Write a story about a late bloomer.
Posted in Spring on Oct 26, 2022
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✍️ 13 stories
“Moved On” by Deidra Whitt Lovegren
“No.”“Hear me out.”“No. No-no-no. No. Get out.”“I can explain.”“I’m sure you can explain, and I’m equally sure I don’t want you to. Goodbye.”“It’s been three months. We should be able to talk about it.”“No. No-no-no. No. Get out.”“Don’t shut the door on my—DAMMIT.”“Move your foot.”“Move the door.”“Move your foot or I will decapitate it.”“That doesn’t make any sense. You decapitate heads, not feet.”“Move your foot or I will de-foot you.”“That’s not e...
“Fix it” by Thomas Giorgione
The boy stood in the center of the kitchen with a blue disposable razor in his mouth, and his father paced around him. He would fix the boy’s speech impediment at last. He worked on the device most of the previous night: he removed the blades, melted a small plastic block into strips, and arranged them to the speech therapist’s specifications.Mark looked at his five year old son, Jerry, whose red shorts sagged, and his white t-shirt hung down below his knees. Jerry was such a late bloomer that it was hard to find clothes...
““New Mom at……40?!” ” by Kelly Stuhlmueller
**this story contains explicit language regarding relations between a married couple. My first marriage ended in divorce after nine years. I like to say it was “mostly” my ex Ken’s fault but I must admit- my obsession with wanting and trying to have a baby, may have contributed to the demise of our marriage. As a new bride of age twenty-four, I had my life , rather our lives, planned out....
“The Summer Visit” by Michelle Nieweg
-----------TW--------- Contains themes of self-harm, sex, and violence --------- Yellowish, purplish bruises covered my best friend's legs. The welts were like a watercolor patchwork overlain on the crisscross-y scars she had made years prior, from that darker and sadder place. The raised lines on her upper thighs were layered over themselves from many different sessions of slashing away at her own pale body. An...
“Phoenix Rising: A “Choose Your Own Adventure” Title For Late Bloomers.” by Angel Vargas
“You are what is known as a “late bloomer, son”At least, this is what your father tells you when you ask why the other fourth graders mistake you for a girl. It doesn’t help that you’re pale, your hair is past shoulder length, and you’ve got no “bad boy moustache” yet like some of the other boys. Your pecs are also large, but underdeveloped, so you have what the other boys call “bitch tits.”Of course, you’re also a sensitive soul honing an artistic talent for drawing! And you’re a romantic! How sweet! Y...
“Peanut Boy” by Hamzah Malik
Once upon a time there lived a boy known as Peanut Boy. This peculiar nickname had been given to him at birth, when people in his village had noticed his body was shaped like a small peanut, and that his skin was rough like its outer shell. Even though he looked different and was smaller compared to other children, Peanut Boy’s parents loved him very much, and never let him feel like he was unwanted. As P...
“Facade” by Jack Coey
Lester lived by himself, and it wasn’t so bad until the virus came. He quite his cashier job, and wore a mask, and followed the reports of a vaccine being developed. He was in his 70’s. His wife was hit by a bus three years ago during a heavy rainstorm. He moved to the cramped apartment above the hardware store that felt like a closet and was embarrassed to invite guests. He made time with Mildred at the m...
“Late Bloomer” by Carolyn Jacobs
“My kids. They’re both late bloomers. What can I say?” Bev’s raspy voice sounds defeated, tired. She turns her head and gazes out the dirty, aluminum framed window. From her vantage point five floors up, her view is mostly of gray clouds. Her snow white hair, normally soft and fluffy, is flat from too many days on a hospital pillow and too many days without a proper shower and shampoo. ...
“The Sacred Bloom of Flesh and Flowers” by Scoop Rittersblock
I was always a late bloomer in life, being for as long as I can remember content to hang back from the howling rush so I could better see, hear and feel the symphony of life playing all around me. From an early age I was given to a kind of absorbed dalliance, or festive reverie, which made me prone to a habitual tardiness, the type of which triggers noisy alarms and flashing, blood red warnings above firmly closed doors. I have many times stood on the sharp end of these occasions and played m...
“Grand Canyon: Rim to Rim Hike” by Leotie Review
There’s a great deal of walking, almost without purpose, in the Bible, as though the function of the trek itself is a journey to bear witness to the beating heart of God. I’m not sure what it means, but it stirs my wonder. Albert Einstein advocated for ‘aimless’ walking as a means to regenerate the mind. He walked a mile and a half to and from work. Not because he had no means of transportation, but beca...
“Never Too Late to Love...” by Olivia Jackson
She got married at 40.Her family laughed. More specifically, Aunt Charlotte and Uncle Mike laughed because they simply were not pleased. Somehow Aunt Charlotte "butt dialed" her bride-to-be niece who heard her rather loud Aunt Charlotte telling her Uncle Mike that getting married at such an old age was just as much a mistake as her third marriage, and she had been married four times. Her niece shouldn't even have children at this age! Uncle Mike was heard replying that love did that to people, gave them illusions of gran...
“Night School” by Daniel Hafertepe
John Harper peeked into his assigned classroom. So this is night school: no desks, no chalkboard, no flag, not even a clock to watch?Instead, he counted five chairs on one side of a large table facing a single chair on the other. School had changed a lot in forty years. And John had sworn he’d never go back.But then he made that promise.John blamed Hennessy and hubris, the latter causing him to climb those stairs on weak knees and ...
“The Snowdrop Elegy ” by Mack Gage
“Galanthus nivalis.” “Oh yeah? The common snowdrop. There’s a hundred freezing outside, so why is this one freezing in here?” “Common! Hardly.” February crept in through the windows, invaded gaps in the old, tumbling masonry. Thomas’s breath fogged the air, there was frost around the rim of Grandma Evie’s wine glass. Her bedroom's only fire burned at the end of her cigarette. But still, the old witch refused to die. Thomas took her hand; d...
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