literature
Whether written centuries ago or just last year, literary couples show that love is timeless.
What Are The Odds?
“And the kick is . . . good!” Mario clenched his fists, grimacing as the football cleaned the uprights with just 14 seconds left in the fourth quarter. Unless his team produced another hail Mary miracle, his bet just spiraled down the drain. He pulled out a worn black pebble-leather notebook tucked inside the Sunday paper on the sofa beside him. It served as his ledger, a history book of wagers won and lost. His thick fingers slid the elastic band from around the pages and turned to a page marked by a frayed black ribbon nearly at the end of the book. He penned, “minus $1,000” in a column and focused on the total. Five hundred dollars of his family’s $5,000 savings remained. The bets had always paid off, until they didn’t, and now their savings had all but vanished. What would he tell Annette?
By Ellen Langas6 years ago in Humans
The Journal
A wake-up call from a doctor jolts Me up from a deep sleep and it seems like I’ve been injured. The doctor says "it's your communal joint" the nurse that has been standing in the corner seemingly watching, waiting for Me to wake up begins the procedures once I sit up.
By Jeremy Alarie6 years ago in Humans
A Bird in the Hand
They always came this way. Along by the canal, checking out the birds wading for crabs in the murky shallows, motionless one minute then suddenly bursting to life, thrusting their beaks into the thick mud in search of prey. Then through the Botanic Gardens, the lush rainforest plants luring them in with the promise of cool shade. Giant tree ferns and magnetic palms towering overhead, always with at least one dry frond rustling in the sweet, warm, silky breeze, scraping and scratching at the tree trunk. The rich, fertile smells of the earth after the night’s rain. Pausing now and then to take in the various tropical flowers, with their garish colours and strikingly odd shapes, then past the abundance of pink and white waterlilies gracing the surface of the pond. Quickly across the hot tarmac of the main road, empty of tourists in the wet season, and into the little park by the aged care place on the corner before heading home.
By Melanie Smith6 years ago in Humans
The Time is Now
Morning always conjured up dread for Terre. It was the moment where she paused in front of the large window in her kitchen that overlooked the skyline of Viridian. The spread of vivid hues across the sky would always manage to assuage her somber mood. But that morning the colors were muted grays reflecting against the throng of skyscrapers as the sun loomed behind thick blossoming clouds.
By Esmoore Shurpit6 years ago in Humans
The Summit
He stepped out onto the stage and a light lit up inside him, pulsating throughout his entire being before settling somewhere deep inside his heart. This stage was his moment and his body tingled with the anticipation to perform. Closing his eyes, he could feel the heat of the stage lights kiss his skin and welcome him into their warm embrace, whispering to him that he was home. Somewhere to his left, he could hear his bassist silently slide his fingers over the strings. To his right, his guitarist shuffled from foot to foot in an attempt to expel last minute jitters. And, finally, behind him was the drummer who was softly tapping out rhythms with his fingers. They were ready.
By Madi Thomas6 years ago in Humans
Traeh
It's summer vacation, Tim, 20 years old kid, is getting ready for yearly visit to his grand parents. After 48 hours long journey, Tim along with his parents reached their grand parents home in the suburbs of Roseville town located in eastern Melbourne, Australia. Everyone was delighted, after having tummy full of delicious dinner, Tim approached his grand father, Jack and requested for story, to which Jack said, "How about we roast some marshmallows in our backyard while I tell you a story about a mythical 'Black book' called Traeh?!". Tim excitedly replied, "Awesome, I will get the sticks and marshmallows".
By atul sudhakar6 years ago in Humans
A Mexican love story
I Love is not measured by diamond rings, but snoring nights —Mercedes Barcha Prado, Nobel Prize in Literature 1990 - Mercedes came like every morning and placed a yellow flower upon my desk. “Gabriel, what are you going to write today?” she asked me.
By Arnoldo Alonso6 years ago in Humans
Priceless
Vicki slowly pulled into the dark, vacant parking lot of a suburban strip mall. She checked her uniform and equipment: coveralls, thick boots, headlamp, stick, leather gloves, and duffle bag. This was only her second night on the job, and her nerves were getting the best of her.
By [email protected]6 years ago in Humans
Book of Secrets
Book of Secrets My True Identity How is this possible that the dead man is my husband; just met him today, and now I am riding in the back seat of a police cruiser! The reverberation of my heart palpitating could be heard seeping through my body. It has caused the officer in the passenger seat to turn and ask if I was fine. Under my breath I mumbled, “Of course I am not fine. You just told me that I am married to a dead man and I’ve never been married before.”
By Yolanda Hankton6 years ago in Humans
