Love
The Drive to Your Parents' House
As I lay amidst the wreckage, looking towards the love of my life, I wondered what had gone wrong, that we had ended so swiftly. With my hands on the wheel. I'm sure they are my hands. One would know their own hands, wouldn't one? The scent of fresh grass cuttings, hot rubber from the tyres and petrol, blood, sweat and the bergamot and orange blossom of your Gucci Bamboo fill my lungs.
By Paul Stewart2 years ago in Fiction
Moonlit night on the balcony
**Twilight Night on the Balcony** It was one of those nights when the sky gave off an impression of being painted in a shade of profound naval force blue, the sort that causes you to feel like the universe is enclosing you with a delicate, cool hug. The moon, full and splendid, hung high overhead, projecting a silver shine across the world beneath. The air was fresh yet delicate, conveying with it the weak aroma of jasmine that waited in the yard underneath.
By Md.Humaiun kabir2 years ago in Fiction
269 All That Glittered, Glitters On
Every piece of jewelry tells a story. Nowhere is this truer than with estate jewelry. I recently bought my wife a "mourning" bracelet. For those unfamiliar, this type of jewelry's history is long, going back to the 16th Century and becoming popular in the 19th Century, especially in the Georgian era (1714–1837). The earliest types included macabre death-like symbols according to the traditional adage, memento mori ("Remember, we all die"). Queen Victoria, after Prince Albert died in 1861, mourned his death for 40 years. This made black jewelry fashionable in the Victorian era.
By Gerard DiLeo2 years ago in Fiction
Catching Up on the Phone
I was sitting in my living room on a Saturday morning (a few days after the birthday party) trying to enjoy the a/c pumping the cold air. Florida is a very hot place to live. I was born here, but the older I get, the hotter it feels and even though Fig's uncle Georgio tells me that the cold weather way up north is no better on the old bones, sometimes I just go into hybernation mode. Yeah, I'd say that I hybernate from the beginning of April to the end of September. I go out a little more in October and March, and I only really enjoy the outdoors in Florida in the months of December, January, and February. That's the only winter we get. During those three months of our Florida winter, I'm the happiest. Besides that I just stay indoors and thank the lord that I have air conditioning. According to Georgio, it's the opposite up north. There they hybernate for the winter months starting in November and they don't come out of their caves until around April. Still, it seems a bit more balanced. Six months in, six months out, seems a lot better than 9 months in and 3 months out.
By Shanon Angermeyer Norman2 years ago in Fiction
This is not my room. Runner-up in Unreliable Challenge. Top Story - September 2024.
Date Unknown – Nobody will tell me This is not my room. There is sun outside The red trousers came to see me today. He held my… It is all… My fingers they are different. They have painted nails and notches and you can follow the grain of them to my wrist. He held my wrist once. His shy eyes darted to the ceiling.
By Rachel Robbins2 years ago in Fiction
Bethan
I try not to relive that day but it's difficult not to when the anniversary of it comes around year after year. The loss comes rushing in like water through a weakened crack in a pipe. Most days, I manage to hold it back, although it's pressure is always there, pushing at me.
By Rachel Deeming2 years ago in Fiction
The Encounter
It was an ordinary afternoon when Ruth first saw Daniel. The sun had dipped low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue over the city streets. Ruth had just finished work and was making her usual walk through the park, her scarf wrapped tightly around her neck to fight off the crisp chill in the air. The leaves crunched under her boots, and the air smelled of cinnamon and faint traces of burning wood from nearby chimneys.
By Chiamaka Jennifer2 years ago in Fiction
