Christina C. Franklin

Having never lost her passion for writing, Christina Franklin always found ways to flex her creative muscle by writing website content, newsletters and business litigation blogs during her 20+ year career as either a legal and/or executive assistant. A reader of many genres and an incurable fan of the heat miser and snow miser, on a typical day, Christina can be found sitting under a pile of black and white fur in the heart of Pennsylvania Dutch Country, while attempting to pen her first novel. Currently, several of her short stories can be found on The Story Shack.

Stories by Christina C. Franklin

Defining Shoulders

Illustrated by Cait Maloney

Whitney held up the next flashcard and waited for her son to reply. Patrick’s face transformed into a wide grin as he smiled back at her. He straightened his spine in a proud stance and confidently pointed to the top of his thick head of blond hair, hair that would need a trim soon. “Head, …

Pecan Pie

Illustrated by Alankrita Amaya

“What will it be today, Bob, the usual?” Carla already knew the answer, but tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear while she waited for his reply. Bob was watching a group of four boys ride by the diner window on their bicycles, their laughter filling the quiet space between the clanking of …

The Interview

Illustrated by Hannah Nolan

I have to pee. Even though I just peed five minutes earlier in the lobby restroom, it is a thought brought on by the sight of water dripping off of my raincoat darkening the elevator’s carpeted floor. Why do they carpet elevators anyway, I think to myself, looking at the trail of coffee stains leading …

The House With No Windows | Bringing Chuckie In

Illustrated by Lakshmy Mathur

Although it was not on my regular route, I had driven by the house with no windows many times. And each time, I would give it a glance and wonder what kind of people could possibly live in a house without windows. The funny thing is, no one around here ever realized that this house’s …

Cassie’s Paradox

Illustrated by Darcy Rozen

Bubbles, just bubbles. That’s all I see as I descend into the cold depth of the Atlantic, motionless and unable to move. My hearing is muted, and I can no longer breathe. I am losing consciousness, but haven’t forgotten. Haven’t forgotten how I arrived in this forecastable predicament, or how I could have avoided it altogether. …

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