Afton Family Portrait Novels & Stories

His body was slender, with minimal muscles, and he was twenty years of age. The youngest, Tobias Thornton, was eighteen. He was skinny, with no muscles, five feet ten inches. Tobias had auburn-colored hair, cut low and styled similarly to his brother Timothy. He had a straight nose and hazel eyes, like his mom. He had his father's perfect lips, not too small, not too big. These boys were handsome and spoilt rotten! Trouble and drama followed them. The fascinating family of four lived close to the mountains. The towering mountains were to the back of them, and on the other side of those mountains were the expansive and beautiful seas, and everything else was in front of them. Just the way he

Small beds lined both walls, thin mattresses long since collapsed with age, faded blankets still folded at the foot of several of them, as though someone had once cared enough to make them each morning. Drawings covered one wall, taped there decades ago and somehow, impossibly, still clinging to the concrete children's crayon work, faded almost past recognition but unmistakably tender in subject. Suns with too many rays. Houses with crooked chimneys. Families, hand in hand. Aurora crouched slowly in front of one drawing near the corner, her flashlight beam trembling slightly as she studied it. A family, five stick figures holding hands beneath a bright yellow sun, and standing slightly apart

The photographs were in a manila envelope, handled carefully, the way you handle things that have been kept safe for a long time. Margaret laid them on the table one at a time. A man in his late thirties — dark hair, Lila's jaw, unmistakable — standing on a lawn in summer holding a small child who was reaching for something outside the frame. A family portrait: the man, a woman beside him with her arm through his, five boys ranging from teenage to toddler, and a girl — four years old, gap-toothed smile, a stuffed rabbit under one arm.

Alton lifted the child and wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me closer. We turned towards the camera, beaming with genuine smiles on our faces. The next scene involved us walking through the garden, admiring the blooming flowers. The hotel's garden was a significant asset, so we took several photos there. Hand in hand, we strolled, capturing the essence of a happy family. We also took pictures lifting the child and played on the playground, enjoying the swing. As Alton gently pushed the boy, I watched them with joy, resembling a proud mother.

"Mom, I know," Ashton replied. He had already learned from Scarlett that Colton's health was failing and that he didn't have much time left. If possible, he would extend his grandfather's life. He would also make the Lowe family stand alongside the Zapata family as the top families on Linton Island. "Get some rest," Irene said. "Okay." Ashton could tell his mother had something on her mind, but he didn't press her. Before he left Linton Island, he would settle everything.

What had my father been writing about? I was still thinking about it when Valentina called me over. “Come look at this.” She was holding something in her hand. I wiped my hands on my jeans and walked over. “What is it?” She handed me a piece of paper. A painting. Drawn with bright colors. A child's work. I blinked, recognizing it immediately. It was a family portrait. Our mother, our father, the three of us. Adriano had been barely three or four when he drew this.

she said as she inspected the pictures. “You like them?” he asked, and she nodded. “These are my brother’s kids,” he said pointing at the portrait of three children, two young girls and a boy. The youngest girl looked to be about two and had short dark blonde hair as did her brother who looked to be the eldest, around five or six perhaps. The older girl, she guessed to be around four, had dark-brown hair that curled in ringlets around her neck. Each had the same dark-blue eyes as Creighton and smiled cheerfully from a bench in front of a garden setting.

In the absolute centre of the far wall sat a massive cast-iron fireplace with a thick, rustic oak mantle. Hanging proudly above the roaring fire was a huge, professionally shot family portrait. In the photograph, Mamma was nestled lovingly against a tall, striking, broad-shouldered man. A tall boy, probably a year or two older than Kyle, and a stunningly beautiful girl a few years younger were standing back-to-back. In front of them, kneeling on the floor, was a beaming Kyle and a little girl, probably around the exact same age as my nephew, Henry.

Anthony regretfully said. The Vienna family is one of the richest family in the Vermington City. But even if they were extremely wealthy, they remained low key and whenever they hosts a gathering, only a few people were invited. Anthony was lucky enough to be invited. That’s how he saw the painting which was displayed in one of mansion’s wall… “When will they be back?” Hans asked… As long as he could he see the portrait, he would wait no matter how long they come back. “They didn’t tell… And no one knew either… I’m sorry Dr. Lee…”

“Yeah, maybe you can tell me about your family tree sometime. You said you looked like your however many great grandfathers. I would love to see that picture. It must be old if it’s from the time period you say. I didn’t even think they took pictures back then.” “It’s a portrait that an artist painted of him and his wife. Their two children are in the picture. I believe it is the last portrait ever taken of them as the younger child was merely a baby when he died.” “Wow. That’s old, then. How did you get it?”