Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Humans.
A Star is Discovered
There she is, and right on time—the moment that has become the highlight of my day. Ever since the first time I saw her at university, I’ve been mesmerized and have been looking for a reason, and an opportunity, to talk to her. She was absolutely beautiful and had an air about her as though she didn’t truly realize how captivating she is…and that just added to her attractiveness. Her dark, curly hair, brown eyes, and baby face stood out in a sea of Germanic blondes with blue eyes and sharp cheekbones. To me, she was a rose floating in a sea of white lilies.
By Henry Smith3 years ago in Humans
It's Your Season, Gemini - Embrace It!
In literature, a set of lively and soulful twins will often serve as the heart of a large family. This has been a feature in storytelling from Artemis and Apollo of the ancient times to Fred and George Weasley from Harry Potter.
By Robyn Reisch3 years ago in Humans
Patchwork commuters
Of course the norm on the London Underground is to stoically pretend that you are not there. And nor is anybody else. Stare straight ahead (or at your phone) and maintain a mental bubble around you that denies the obvious and unsavoury fact of being jammed in a metal tube with a bunch of complete strangers. Cope with that crush of humanity by blocking it out.
By Catherine shovlin3 years ago in Humans
To Hell with Society, just be your Authentic Self.
'You're too childish, You need to grow up, You're too soft, You're lazy, Your not clean enough, You're too sensitive.' These are words I have put up with most of my life. It's actually soul-destroying that people in society think that it's okay to change people into something they are not. Trying to keep up with this change during my childhood and early adulthood put me in a state of depression and various other mental health problems. Even when I became a parent, I was picked on for not being spotless or for my behaviour, but nobody considered how other people were behaving towards me. No! They were too focused on my ability to cry or get a little angry and then turning the blame on me for speaking out about the trauma I was going through. They seemed to think that my 'sensitivity and over-friendliness' caused the problem. Well I have something to say to that, being sensitive or over-friendly is NOT an excuse to be abused, nor was this an excuse to assume that I was the problem for speaking out, crying or showing my angry feelings over it. However, me speaking out after so many years of silence should have been a reason to have been 'seen and heard.' I have spent so much time having to overcome the hurt feelings, the pain and get to grips with the losses that was the price I paid for not only going through something that I could have been helped through but having being forced into silence over for many years. Well, that's not me anymore, I still stand by my truth today, because not standing by my truth means lying to myself, and after doing much work on myself I know I and my family are worth more than my abusers.
By Carol Townend3 years ago in Humans
Him
His eyes were deep blue but soft. The kind of rough that glides across the tip of your fingers like water pulling sand off the beach. He wasn't tall but tall enough. His hair, black and curly. complementing his eyes almost as much as the blue modal long sleeve he was wearing. His beard was long and scruffy but I could see his skin was pale and smooth underneath, shaping his lips like a drop of water rippling the surface. He dressed casual. his casual was clean and his Liz Clainorne cologne lurked around me making it hard to breathe, making it hard to stand still, coagulating any kind of blood flow to my head. His voice was deep, raspy almost. You could hear the compassion but it was stern and assuring. His hands were bridle and dry, daddy always told me a man with beaten hands Is a man with a healing heart. He was cloying, every inch of him. Hanging my head trying to hide my pale freckled skin that seemed to detail in the sun. Dragging my toes through the sand twirling my hair between my thin fingers like my mother used to do. Making her long thin hair naturally curly. It exasperated me as a child, here I find myself doing it. I deliberately nudged his shoulder hoping it would start even the slightest conversation. He was a raconteur, you could tell just by the way he held himself. He was witty and a storyteller, lucky for me so was I or I thought I was at least. ”sorry” he muffled out, not even picking his head up. ”thats okay” I managed to get out through the stone that laid in the bottom of my dry, itchy throat. I remember i kept walking. A million things were rolling through my mind like stones rolling down a mountain crashing into dry bridle clay, leaving dust that fogged what little vision I had left ”what do I do” I murmured to myself. I felt a slight tap on my shoulder, making every nerve in my body tingle with what felt like integrety. ”Excuse me” ill never forget his voice hitting the back of my neck abetting and diffusing any train of thought I had. ”do I know you” he spoke again softly. No, but I would love to know you I thought to myself at the time. The wind blushing his pale skin. ”no I don't believe so, I'm not from here”. knowing damn good and well that I was stuck in this shit hole of a town I sadly called home. For a min he sat there, as if he were contemplating whether he knew me or not, or observing my face. I could feel the sweat rolling down my chest. ”shit” I murmured. I couldn't breathe again. ”what?” he said, with concern in his voice. ”what?” I said, not even realizing I just said what I said aloud. I put my hand to my chest, making sure I was still breathing. ”nothing” I pushed out ”its nothing, no I'm sorry I do not know you”. ”oh okay” he said. ”well I'll let you go now.” the moment was almost fervid. Odd but breath taking. Because who knew I would simply, let him walk away. Why did he turn around to adress me? He didnt even pick up his head, he couldnt have seen my face? I didn't even know I was capable of letting someone so blithe go, I myself was blithe and it takes one to know one. Despite the urge of wanting to chase you like some sappy fairytale, or get your number, it is that day in time id assume. I watched you walk away leaving me with nothing but urge and curiosity. Who were you? why did I need to know you ? i remember thinking that to myself....
By Lauren mae 3 years ago in Humans
A Pistol, Shotgun, and Tacos
Gun Number One Two in the morning. Who comes home at two in the morning? Well, me after working an eight-hour janitor job and driving all over Contra Costa county. Our condos where technically a gated community, but the gate was low and bordered a public park on the north end. The freeway sat on the hindquarters to the east, so a tangle of ivy, sparse evergreens, and weeds grew in the back to reduce the noise. This set up created plenty of late-night shadows around the buildings and cars, plenty of hidden entrance and exit points, and just enough middle-class income to entice the thieves.
By Steve B Howard3 years ago in Humans
I Taste Snot
I taste snot. But I’m used to it. It’s probably because I keep picking my nose and eating it, but I can’t help it. When I get nervous, I jam my finger up my nose - and if there happens to be a nugget, well, in my mouth it goes. Somehow, the taste makes me less nervous and it reminds me that I can take care of myself.
By Shelley Carroll3 years ago in Humans
Chapter IV Sneak Peak: It's Not That Serious
Excerpt from Chapter IV of It’s Not That Serious ~~~~~~~~ Danny was tired of thinking so much and so hard. He was ready to go out with his best friend and listen to some meaningful poetry and lyrics from people with substance. Danny boy even did some writing of his own at times, but he was always too apprehensive to share this side of himself with the world. Not even his wela read any of his writing. This was a side of Danny that he had to keep for himself. Still, he loved watching other people express their pain, joy, anger, frustration, and peace, because it gave him a sense of purpose in the world. He felt like, when he listened to others perform their poetry or their music, it was his way of contributing to society in a healthy way. In his eyes, people who shared these talents with the world didn’t do it for themselves. They did it with the sole purpose of making others feel.
By Alyssa "Lefty" P.3 years ago in Humans
An Ode to Cake
While watching "Most Ridiculous" with my preteen daughter recently they played a video of a small group of people singing "Happy Birthday" to a little boy. He didn't seem very enthused and casually flipped over his before they had a chance to finish their song. It looked like something that his poor mother probably stayed up all night baking. I identify with that on a deep spiritual level, because I know exactly how much effort it takes to bake a cake with love. It was a very funny video and I'm sure that it will be a fond memory when he gets older.
By Megan Oliver3 years ago in Humans