literature

Whether written centuries ago or just last year, literary couples show that love is timeless.

Reunited
Eleanore awoke with a slight start as a coarse but gentle hand settled on her cheek. Her eyes fluttered open to see a dark and handsome young man sitting by her bedside, his black curls poking out from under his top hat and the golden chain of his pocket watch trailing across his vest.
By Stephanie Nielsen5 years ago in Humans
Anchored
“She’s watching me.” I find it interesting when people like Zack Owen, who are boring to the core, think someone is watching them. He tells me this while sitting in front of me, filled with a misplaced amount of self-importance and fear.
By Wellington Lambert5 years ago in Humans
Blue Eyes
He sat in the black leather chair, indents of time, and worn-out arms held his. His face was similar to the cracks in the leather, diminished by age and whiskey. He had led a hard life, been alone for much of it. But, today, he was not alone. Today he was surrounded by thoughts. Thoughts he couldn't escape. He squinted to forget, wrinkling his face further. Tears edged out of the corners of his blue eyes. The old man's sad yet enticing eyes. He'd been married once, and those eyes were the inception. Those eyes looked around the room full of books and not much else. Those eyes came to the table, where a revolver lay. He held his eyes on the revolver, those blue eyes dull against the harsh metal. Next to the revolver a picture, himself, a younger man, and a woman with a baby. The couple seemed untroubled. He clutched the picture—a knock at the door. Totally enraptured into the picture, he didn't hear. The knock comes again. This time he answered, "Come in." A man tall and slender, dressed all in black, slinked into the room. The slender man spoke eloquently, in not quite a holy way, "I understand you have something for me?" The man again enraptured in the picture. The slender man impatiently, "Do you have something for me or not?" The old man muttered, "Have I not called you to me?" The old man stood from his leather encasing, his imprint still lingering, and walked over to a bookshelf. From the shelf, he plucked a little black notebook. Opening the notebook, the old man thumbed through till he found the page he was looking for. "Here, on this page, it spells everything out," handing the notebook to the slender man. The slender man's eyes breeze through the words and then stop. Squinting, the slender man rereads a line, then looks bluntly at the old man. "Are you even sure she's still alive?" questioned the slender man. Not appreciating the tone, the old man bluntly responded, "Don't be ridiculous; why else would I have this done?" Pulling from within his jacket a piece of paper, the slender man hands it over, "I'll need this signed for proof." The old man inspects it, his eyes land at the end, he looks off into the distance and tears well.
By Tyler David Sutton5 years ago in Humans
The Mask
Mask: a covering for all or part of a face, worn as a disguise, or to amuse or terrify others; disguise The visual jagged lines and penetrating noise on the TV screen screamed at him. The piercing sound of the static and the visual snow made him cringe as he continued to get ready to leave his torturous dwelling…..
By Elaine M. Gallagher5 years ago in Humans
Count Christopher
Count Christopher Lee stood studying herself in the long mirror, ‘How do I look Mum?’ she asked. ‘Beautiful, like always,’ her admiring mum answered with a big smile.
By Paul Doherty5 years ago in Humans
The "Just One" Rule. Top Story - March 2021.
I have a rule that I live by every day of my life, no matter the circumstances, because I believe it has been the only thing that has given me the life I want. Some actually think I'm crazy...and for what? Because I found something that works for me? If it works, why not do it? I'm not bound to what others think of my methods. My methods work. I will abide by them as long as I continue seeing success.
By Dani Banani5 years ago in Humans
Beloved Toni
Fierce, intelligent, determined queens - Women’s History Month is a meaningful celebration to highlight these pivotal figures. It always excites me. I’ve always been surrounded by women who inspire and motivate me. However, the recent loss of a American writer, Nobel Laureate and overall badass Black woman has left me yearning. Chloe Anthony Wofford Morrison, also known as Toni Morrison, joined the ancestors on August 5th in 2019. Her loss has left a gulf in the writing world, in the intellectual thinking spaces and the African American community as a whole.
By La'Nee Griffin5 years ago in Humans
BUENOS AIRES NIGHTSHADE
Gaetano ruminated the thought of how some plants naturally avoid incest as he pressed the air between the petals and his ample palm, carefully compressing the flower’s randy fragrance into a sigh. Then, he cut through the tropical fog of the vast conservatory with agile steps receiving the bow of the admiring Zingiber, the African flame tree, the Mirabilis, the Hibiscus, the Bombox ceiba, the Passiflora, the Frisia, the Oleander, the Mandragora, the Milkweed and the Belladonna. Hesitated in one step, but out stepped firmly from the warm hydroponics lights stage to the chilled semi-dark outside, the grayed northwestern air of the afternoon was brittle in his potent chest. Deftly, he dialed his cell and talked to Mr. Rubin about the dilapidated shutters on the first floor at the back of the decaying mansion in Belgrano, the important delivery pick up, and their recently departed gardening staff — he could hear Matilda fussing over him the expansive oak room upstairs from where the old man doesn’t descend any longer. After a pause, Gaetano softened his broad lips to a “you too, sir” and snapped shut the device like the Venus flytrap.
By Francisco Ibanez-Carrasco5 years ago in Humans
The Leather Couch
Margo woke up from the heavy knocks coming from the front door. She had forgotten where she was and she was shocked into it too so it made her panic for a moment before focusing on a nearby object. Her father’s desk reminded her of him and it made her remember she was in his home office. She had fallen asleep on the leather couch he had kept in there. It was comfortable enough to sleep on which she found herself doing the last couple of nights. She liked the way the soft leather felt against her skin and she liked the way it smelled like old leather. It soothed her when she needed to be soothed. And so rather than sleep in her own bed she instead decided to draw the curtains to the room until she was in the dark and then rested her head on its arm rest until she was asleep. Doing so reminded her of when her father let her do the same when she was younger, back when she didn’t want to sleep alone, back when she was afraid to do so. Margo remembered her father as he sat behind that big wooden desk in his chair—curtains drawn too so no other light except from the monitor of the computer he would focus on while using the mechanical keyboard he preferred to use over the one that came with the machine. Margo liked it too if only because of the melody its clicking created when her father added or made changes to his work. It was better than any fairy tale read or glasses of warm milk. It gave her peace and it was missed.
By Steve C.5 years ago in Humans
The Last Home
I was never so happy to see a sign in my life. It lit the Montana night in neon brilliance. A much bigger sign than the building under it warranted, but I guess they wanted to make sure you saw it. I had seen the glow from the sign for miles. It was amazing how far light carried out here. I had left Wolf Lodge, Montana a couple of hours back and was looking for a place to bed down for the night. I had planned on sleeping one more night under the Big Sky, watching the Milky Way until I drifted off. Tomorrow, I should be able to make the Washington state line. I was walking along Interstate 90, what the locals called Old Highway 12, and by my GPS, it was about 23 miles to the border.
By Darryl Brooks5 years ago in Humans
Hungry Eyes
The bathroom was filled with the echoing sound of water swirling down the drain. A single drop of blood dropped, mixing with the clear water.
By Shannon Riley5 years ago in Humans
A Sip in the Spotlight
I sit alone, fidgeting uncontrollably as I wait. The restaurant, Bernadino’s, is packed full. The din from the surrounding patrons laughing, gossiping, and sharing details of their day…is deafening. Despite that, I can’t shake the feeling that everyone is staring at me.
By Gena M Beal5 years ago in Humans