literature
Whether written centuries ago or just last year, literary couples show that love is timeless.
Misplaced
It had been three weeks since he had unknowingly awoken the notebook. It sat untarnished, nestled just behind the brass clasp of his rucksack.
Saffron NewtonPublished 3 years ago in HumansNadia's Little Black Book
Sunlight poured into the grimy, frosted over El windows, falling in neat lines across the floor and the laps of passengers. One such ray of light gently came to settle squarely on the upper body of a tall young woman, illuminating the reddish highlights in her luxurious auburn locks. She looked up, irritated, but there was no one to rebut her anger but the sun itself, and she’d long since given up on chasing pots of gold at the end of rainbows. Her long, slender fingers were clenched rather tensely around a little black leather notebook; its edges frayed and spine battered. The woman’s name was Nadia, and her life would prove to be more interesting than most.
Brynn SailingPublished 3 years ago in HumansA Lady of Riga
It was ten to one. I’d watched the crowd inside the Hotel Lutetia bar thin out as people moved on from drinks to lunch, and now it was only me, the bartender, and four noisy Germans who showed no interest in food. I sat in the corner, alone, with the morning’s Figaro rolled up on the table in front of me, as instructed. Through the big picture window I watched blurry figures hurrying through the fog on Boulevard Raspail.
Nick GouldingPublished 3 years ago in HumansThe Bench
The bench in Jackson Park is like a million benches across the world. Fairly nondescript to the casual passerby, but to the trained eye, the bench had a plethora of character. The frame was made of wrought iron with the side railings twisted and decorated to look like ivy. The wood was cherry, and to the trained eye, it was the only cherry bench in the park with the seat pitched at just the perfect angle for a relaxing sojourn with the top curled back slightly, like the bottom of a scroll.
Dion McGillPublished 3 years ago in HumansThe Magician's Book
I, Milano Molesk Modo, being of sound mind and body, hereby declare this to be my Last Will and Testament. Danielle spat out her tea in shock, then rushed to wipe the splattered drops from the pages of the notebook she held.
Snake Eyes
“Snake eyes!” the croupier called out in a redundant reminder. A roll of two one’s on a pair of these cruel six-sided dice is one in 36. That’s a mere 2.77%, yet here I was rolling snake eyes at the Craps table as if it were the only numbers printed on the dice.
Frank MonacoPublished 3 years ago in HumansThe tail of the Andes
03/28/2015 Dear Gaby, I hate to say it, but you were right. I really should have done that Duolingo app or at least learned some basic phrases before getting here. I landed about an hour ago, paid way too much for a taxi (how many pesos do you get for a dollar, again?), and ended up at this coffee shop because the only words I knew were “café” and “por favor”. On a positive note, the coffee really is good, and I can see the tail of the Andes from my table outside. It is hot, but it is that dry heat where you don’t really notice that it is 90 degrees outside. I think I will come back here tomorrow. I have a feeling I’ve discovered my new favorite writing spot. Not too bad for a first day in Mendoza, huh?
A Life in Colour
I leaned into the breeze filtering through the cracked window, trying to enjoy what I felt was going to be the last moment of simplicity for a very long time. Lush Maryland fields had melted from New Jersey neon, plains of Empire State concrete from azure suburban Connecticut skies, the swaying Rhode Islandian wheatgrass tumbling out of the river-run Bay State metropolis of eastern Massachusetts, all birthed from the mountainous highways of New Hampshire; a blur of hour after countless hour of wheels on tarmac.
Betsy ChadbournPublished 3 years ago in HumansMy Sweets
Where are the candles? 9 but-soon-to-be-10 year old Heidi Barnes was confused, and not pleased. Finally, she could have two giant numbers on her cake.
Oriana LadaPublished 3 years ago in HumansBig Imaginations
James turned 11 today, he had been in the orphanage for years now and the monotonous routine was normal for him, but there was one day a year where it was different. His birthday was his special day because this was the only day of the year, besides Christmas, where he received anything. He had hardly been able to sleep at all last night because he was too excited. He was wishing for coloured pencils this year; he had seen them advertised in a shop window and asked the Orphanage Master, Mister Tembley, if he could have them for his birthday with only a “perhaps” as an answer. Perhaps wasn’t a no.
Chelcie MorrisPublished 3 years ago in HumansAS FATE WOULD HAVE IT
If there was one thing about the pandemic that Jewell appreciated, it was the ability to work from home. Although she loved her job, the commute was horrible and she hated driving in the traffic, but she hated even more the thought of public transportation or worse, taxi cabs. She had tried walking because it was not much more than a mile, but one time pushing through the mob with no way to avoid contact had been enough. She shuddered just recalling it. She was from a small town in southern Iowa, where you might have some traffic weekday mornings, and you will meet very few people walking anywhere. Except for the mall walkers, which is why she’d stopped going there.
Terri RuleyPublished 3 years ago in HumansA Piece of Home
One thing I’ve learned in my 35 years is that home isn’t always a singular place, not really anyway. My belief is that it’s pieces of us scattered everywhere along our journey. The places and people, the moments frozen in our memories that captured pieces of our hearts, our souls. Those who bring solace by just residing in their presence. My heart ached for that peace more than ever before and fluttered in anticipation as the drive grew closer to a piece of my home. The elation dimmed by the devastation of knowing that while the place would still be an incomparable comfort, the people had passed. It had been a year of chaos and tragedy, ending with the unexpected loss of my grandparents. The small town of Barre, VT, would always hold some of my most cherished memories but never again would they be shared with those I held so dear. A sense of belonging rushed through me as I pulled uphill into the familiar dirt driveway shaded by towering pines; it was all so bittersweet. The tears betrayed my strong facade, streaming uncontrollably down my cheeks. I let them fall and gave into a loud, deep scream, allowing all the built up pain to escape. There was land for miles, wide open fields and dense forests to drown out the volume of my emotions and allow my soul to breathe once again.
Michelle HarperPublished 3 years ago in Humans