Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • I knew a woman who buttered her cookies.
    She raised a son. Who was really her grandson.
    Who didn’t know where she kept the dishes.
    He beat me.

    Years later I was sweeping and listening to the radio.
    The newscast said he was murdered. In his bed.
    I froze. Shocked

    After his funeral I went to her house to collect my remaining belongings.
    I wasnt allowed inside. My things thrown at me on the lawn. At me.
    Blaming me.
    The children from the neighborhood gathered around.
    Arms folded across my knees, head down

    They said everything would be all right.
    • Share

    Connected stories:


Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.