literature
Whether written centuries ago or just last year, literary couples show that love is timeless.
The Virtue in Misfortune
This is more money than I’ve ever had in a bank account and not even half of what I’ve borrowed in the past five years. I didn’t notice the wire transfer into my account for six days since I only check my bank account on paydays. This is a form of self-soothing, a learned behavior from my days of fad dieting, when I’d only weigh myself first thing in the morning, completely naked, before taking in even a sip of water. Back in those days, my weight ruled my life, controlled where I would go and who I would see (or rather, who I would allow to see me) for the day. As time went by, I convinced myself that I had overcome my body insecurity, although really I had just replaced the number on my scale with the number in my bank account as the primary metric of my self-worth.
By Keely O'Keefe6 years ago in Humans
The Reflection
The Reflection It had a glimmer about it, a shine that could penetrate a soul. It was almost as if the little black book had a language of its own. As the young man knelt to say goodbye to his best friend for the last time, a single tear shed from his cheek. As the teardrop collided with the puddle beneath him, it became one with the rain, finding itself in the harmony of eternity. As the man rose from his friend's grave he noticed from the corner of his eye the little black book. The book laid atop a coral cedar bench and like a magnet spoke in a language he did not yet understand. Broken in the loss of his companion the man had no idea of the journey he would soon endure...soul depleted, body weak, the overdose came just months after he lost his teaching job in heroic fashion. “Hey Nicky it’s time to go” we're going to be late! (echoed from the limousine) “give me a minute” he yelled back as he slowly walked towards the vibrant, perfectly strung leather book. As he approached the bench he noticed a green glow shimmering from the pages and a resonance that he had only felt before while in deep meditation with his students. He rubbed the tears from his eyes but the glow reamined, it wasn't an illusion.
By The D.r.3 A.M.S Experience6 years ago in Humans
The little black book that saved a hero.
The little black book that saved a hero. In 1748 a Black baby named John was born enslaved in Virginia. His owner was an important military man. As John grew up his owner saw something special in him, and taught him how to read and write. That way John was able to help him more. John was fascinated by reading and writing. He always thought they were skills that would serve him well for the rest of his life. And he was right!
By Marisol Gonzalez6 years ago in Humans
238 Pages
The first and last words have always been the hardest to write. There is something in the beginning of an idea that instills a sort of uncertainty which soon becomes a sort of paralysis which soon becomes yet another unfinished story at risk of never being told. I want to tell my stories. They want to be told. They deserve to be told.
By John Dodge6 years ago in Humans
The Book Will Do the Rest
Mel hated taking the city bus. Waiting in the cold, the awkward movement around other strangers crowded around a dirty shelter. That spike of anxiety as the bus pulled up, Mel always worried she wouldn’t have enough money on her card or that she wouldn’t find a seat. Or worst of all, the excitement of finding an empty row, only to have a stranger ask her to move her bag two stops later.
By Emily Gray6 years ago in Humans
One Magical Morning
Lucy winced as another drop of water yanked her out of a warm, fuzzy dream and into cold, wet Seattle. A storm had knocked out the power the day before, and now there was a leak in the roof. She sat up and groaned, went and got a bucket from the closet, and called the maintenance guy, Greg. He told her that he had his hands full and that he’d be there as soon as he could. She checked the time on her phone.
By Sage Ikeda6 years ago in Humans
