literature
Whether written centuries ago or just last year, literary couples show that love is timeless.
Awash in Christmas Spirit
This holiday season, I had a shift at Rhode Island Hospital that was pretty rough. This wasn’t something I had to deal with back at home. In the middle of the Christmas party, some poor guy was wheeled in with a tree branch, complete with steel ornament hooks, through his upper leg. The decorations had been taken off already, and there was blood everywhere. I’m sorry, I have to gross you out because I work in the emergency room. It’s a lot of responsibility for a fifteen-year-old, but I’m the only one with the Talents for the job. So even though I’d rather be studying fourth-dimension architecture, I get it done.
By Jessica Knauss6 years ago in Humans
So, about that contest…
20k? Nice number. Strong. When I saw the check I just stared at it for a long time. I never thought, when I turned this in at the 11th hour, little black book in hand…that it would be selected. Sitting here, typing out this proverbial Hail Mary pass whilst entertaining the company of an intriguing prospect, while simultaneously extinguishing the yearning flame of another prospect. She was long tenured, and indeed seemed like someone worthy of a permanent fixture on my mantle. Tragic, then, that she would take her position for granted time and time again. Her loss, ultimately. Much too late for you to cry, said the esteemed Marvin Gaye, with his legendary ass. Little black book, you seem a product of another time, actual physical property for me to scribble in, scratch out or write over, tear out and ball up in embarrassment only to just narrowly miss in my bedroom trash can with a hoop that is certainly not regulation size. I’m watching You, the Netflix sizzler that every woman your age knows, and every child with Netflix access (including your own, somewhat disturbingly) has seen. It’s decent. That’s neither here nor there, they aren’t paying you for this check winning publicity. White people shit. Too bad this is being written right after then end of black history month. Though, nobody really cares about it but us, my darling little black holder of secrets. By secrets I mean mostly complaints with a dab of introspection. Tiny dab. Yo. This is the third time I’ve tried to write this story to make it regulation length and the server is crashing or something and my changes are not being saved. Please make some kind of feature that saves changes automatically after a brief period of time. It’s very frustrating to try and make this happen in a manner that’ll make the powers that be pleased, only to see it deleted randomly. My willpower has been drained to almost nothing, and this experience is adding to my recent stress which is just….through the roof right now. Little black book admittedly if I wasn’t writing in you right now I might fling you across the room at blazing speeds. Is twenty thousand dollars worth this stress? Remains to be seen after I take the check to cash it. Actually, I forgot that it’s going to be deposited automatically in some third party thing. Forgot what it was called but that’s a moot point now. Man, I’m so mad! I think I was really hitting a groove. Trying to grasp what I was writing about immediately before this. I think I mentioned something about Hollywood whitewashing foreign language classics, and wondering why since they so rarely work out. Train to Busan is what sparked that rabbit hole exploration. Then I spoke about The Departed being maybe the only good one. Definitely the only one I could think of off the top. Speaking of off the top, I’m watching these battle raps on YouTube. Amazing stuff. These cats are definitely superhuman esque. Couldn’t be me. I would be so salty any time anyone said anything about my family or myself. Too thin skinned for that shit. Hats off to them though. Ah yea made me think of 8 Mile after that, and the fire ass soundtrack that accompanied it being something like a phenomenon. Oh yes! LL Cool J. Any Given Sunday. This is some kind of fucked up backwards-ass version of six degrees of Kevin Bacon. I think that’s the name of that game. Anyway, piecing this lost thought process together is annoying. But that makes me think
By Filip Lizanna6 years ago in Humans
Finding Purpose
Lily let out a frustrated sigh as she ended the phone call. She took note of the ragged, peeling edges of her fingernails, destroyed by her current stress level. Scott Frances, her husband’s attorney, had smugly issued the proposition that would determine her fate. To remain happily, albeit aggravatingly wed, Lily had 48 hours and $20,000 to find her purpose.
By Hayley Marks6 years ago in Humans
Albert’s Resolution
Albert plopped down on a park bench to rest for just a moment. He had just finished one lap around the park jogging path and was exhausted. His new year’s resolution in full force; however, he was already having doubts. Albert gazed over his right shoulder to survey his surroundings and as his head periscoped back towards the path he was to endure; I don’t want to, I really don’t want to, he thought, he caught a glimpse of It, from his periphery vision. It was just sitting there, on the other side of the bench, dusty, and slightly stained in the corners where the original luster of the cover material had been worn away from use. A notebook. A black note book, just the right size to fit snuggly between curled fingers and the palm of its owner. Albert was delightfully distracted from his New Years desolation, err, resolution.
By Loren Wilson6 years ago in Humans
The Trade
Two severed rabbit heads were mounted above the door frame of the Crystal Shelter, facing opposite directions of each other viewing the left and right flank of the entrance. The head on the right, which was facing Eloise and Olivia bore an expression suggesting it was still processing its transformation from living creature to taxidermy ornament.
By Jeff Hernandez6 years ago in Humans
The Empty Boat Down Ternham Way
I've always preferred running outdoors. It gives you the feeling of going somewhere, even if it's nowhere in particular. You secretly hope to discover something new. There's a canal that cuts through Ternham way. It's fringed by far reaching trees that seem to peer at their own liquid reflections when the water's still, even as they move with the breeze. The dirt path lining it was the perfect running route.
By Nessy Writer6 years ago in Humans
These Secrets Aren't My Truth
When you suggest we peek through the cracked front door to make sure everything is okay, I pause. The cadence of your rushed syllables meets the gossamer from my icy sigh. We are almost home, I think, as I stand next to you on the sidewalk, parallel to a row of houses. Your eyes plead with me, a palpable urgency. I put my hands in my jacket, feel the alcohol warming my insides, release another sigh. It is late, the bar closed, and I want to go home.
By Shelby Newsome6 years ago in Humans
Saffron
Jimmy, Johnny and Joey’s lives changed forever. At 2:07am on Saturday June 15th, 1984 a sinkhole swallowed their neighborhood. They snuck out of their homes the night before to raise hell in the city. They were 17. Best friends since kindergarten they couldn’t believe their eyes.
By Buck Bracey6 years ago in Humans
Curious Little Find
My mother recently passed, and her lawyer had contacted me requesting a meeting regarding her Will. I arrived in the downtown area early and with time on my hands, I decided to wonder around this little bookstore I found tucked back between its towering neighbors; like a child hiding behind its mother. Dust danced in a weak stream of light that ushered me in the door. The musty scent aged books give off comforts me as I peruse the shelves hoping to find something of interest. I happen upon this black, label less, journal. My interest now peaked, I flipped through the pages when I noticed the time. I quickly made my way to the counter to purchase my find and headed out to my meeting.
By 6 years ago in Humans
