Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Humans.
The Number Runner's Notebook
It was just laying there next to the trash bin. I hate it when folks miss the mark, although the lid is heavy and awkward to lift – a poor choice for a 55+ complex. And to add insult to injury, a notebook should be in the recycle bin, not the trash bin. The condo is fussy, and I don’t blame them! Since I have my “trash gloves” on, I just picked it up to take to the car. At least the trash bin is in my parking lot. Yes, I know I could walk to the recycle bin in the next lot, but it’s on the way to the main exit and I can recycle it in on my next trip. Next trip, that’s a laugh! If the coffee shop delivered, I’d never leave the condo.
Colleen O'ConnellPublished 3 years ago in HumansGeorge & Sadie
George was walking on The High Line. The path was crowded. Spring had arrived in New York City, and it seemed as though everyone was taking a collective break from their routines to soak in the sun.
michelle stuartPublished 3 years ago in HumansThe Reflection
The Reflection It had a glimmer about it, a shine that could penetrate a soul. It was almost as if the little black book had a language of its own. As the young man knelt to say goodbye to his best friend for the last time, a single tear shed from his cheek. As the teardrop collided with the puddle beneath him, it became one with the rain, finding itself in the harmony of eternity. As the man rose from his friend's grave he noticed from the corner of his eye the little black book. The book laid atop a coral cedar bench and like a magnet spoke in a language he did not yet understand. Broken in the loss of his companion the man had no idea of the journey he would soon endure...soul depleted, body weak, the overdose came just months after he lost his teaching job in heroic fashion. “Hey Nicky it’s time to go” we're going to be late! (echoed from the limousine) “give me a minute” he yelled back as he slowly walked towards the vibrant, perfectly strung leather book. As he approached the bench he noticed a green glow shimmering from the pages and a resonance that he had only felt before while in deep meditation with his students. He rubbed the tears from his eyes but the glow reamined, it wasn't an illusion.
The D.r.3 A.M.S ExperiencePublished 3 years ago in HumansAggie & I
My ideas were never quite good enough. My prose was never quite memorable enough. Which is what landed me in a job bagging groceries and living in an apartment that made a postage stamp seem palatial. Being a writer had always been my dream.
The Trove
The message came in as Raul was waist-deep in the desert, sifting through sand. Shaking the rusty sieve, he cursed under his breath as yet another shard of pottery was uncovered. This was hopeless. Flinging the jagged piece of clay to the side, Raul wiped his hands on his khakis and looked up at the brightening sky. Eight nights in the desert and he’d found nothing but some fragments of ancient pots and a splinter or two of animal bone. Another treasure hunt, another complete bust. It had been the same the past five expeditions in a row and Raul’s frustration was growing. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he stroked his calloused thumb over the soft black cover of his notebook and pulled it out. He wiped his hands again--he could barely remember a time when he wasn’t perpetually covered in dust--and found a blank page.
Elaine RadosevichPublished 3 years ago in HumansDear Diary, Can You Ever Forgive Me?
Dear Diary, Today was yet another mundane, unfulfilling day. All I managed to accomplish was attending my online classes and showering. I couldn’t even find the motivation to do any of my school work. How is it my dream to be a writer when I can’t even tolerate the sight of a computer screen right now? In other news, I ordered a salad from CAVA today. Sean wanted lunch too so, like the loving sister that I am, I got him a salad as well. Now he owes me $7 for his lunch. You didn’t think I’d let him get away with not paying me back, did you? I gotta go, diary. I really have to get some work done now.
Imani NjauPublished 3 years ago in HumansBlack umbrella
Jason was having a rough time. Between tremendous past trauma and more current woes, he was struggling to stay afloat. Day to day life had become a burden to endure; spending all his effort trying to keep his mind free from rumination has hindered his motivations to retain his grip on societal obligations.
The little black book that saved a hero.
The little black book that saved a hero. In 1748 a Black baby named John was born enslaved in Virginia. His owner was an important military man. As John grew up his owner saw something special in him, and taught him how to read and write. That way John was able to help him more. John was fascinated by reading and writing. He always thought they were skills that would serve him well for the rest of his life. And he was right!
Marisol GonzalezPublished 3 years ago in Humans238 Pages
The first and last words have always been the hardest to write. There is something in the beginning of an idea that instills a sort of uncertainty which soon becomes a sort of paralysis which soon becomes yet another unfinished story at risk of never being told. I want to tell my stories. They want to be told. They deserve to be told.
John DodgePublished 3 years ago in HumansThe Book Will Do the Rest
Mel hated taking the city bus. Waiting in the cold, the awkward movement around other strangers crowded around a dirty shelter. That spike of anxiety as the bus pulled up, Mel always worried she wouldn’t have enough money on her card or that she wouldn’t find a seat. Or worst of all, the excitement of finding an empty row, only to have a stranger ask her to move her bag two stops later.
Emily GrayPublished 3 years ago in HumansCastor and Pollux
Castor and Pollux. Two brothers who loved each other so much that when one died, the other begged Zeus to bring him back. They spend half their time on earth and the other half in the stars. Two brothers, alike in so many ways but different, too.
J MagnusonPublished 3 years ago in HumansRemember to Find
Days of staying inside had taken their toll. It was still cold, but the sun was finally shining, and I decided to take the dog for a walk. After bundling up, we headed in the direction of the little neighborhood by the library. We walked past the house with the broken fence post where the dog always poked his head through to bark at us and were not disappointed. My pace quickened until we were a few houses away and out of sight. The moment the barking stopped, I heard what sounded like sobbing.
Stacy ColleenPublished 3 years ago in Humans