literature

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

Gifts
Scott splashed through a puddle and looked over his shoulder to see his younger sister shuffling her feet in preparation to jump. He hoisted the small girl onto his shoulders, eliciting gleeful giggles. It took him several strides to cross the recently flooded streets. Autumn leaves packed the runoff drain creating small ponds against the sidewalk.
By Benny Shlesinger6 years ago in Humans
An Abnormally Overcast Day
On the abnormally overcast day for LA, Ilya pulled the hoodie over his shaggy hair. His empty hands went into the empty pockets of his jeans, as he pushed through the weighty feeling of disappointment trying to sink him. There was still three more miles on his journey and the pavement was just meeting a hill.
By Tully Templeman6 years ago in Humans
Beneath The Hawthorn Tree
It began with a letter—or, perhaps it is more accurate to say it was a note, a gallop of lines strung out on the page, quickly done, but by a confident hand, with a swollen cursive unabashed at the swallowing of space. The edge of the sheet was uneven, crumpled, quickly gathered up and torn, and on turning it over, I found it to be the contents page of a book, a translation of Hesiod’s Works and Days. Inexplicably I felt a flicker in the back of my mind at this, like that of an old memory yawning—a light flaring on in a dark window. Flipped back over and smoothed, I read:
By Mia Francis6 years ago in Humans
Thoughts Worth Writing
A long time ago, I met a man in a small country bar. This is his story. It’s about love and heartbreak. * “Five years together and even after I forgave Evie for cheating on me she left again. I thought we moved on from the whole cheating thing, but now with her gone again the whole thing just makes me sick. That’s what I mean when I say love hurts.”
By Abby Himes6 years ago in Humans
The Resident
I think this is rock bottom. I’m still a little drunk, heels in hand, hobbling home to my third-floor cave. Just last weekend, I told myself that I would never wake up next to Chris again but here I am doing the walk of shame once more. There’s a wad of mail in front of my door since I’ve failed to retrieve it for weeks now. My headache swells as I bend down to scoop it up. I hate my life.
By Tosin Sanusi6 years ago in Humans
Irony
My eyes have been adjusted to the gloomy color that heavily possesses this cold and hungry room. The first day those guys chained me to a chair in here it reeked of filth and a strong but addicting whiff of paint. Is this someone's basement? Pure observation is at a disadvantage considering the only source of light comes from a dim orange lamp that hangs on the corner of the wall about a meter to my left. This room is mostly empty, excluding the several dark shapes that I can barely identify. One thing I must pinpoint is the past presence of other people.
By Kalina Xiong6 years ago in Humans
Free Wheel
The sound of honking cars hit Kofi with the heavy waft of gasoline vapors. He rolled the window back up and shifted behind the steering wheel. Even with the buttons of his khaki uniform undone, he still felt the overwhelming heat trace its way down his neck and steadily form two yellow puddles under each of his armpits. But he dared not touch the blue monitor control panel to turn on the air conditioner. His muscles still tensed when he thought back on the resounding slap from Mr. Korede after he had kept the air conditioner on for too long. “Mr. Kofi,” he had threatened afterwards, “if you care to act like an Alahji, you can start looking for another job.” When he drove out of the compound that day and gave a half-hearted nod to the usual guards at the front gates, he had thought that maybe he would.
By PamCom6 years ago in Humans
The Very First Step
A treasure hunt! That was the thesis topic that poofed into the mind of seventeen-year-old freshman Anna. It was simple, really: have her friends find a valuable gift she concealed somewhere on the university campus courtyard, and record their behavior. And it was a loving way to give back to the community.
By Danielle6 years ago in Humans
The Storyteller
The Storyteller Though it was not at the point in time, his title, the extent of my knowledge on the man is so minuscule I could not not share with you even his name. Which is why I will refer to him in this story as the man, whom you will see, he came to be.
By Talarah Pedrocchi Roelofs6 years ago in Humans
Invisible
“Invisible” (written by Naomi Irvin, 2021) If you had one superpower, what would it be? I’ve always wanted to be invisible.
By Naomi Irvin6 years ago in Humans
Silver Lining
Silver Lining Preface She opened the mailbox and peered inside. There were the usual local ads, a utility bills, and something unfamiliar. When she reached farther to remove the contents of the mailbox, she discovered it was a small, black leather notebook. She had no idea who sent the notebook or why it was in her mailbox, only that it was there and she felt compelled to remove it. She would open it and view its contents later, if there were any. It was feeding time. There were chickens, horses, and a golden retriever mix, all waiting patiently for their evening meals. They were hungry as usual.
By Bea Nowicki6 years ago in Humans
Sludge Bee
5:00pm, June, hot sun and dusty air. It’s quiet, but then it has been for years. Me and fifty other people stand on the platform waiting for no train to come. The mayor has ordered that we ‘uphold values of normality’ to pretend things are like they were. We do this every day, morning and evening. It’s not that we don’t work, we do. I am part of the crop research team. But we don’t leave town because it’s not safe. We might be able to give strawberries a go this summer.
By Ben Turner6 years ago in Humans