes at the glistening water against an azul sky. We had just got done walking along a “secret path” and I find myself breathing a bit more steady than I had in a long time. I am truly grateful to be an “older sister”, mentor, and a best friend towards my younger cousins. I have always wanted to have younger siblings. I love to teach and to pass down to the younger generation what I ha...

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Cards on the Ring

Submitted to Contest #261

If I wrote any Thank You cards for something special, beautiful, interesting, important whatever event in my life, I would clip each paper on the small ring. The one we use on the key chain. All small rings I will connect to the bigger ring to hold them all. It will allow me to move from one note to another when I want to read a note. Each note will represent one year. As many small rings are on the big ring as many years pass. When small segments stop fitting on the big connector I will start chain small rings up from one to another. It wil...

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Broken

Submitted to Contest #261

This is a true story, as told by three familiar characters. ADRENALINE: She’s holding her seven-year-old daughter’s hand as they walk to the grey Volvo in the parking lot of cheer camp Thursday afternoon. Mom stops when she sees the shattered glass of the passenger window. Confusion tries to take hold, as Mom’s eyes process whose car this is, who this could be happening to. Her daughter screams. I knock Confusion to the side and fly into place, planting myself firmly within Mom. Her muscles tense. Her blood pumps furiously through her veins...

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A New Lifestyle

Submitted to Contest #261

A New Lifestyle I’m grateful for so many things, including having the Lord in my life, my loving husband, friends, and my three boys. Lately, though, I’m grateful for our new lifestyle as newbie RV Full-timers.  It’s something else to be exploring the US in our 38ft Class-A motor home, waking up to a new view in our backyard every three months or so. See, the longer we stay somewhere, the more gas we save, so we usually spend a season or a few months at a time in one place. For the summer this year, we are in Colorado, beating...

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Beauy Ohy Ohy Oh

Submitted to Contest #261

  We found Beau in the early afternoon in Fayetteville, North Carolina when we were driving back to New York from Florida. We didn’t so much as find him as we had to swerve our car when the one ahead of us threw him out without stopping. The three of us, my husband, his teenage daughter, and I got to the pile in the road without knowing if he was dead or alive. He was in the gravel in a shallow ditch, very still, but managed to move his head and look up at us. We were relieved that he didn’t seem to be injured a...

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THE PICKPOCKET AND THE GIGOLO

Submitted to Contest #261

THE PICKPOCKET AND THE GIGOLOON GRATITUDEAntoine J. PolgarGratitude is a virtue and ingratitude is a vice. The failure to accept misfortune out of gratitude for one’s good fortune is a kind of thievery. Gratitude is illustrated in parallel consolation scenes of the Robert Bresson film The Pickpocket and Paul Schrader’s American Gigolo. Even a loser like Michel, the pickpocket behind bars in Robert Bresson’s film The Pickpocket (1959) had the presence of mind to recognize his good fortune when Jeanne visits him in jail and he says “Oh, Jeanne...

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Smashing Through the Roadblocks

Submitted to Contest #261

     By confronting a personal health challenge I have broken down roadblocks and made my life far more interesting and fulfilling than I could ever have imagined.      I am a 30-year veteran of the often imploding weekly newspaper industry in New Jersey and a retiree finding new excitement along an alternate route in fiction, non-fiction and science fiction authorship.       The reason for my relative success stems from something that many would consid...

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