literature

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

Valencia Darling
The air was moist and sticky; he had pulled all of the curtains to block out any surveillance of him in this brothel-ran motel. He had audio, visual, and tracking on two R13 persons of interest list, but why? I’d followed the potential operative from LAX to Ivato International Airport, right outside of Madagascar to the brothel. He was good at covering his tracks just not good enough for me. Now that I knew his position and he had no security, I took the opportunity to get acquainted with my new friend.
By Keia Thomas6 years ago in Humans
The Lack of You
Amongst all the things that do not make sense about you, your disappearance is your most mundane feature. The day you ceased existing in my life, you left me with only the residues of your thoughts. Your black notebook, neatly placed on your bed; its spine, broken; its pages, swollen; its cover: open. On its first page, dry and smudged ink announces you: Nile.
By Omer Othman6 years ago in Humans
An Evening with Samantha Bowenger
(1) Harold stood up and stretched. He walked over to the window to get a view of the streetlights below. From the 32nd floor, he could see the tops of umbrellas appear and disappear as city folk scrambled in and out of taxicabs. It was a late night, one of many since he moved out to the city a year ago.
By Chihiro Fukami6 years ago in Humans
The Green Cigar Box
The Green Cigar Box Steve was woken up by the smack of a little black notebook across his face. He winced. “We’re gonna be LATE!”
By Steve M6 years ago in Humans
Joana's Inheritance
My friend Sandra asked me to stop by the Farmer’s Market to pick up some brown eggs so she could bake goodies for our annual Bakeoff that our Bed and Breakfast (Inn as we called it) sponsored. We made the categories a little different this year including both teens and juniors as well as a vintage category.
By Sherry Koch6 years ago in Humans
Arabic Calligraphy, Islamic Art, and a Little Black Notebook
“And that’s why my property taxes are going up? For the radical left-wing indoctrination of my youngest daughter?” Hannah lowered the volume pumping through her earphones as her mother vented.
By Hekmat Aboukhater6 years ago in Humans
Dreams.
Dreams. Pastel pink clouds faded in the golden sky as the sun set on city lines. If one was out, enjoying the hug of a spring breeze and the smell of food from a variety of restaurants ready to satisfy any craving, then it could possibly be described as the perfect end to the day.
By Bianca Valentin6 years ago in Humans
Hannah's Diary
Hannah's Diary The Great struggle with life is finding the purpose in it all. It is truly an ironic existence to have to wait to fulfil our purpose and a tragedy never to get that chance. Luckily, reader, what I will share is a story of how I was fortunate to find mine.
By Maffu Bibase6 years ago in Humans
A Way Out
A Way Out: A Short Story It was her 3rd week of writing in the little black book. He would sometimes peek at the contents. She had intertwined favorite quotes, a recipe or two (when was she ever cooking?), three gratitude platitudes a day, some class notes from a manifestation course she picked up, and one flattened peachy-pink flower that reminded him of her laughing blush. She didn't blush or laugh much anymore. She was too busy writing her way out. She was a toucher; she liked things she could pick up and hold, feel their texture. Their place had filled with magical, feel-good baubles ever since he’d met her, blue velvet ribbons around his blackout drapes, smooth and shiny selenite bookends, the softest towels, even the kitchenware had cozies. She once told him she wished that she had his soft skin. Sometimes he thought he caught a moment where she caressed the soft leather right before setting it aside and fixing her tea and getting down to business. If she felt him looking, she might for a hesitant moment slip a sideways glance his direction and he’d smile. She could feel him smile. He knew that. They used to pretend they could feel each other’s gazes just before they journeyed up the body to meet the other’s —- he wasn’t always sure that was true before or that she felt it just like he had, but now he was sure.
By kat6 years ago in Humans
The Gift of a Notebook
Kindly reader, you must be tired by now, but permit me to tell yet one more story. It touches not only upon the work of a writer—who must constantly traffic in fleeting details and incidentals—but also upon the life of any person who day after day must remind themselves of a number of tedious objectives. Naturally, my story has to do with one’s most vital companion, the little black notebook. It is perfectly suited to life’s journeys, both within and without; hence St. George would find one just as handy to record his impression of the dragon’s mesquite breath as would St. Jerome, the scholarly saint, to record his latest clever translation of an ancient Greek poem.
By Willa Chernov6 years ago in Humans
Laura’s Promise
Laura’s Promise And the little black book There where a hundred pages of promises bond in Italian leather. The bookmark fasten to the book forever forgiving laid on the ink tear-stained page of her worst unkept promise.
By JD Helfert6 years ago in Humans
The Painted Lady
Southern California. Thousands of black silhouettes float, backlit by the sea. Migrating in passing shadows, a collection of fragments. Almost without gravity, like cottonwood when it falls. A broken tessellation. An unformed image.
By Stephanie Cristello6 years ago in Humans