literature
Whether written centuries ago or just last year, literary couples show that love is timeless.
Notes to Henry
Henry stirred in his bed sheets, wallowing in a warm comfort. His eyes slowly gazed across the room, until they eventually fell upon his nightstand. A sticky note was placed on the shaft of a lamp, and a light, gentle scrawling told him to head into the bathroom. Henry scoffed and grinned at the note before turning his attention to the window. It looked like a beautiful day in the middle of the fall. Orange, red, and yellow trees gently swayed, and the water down by the lake glistened with the rising sun. The whole scene looked even more picturesque due to his failing vision, giving everything an oily and blended appearance. Henry immediately thought about how he often went down to that lake to go swimming or skip rocks with his old high school friends.
By Richard Pasquali6 years ago in Humans
Adam Helps, and Heals
It has been 4 months since Adam won $20,000 in the writing contest. He immediately gave it away. He’s delighted by the idea of funding dreams, and has started “Community Camaraderie Cures” (CCC) to funnel money through. It was his dad’s idea to make it a non-profit, and the family attorney set it up.
By @choosethesmiles6 years ago in Humans
Nadia's Little Black Book
Sunlight poured into the grimy, frosted over El windows, falling in neat lines across the floor and the laps of passengers. One such ray of light gently came to settle squarely on the upper body of a tall young woman, illuminating the reddish highlights in her luxurious auburn locks. She looked up, irritated, but there was no one to rebut her anger but the sun itself, and she’d long since given up on chasing pots of gold at the end of rainbows. Her long, slender fingers were clenched rather tensely around a little black leather notebook; its edges frayed and spine battered. The woman’s name was Nadia, and her life would prove to be more interesting than most.
By Brynn Sailing6 years ago in Humans
A Lady of Riga
It was ten to one. I’d watched the crowd inside the Hotel Lutetia bar thin out as people moved on from drinks to lunch, and now it was only me, the bartender, and four noisy Germans who showed no interest in food. I sat in the corner, alone, with the morning’s Figaro rolled up on the table in front of me, as instructed. Through the big picture window I watched blurry figures hurrying through the fog on Boulevard Raspail.
By Nick Goulding6 years ago in Humans
The Bench
The bench in Jackson Park is like a million benches across the world. Fairly nondescript to the casual passerby, but to the trained eye, the bench had a plethora of character. The frame was made of wrought iron with the side railings twisted and decorated to look like ivy. The wood was cherry, and to the trained eye, it was the only cherry bench in the park with the seat pitched at just the perfect angle for a relaxing sojourn with the top curled back slightly, like the bottom of a scroll.
By Dion McGill 6 years ago in Humans
Snake Eyes
“Snake eyes!” the croupier called out in a redundant reminder. A roll of two one’s on a pair of these cruel six-sided dice is one in 36. That’s a mere 2.77%, yet here I was rolling snake eyes at the Craps table as if it were the only numbers printed on the dice.
By Frank Monaco6 years ago in Humans
