Next Round:

Road Trip

Sugar Cookies

Hawk

Have a Merry Christmas!

Memory by Rachel

I stood in the dark kitchen, the smell of meat and gravy filling my nostrils. I could hear the two unruly dogs barking from the backyard. Grandma came through the door from the garage, a place I didn't like to go. That was where Grandpa's workshop was, a place darker than the kitchen, and reeking of smoke.
"Put your finger on this knot, Rachel," Grandma said in her raspy, smoked-for-too-many-years voice. "Push down hard so it doesn't loosen." I placed my finger on the twine knot that wrapped around the box, pushing it down hard. I didn't want to upset Grandma, I wanted her to be happy with me, to smile one of her rare smiles.
Grandma tied the bow above my finger, and at the last moment I slipped it out. "Good girl, good girl." Grandma placed the box on the counter. "I knew you would be a good helper." Then I went and sat on the old-fashioned couch, one of Grandma's hand-sewn afghans on my lap, and basked in her small, wrinkled smile.

A Step Toward Her Future by Gina

Sophia closed her laptop and leaned back in the creaky wooden chair where she had been sitting for hours. She wondered what she would do next – now that her thesis was finished. She let her mind wander through the last few years.
Sophie had dedicated her life to her education. Her professors knew that her work would always be exceptional. The librarians knew her by name. She’d read, written, copied, studied and researched her life away. Sophie used to be popular – she used to have friends. When did she decide to focus on school and exclude them? She couldn’t remember. Still lost in thought, she closed gathered her things, stood up, inhaled the wonderful, musty smell of the library one last time and walked out the door.
Sophie came through her front door with a mission. She put the teakettle on to heat and dug through her office until she found the little box where she kept names, addresses and phone numbers. The kettle began to whistle, and she hurried back to the kitchen. With a steaming mug in one hand, her phone in the other and the box tucked under her arm, Sophie settled onto her couch. Sophie covered herself with her old afghan, hoping to draw strength from all the wonderful women who had worked on and owned this afghan before her. She took a deep breath and was only faintly aware of the sound of the neighbor’s barking dog as she opened the box, pulled out a card and began to dial that once familiar phone number.