Christina Hunter
Bio
Author, Mother, Wife. Recipient of the Paul Harris Fellowship award and 2017 nominee for the Women of Distinction award through the YWCA. Climate Reality Leader, Zero-Waste promoter, beekeeper and lover of all things natural.
Stories (50/0)
The Hunted
Rob let out a sigh of relief after hanging up his cell phone, though he couldn't quite put his finger on why. Was it relief? Or contentment? He took a moment on the side of the road to appreciate the line of sugar maples in the distance from the drivers seat of his car. Their leaves were bursting with crimson at the centre, and fiery amber at the edges, perfect for this new new assignment he'd just been given. He was thankful for the opportunity to photograph the backcountry, but more so relieved that it would get him out of another dreadful hunting season with his brothers and father. That was it, that feeling he couldn't quite place. It arrived in his mind without warning and his mouth puckered at the sour feeling. As if to shake it from his thoughts, he started the car and turned back onto the road again. He tried to think positively, to keep his mind on the new task, just as his therapist had recommended. As Rob drove towards home he held images of red foxes, discarded moose antlers off the beaten paths of the woods, and conjured up an image of a migrating pine warbler. He'd never been able to photograph one, but the thought of their bursting yellow faces camouflaged with the oaks shedding their leaves allowed him a moment of safety from his other thoughts.
By Christina Hunter3 years ago in Horror
Controlled
The keys of a hundred keyboards click-click-clicked in succession as the workers stared at their blue screens. The sound became an unnerving song stuck in Josh’s mind. He kept waiting for a rhythm, but a few too many clicks here and there threw it off beat. It was enough to make a person go mad. On top of it, the clock also ticked away. At the twelve o’clock tick the people stood, tucked in their chairs, and walked silently to the door for their lunch hour. Josh lingered, watching them all leave. “Robots,” he whispered to himself. A woman’s voice came on the loudspeaker. “Worker 107 please exit the computer lab and report to the cafeteria for your meal. I repeat, worker 107 please exit the computer lab promptly and report to the cafeteria for your meal.”
By Christina Hunter3 years ago in Fiction
Snapshots of Life in Isolation
It’s Wednesday morning and I begin the day by dragging two 15lb weights to my living room floor. My cell phone rings just as I finish pushing the dining room chair to the central spot by the fireplace. It’s my personal trainer, all smiles and chipper. Her voice vibrates into my hand as she excitedly asks, “are you ready?"
By Christina Hunter3 years ago in Chapters
That April. First Place in Dads Are No Joke Challenge. Top Story - August 2022.
“Take my air, take my lungs, my heart and my liver,” I prayed. There were mornings that April where time sped up, and I couldn’t keep up. What followed was a soundtrack of crashing and yelling and pulses keeping beat with the chaos. Tick-tick, tick-tick, tick-tick. Fragments of movements mixed with slow motion falls and quick-thinking recalls. The latter always followed by defeated phone calls.
By Christina Hunter3 years ago in Families
Lost in Thoughts
CHAPTER ONE The skies of America were changing, he'd told me so. I had no frame of reference, so I believed him. He said that he'd lived long enough to detect the difference in the clouds. He showed me the way they stretched out long, like a cat after a nap, how they're layered and iridescent behind the white. They never used to do that. They held together, fluffy and bursting, he'd said. Something had changed. He was angry when he spoke of the sky, as if it were the last frontier of nature they'd taken from us.
By Christina Hunter3 years ago in Fiction
A Tale of Two Timelines
February, 1948 - St. Moritz, Switzerland The crowd gathered closely around the boards of the outdoor skating rink. Men in wool overcoats and leather gloves slapped the wood of the barriers, calling out the names they'd read in their local newspaper to see if any of the players would look in their direction. It was the first Olympic Games held since the end of the war. It was both exciting and yet remnants of the horrors still lingered in the pale faces, thin frames and tattered clothing of the participants from nearly every country.
By Christina Hunter3 years ago in Fiction
The Coffee Shoppe on Main
The voices in the coffee shop entwined together into a low-hanging rhythm, finding spaces to linger between the ceiling and the tops of heads. It's a different sound than say, a pub, or a market. There's a warmth to it. The words that are uttered are done with purpose and care. Hearts are opened, secrets are revealed.
By Christina Hunter3 years ago in Fiction
The Way of Life
Coffee, black, followed by a reminder to kill himself after the chores were done. That was how every day began for Orv. Grey skies or crisp blue, it didn't change anything. He woke with the same lacking feeling inside. He poured one cup of coffee, and shuffled over to the kitchen table where he drank it silently. He didn't read anything, or even put the radio on. He stared at nothing in particular, while the bitter hot liquid found its way to his empty stomach.
By Christina Hunter3 years ago in Fiction
A Book About a Seagull...or Is It More?
It was not a typical children's book. The plastic protective cover was yellowed and cracked in places. The navy background looked dull and the single image (outline really) of a gull in flight seemed lacking to a child of the 80's; born into all things florescent and patterned. But my Nana reached for it on one of my sleepovers and began to read the complex book, while I looked at pictures of seagulls and drifted off.
By Christina Hunter3 years ago in Families
Avoiding Board Room Blunders
Ideas come to me in the strangest of places. I could be lathering up mid-shower and feel the need to rush out and execute a plan that flashed through my mind. I once mentally created an entire political musical during my daily commute; complete with character building, sub-plots and the perfect songs interjected at key moments of the 'play'. So when I approached our local Land Trust with an idea to bring a children's program to them on a whim, I wasn't expecting that they love the idea so much, that they decided to make me a board member too.
By Christina Hunter3 years ago in Journal
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