Eda Marie

Joined January 2024

0 stories

Bio

I am an avid reader and aspiring writer, most of what I write here is in the attempt to find my voice, mother of two, full-time teacher and caregiver, and have a passion for language and communication.

Stories (7/0)

The Old Oak
Across the river, through miles of forest and underbrush, at the foot of the mountain, stood the Old Oak. He had another name once, but this is what he was known as in the forest of Evervale. No tree had stood longer than he. He was from a time before, a time when trees still had the ability to pull their roots from the earth and move from one place to another. The Old Oak had been a wanderer in his younger days, but centuries had passed since then. Now, he was content to be rooted in the soil, close to the base of the mountain where he had a view over the forest and could see all the comings and goings within it. Unbeknownst to him, that was about to change.
By Eda Marieabout a month ago in Fiction
Each Day
In the quiet I reach. Straining for peace to find me. In the chaos, I strain. Strain to hold, hold, hold for a single moment. Don't let me shatter. Don't let me break. Where is the quiet? I am reaching.
By Eda Marieabout a month ago in Poets
On Marriage
No one really tells you about marriage. There's a lot of hype and fuss over the wedding, but the nitty-gritty? Nope. No one tells you that the first blush of romance and dates and getting to know one another, fades; usually after the first year. No one tells you that loving someone is a choice. One that is made day after day after day after day.
By Eda Marieabout a month ago in Families
Top Story - March 2024
My Oma, My Dragon of MemoryTop Story - March 2024
The last time I saw my Oma she was old, small, tired, and in pain; lying in an oversized chair, wrapped in blankets with a cast on her arm and two nurses at her side. I remember placing my hand upon her and saying "goodbye Oma, I love you." I didn't plan on it being the last time. 4 hrs later I got a phone call. She had passed away in her sleep, just minutes after I had left. This is the last image of her that I hold in my mind. But that was far from all of her.
By Eda Marie2 months ago in Families
Love is Change
I sat beneath a tree in the dark and the rain. Tears streaked my face but I could not tell them from the pouring rain. I felt as though I would break; as though my heart had been torn from my chest and lay bleeding and bruised upon the ground. I ached and each breath felt as though it tore through me. I had run here. Out the door into the night. Thunder and lightening dancing through the sky and the wind raging and ripping around me, crying out in anguish and rage.
By Eda Marie2 months ago in Confessions
Amelia and the Secret in the Moon
Far to the North, where the sun sleeps for much of the year, lived a little girl. Amelia lived with her father but he was often gone hunting over the frozen artic steppes. With no other children to play with she found herself making friends with the small animals of the Tundra: a lone baby reindeer who lost its mother, a small arctic fox, and an owl. Most of the time she was alone and she spent her time taking care of the house and using her imagination to keep her company.
By Eda Marie3 months ago in Critique
The Life of a Penny
It's cold and wet. It might be night but I don't know. I don't like this new place in the wet snow. It wasn't intentional but here I am. I'm wedged in a crack between stones, beneath a bench. Around me the earth shakes and shudders, light comes and goes, and people walk and run about to their destinations. It didn't used to be like this. Once I was passed from hand-to-hand. Some big, warm, and calloused with age and work, others soft and small, young. I passed through rooms and spaces, landed in drawers that were metal or plastic or wood, making different sounds as I landed in each one. Thuds and clangs, ringing and echoing as I dropped. I passed through places full of voices, the sound of clinking tableware, the smell of meats and soups filling the air; through cold and warm when the one who carried me paid for a cab in winter, through pockets full of lint and in wallets that smelt of plastic or leather. The leather ones were my favorite, so soft and warm, always held close. That's how I ended up in this damp place. The one who carried me was careless and dropped the wallet upon the bench. With a thud and a scrape the wallet flew open and I was thrown from it to tumble across the ground, before sliding from the light into the dark. Caught in a crack where I now wait for another hand to reach out.
By Eda Marie3 months ago in Fiction

Eda Marie

Bio

Stories .css-19zxm0z-Text{display:inline-block;color:var(--text-default-mute);}(7/0)

The Old Oak

Each Day

On Marriage

My Oma, My Dragon of MemoryTop Story - March 2024

Love is Change

Amelia and the Secret in the Moon

The Life of a Penny

Stories (7/0)