Calling all writers!
I am looking to publish two to three stand-out pieces here on The Writer's Community. Pieces can be on any topic and be considered poetry or prose.
Please keep submissions to approximately 500 words due to space constraints.
Those pieces that are selected for publication will be returned to the author with a free sample of our instructional writing service. See another sample HERE.
Please send all submissions to: firstname.lastname@example.org
Occasionally, with the author's permission, we will share exceptional writing. To submit a piece for consideration, please contact us and provide your first name and age (if under 18). Submissions should be 500 words or less.
I wake up to the cry of my little brother who lies beside me on the creaky cot, my blurry vision adjusting to the baby only wearing a cloth diaper due to the hot July air that creeps through the window shutters. I fix myself in a cross-legged sitting position, carefully easing my fingers under my sibling’s back to put him against my shoulder. I pat his back in reassurance that everything is fine. I look through the window to see the usual Sunday morning chores being done outside in the streets of Kandahar.
With my brother in hand, I walk into the only other room in our dwelling, the kitchen. The warm aroma of freshly made bread clogs my nostrils as I near my mother. We greet each other with the normal “hellos” while the baby is taken into her arms, a cold breeze hitting my left side at the loss of warmth. I hear the scratch of bristles against the concrete floor, leading my eyes to find my older brother concentrating hard on his task. I decide to go make the beds as breakfast is being made.
I travel back to the bedroom, stealing a quick glance out the window to see the civilians scramble off the streets and into their houses. I make my way closer to the window, only to hear the faint whipping of helicopter propellers. It is getting louder, and louder as it edges near. I know what’s happening...war.
I turn around sharply and speed into the other room that holds my family. By the looks on their faces, I can tell they already know what’s about to happen. We abandon our recent stances and all huddle into a corner, preparing for what’s to come, the brick wall protecting us from anything that will happen just outside our house.
The first shot is fired, causing our ears to deal with a few moments of pain. A heart-wrenching scream is heard soon after it, worry washing through all of us. The sound of cascading bullets is muted, for what seems like a millisecond before the front door is broken open. A pair of ice-cold eyes meets mine; no sign of emotion seems to be present. The arms that are protectively wrapped around me begin to tremble, tightening their grip. Tears evading my eyes, I bravely look back up.
This is it.