literature
Whether written centuries ago or just last year, literary couples show that love is timeless.
My Words Remain
Thwap! The arrow flew past her face, narrowly missing her cheek before it embedded itself in the tree a few feet behind. Lilliana whipped around and dove for cover as another arrow landed on the ground sinking into the dirt her foot had just vacated.
Erin MartinPublished 3 years ago in HumansFreddie
Freddie My mother and I arrived at Gator’s home, late to the party. Typical for us, but still. I’m holding a cheap bottle of wine, and some dip. You can’t forget the dip. Inside we’re greeted, and I meet Gator for the first time. We have dinner, and after, sit around the bar stools in the kitchen, sipping wine and talking off our full bellies. In the upper left hand corner of my wandering eye, I catch a small glimpse of interest. I turn to see a colorful 2x2 blown up photograph, hanging on the wall. It’s a picture of a black man standing next to a white pickup truck. The contrast of the picture sparks my imagination in a way I never quite felt before from looking at a photograph. A desire, of sorts, to learn about its contents, and explore the story hidden within its mystery. Who is this peculiar man, standing there in my small town, proud and mighty? I wonder. Someone I’d never met before. Someone who I’d never get the chance to meet at all, it turned out.
J.B. TalamantesPublished 3 years ago in HumansFreddie
Freddie My mother and I arrived at Gator’s home, late to the party. Typical for us, but still. I’m holding a cheap bottle of wine, and some dip. You can’t forget the dip. Inside we’re greeted, and I meet Gator for the first time. We have dinner, and after, sit around the bar stools in the kitchen, sipping wine and talking off our full bellies. In the upper left hand corner of my wandering eye, I catch a small glimpse of interest. I turn to see a colorful 2x2 blown up photograph, hanging on the wall. It’s a picture of a black man standing next to a white pickup truck. The contrast of the picture sparks my imagination in a way I never quite felt before from looking at a photograph. A desire, of sorts, to learn about its contents, and explore the story hidden within its mystery. Who is this peculiar man, standing there in my small town, proud and mighty? I wonder. Someone I’d never met before. Someone who I’d never get the chance to meet at all, it turned out.
J.B. TalamantesPublished 3 years ago in HumansPreserving perfection
Her eyes were grey. Not a steely grey, but the soft grey of a sky that is about to rain. When the charcoal clouds merge with the white mist to form a sky that folds in on itself. The air becomes dense and heavy to breathe, and the whole thing becomes impossible to see through.
Amanda WalkerPublished 3 years ago in HumansThe Soldier
Tap. Tap. Pause. TapTapTap. The first time he heard it, he was in the dark. A narrow beam of dark orange sunlight pushed its way through a crack in the worn curtains and sliced the room in half. The flecks of dust that hung in the air flickered in the sunbeam like grain on film, but they did not swirl because there was no breeze.
Amanda WalkerPublished 3 years ago in HumansWrite It Down
SLAP! Was that the second or third time he had been slapped this week? After too many drinks and too many wrong things said, Marty was now trying to calm the ringing in his ears. Definitely fifth in the last two weeks, he thought, straightening his jaw.
it's all about point of view
“Not sure if I am reaching for the stars, or just standing in the dark with my hands in the air. -Anonymous I imagine a girl, a lady really, driving down a long narrow road. It’s late and the only light for miles, is the headlights of her silver car. The road curves around through the dark forest and massive trees hug the sides of the pavement. As the wind pushes and pulls on her petite car, she wonders if she will stay on the road. The soft music on the radio pairs perfectly with passing wind. As the car lulls along, the trees begin to get larger and larger. Claustrophobia grabs her throat and pushes down on her chest. The forest creates a tunnel of darkness around her and at the end of this collapsing tunnel there is light. As she rumbles on the light gets nearer and the whispers of the forest begin to fade. The end of the forest is nearing and she knows she will miss the odd hug of the lingering trees. Her car shot out of the forest like a silver bullet in the night and she could swear she felt the darkness let go of its hold on her.
little black book
The Little Black Book It’s dark and quiet out here behind these bushes, Tatum looks down at the little boy she hopes that the child will be okay. Her mistress gave her one order and that was to get rid of the child. Her mistress Lady Antoinette has been having an intimate relationship with the dark and handsome servant Charles. The Duke was unable to have sex and she uses her servant as her way of getting intimacy. After all, she was very young when the duke married her barely sixteen and he was over sixty. Tatum is the mistress’s loyal servant and in return, the mistress allows her certain things that other servants weren’t allowed. A better bedchamber and better food are two of the best perks. The mistress didn’t expect to become pregnant. She would not allow this child to mess up her situation. She was built small so it wasn’t difficult to hide the pregnancy until the last couple of months. When she reached her last stage of pregnancy, she decided to live in the country alone in her last month to have the child. She did not want the child because her husband could not have children. He has cancer down there and he would know that the child was not his. She had the child painfully and after it is born, she immediately sends for her faithful servant Tatum to come near. She trusted Tatum to get rid of the child immediately. Tatum looks down at the child at this very moment and felt sorry for him. She was squatting in a nearby bush in front of the orphanage. She was going to leave the child in front of the door with the belongings the mistress gave to her to leave with him. It was five in the morning she didn't see anyone; she walks over to the door and places the basket with the child in front of the door. She lay the bag beside him with a note. She knocks on the door and runs back behind the bushes. When she saw the nun take the child she left and went back into the darkness.
Peggy WhitakerPublished 3 years ago in HumansThe Purpose
It was white and tiny and during the rainstorm shackled by a leash behind the camouflaged sofa because I could not trust what it would do. I could not trust what it would be. For me, it was nearly dinnertime, a time where I tune out all but the rattle of the newscast. But for it, it wasn't really the time for anything except, perhaps, to die. I looked at it. It looked at me. My eyes followed its pattern. Its eye followed mine.
Scott GregoryPublished 3 years ago in HumansInbu’s Heart 8/10
Scratching her head at the frail bridges and nuns holding baskets, Mei wondered why the nuns were wearing boots. People were fighting over shaded spots under the trees. Sweat dripped on their chins smearing make-up that had taken hours to put on. Closest Mei ever had to a full makeover was a little bit of mud on her cheeks from her days at the farm.
Chloe GilholyPublished 3 years ago in HumansInbu’s Heart 5/10
Prince Inbu smirked. His friends would be laughing with him so much if they were here to see him. No woman in their right mind would want to dance with smelly pigs: not even for his hand in marriage. He heard that two of the women drowned in the milk, succumbing to severe dairy allergies. It was sad how far people would go for a bit of power. Sad as it was for the two women, at least their deaths would go down in the history books. He rubbed his hands together, he had to think of some more tasks. He couldn't wait to see the maidens flee because they were unable to let his dragon sleep.
Chloe GilholyPublished 3 years ago in HumansInbu’s Heart 6/10
The royal gardens were filled with velvet tents catered to the bachelorettes. Mei popped her head out of her tent a few times just to hear what the guards were saying. Would there be any punishments if they saw her ragged hair? She did not know or care. In the working class, there was more to life than a simple hairstyle.
Chloe GilholyPublished 3 years ago in Humans