literature
Whether written centuries ago or just last year, literary couples show that love is timeless.
Fortune
The moonlight found one twisted shade, one uncovered corner of glass pane to shoot itself into. Late winter, pre-dawn, the 4 am frost thick and obscuring its gaze, sending it shattered, cascading in several directions at once. One beam caught Edmund's eye, but he was already awake, having completed his mandatory two hours of sleep for the night. He rubbed his palms down his face twice, (no more, no less) tossed the blanket aside, and rose in spite of the unnatural heaviness of his limbs. Some days felt heavier than others. He flipped on the lamp, but the glow of the moon alone had done a better job of lighting the room.
By Tiffany Storrs6 years ago in Humans
The Signature
I looked down at the small, crinkled paper in my quivering hands, afraid it may vanish if I looked away. My heart pounded hard against my chest, beating in time with the blood pounding in my ears. Was this some kind of sick dream? Another dream of a fairy tale ending that was moments away from shattering into the reality around me?
By Carly Culin6 years ago in Humans
The Farmer and the Witch
Among witches, there is a tradition of keeping a grimoire, a personal book of magical secrets and spells that can be tucked into blankets for safekeeping during hasty escapes or passed on to daughters upon death. Unfortunately, as a first-generation Witch descended from Baptists, Margaret had no such wisdom passed along to her and no experience of grimoires. There were rumours of a great-great-aunt who had told fortunes and performed in vaudeville wearing snakes draped around her neck, but alas, no books or anything of “that sort” had filtered through the spiritual sanitizing of the born-again generations.
By Rebekah Jamieson6 years ago in Humans
Tidy
“One day I’ll write it,” she said. The notebook lay flat on the counter, not moving. To Chelsea, it looked stern. Black leather on a white marble countertop, the edges crisp and unmoving. She hadn’t looked inside for a long time, but she knew what was there.
By Bridget Brooks6 years ago in Humans
Billy's Book
Allison knew when she touched the surface of the black notebook that she had found something special. Its cover was worn leather with areas rubbed down from repeated use. She carefully pulled it out of the wall she was tearing down and blew decades of dust off its cover to read the name inscribed at the bottom: William “Billy” Ritter Jr. Sitting on the floor, she unwound the leather strap holding the book closed. Carefully, turning the cover she was surprised to see how well the inside had been maintained. The first page again listed the owner and included his birthdate of January 12, 1889. “Wow!” Allison said to herself. “This notebook is over a hundred years old!”
By Felicia Glenn Genovese6 years ago in Humans
Carlos
My hand trembled, revolting against me, as I took the phone in my hand. My eyes first commanded my gaze towards the sackcloth bag I had kept under my bed for decades, then to the black pocket notebook on my night table. The book’s cover was worn and wearied, the scratches and ridges on its face like those on my own. I suppose seventy years is always long, but it had been a long seventy years since I had first taken pen to those pages. Yet the first page was still empty except for the nine digits that had already been there on the day the book entered my life. I never wrote on that first page, though all the other pages of the book overflowed with redacted memories, each painful or joyous moment asking the same question, just not in words: do I call now?
By Alexander Xavier Urpí6 years ago in Humans
Easy
It was easy, too easy. Yet Byron also had great respect for the process. He had learned never to assume it was going to work each time. As he placed the folded piece of paper in the pocket of the notebook he would think, maybe this is the last time. But it never was. Each morning he’d wake up and there would be another wad of cash in the pocket where the note had been.
By Catie Dargue6 years ago in Humans
The Heavy Wool Coat
The park was under total darkness of night, and it had begun to lightly rain, but Sofia didn’t care about that right now. She didn’t want to go home, not to stare at an empty apartment and think about Ryan’s affairs. Her mind was swirling with wondering thoughts... what had she done to deserve such betrayal? Could she afford to renew the lease without him? Would she even want to?... The cool rain felt cleansing, hiding the tracks her tears made from the corner of her eyes down her chin and onto her chest. Sofia didn’t know how many hours she had been sitting on that park bench, or what time it was when she felt a hand on her shoulder.
By Alicia Stamm6 years ago in Humans
Trust and Hope
Trust and Hope The words just started to flow – so many words, full sentences, paragraphs of thoughts. She wrote them down as they flew out of her mind straight to the paper. Words that she would treasure – she didn’t even know the importance at the time but as the words came, she wrote. The words would come at odd times – sometimes in the morning, sometimes during her workday, and sometimes in the middle of the night. She would write them down whenever the thoughts flew in her small black book.
By Catherine G. Anderson-Keller6 years ago in Humans
Black Book, Red Label
Two girls. Soulless laughter. Empty martini glasses. Suddenly, joined by two men. --- Back in the pocket went the little notebook, tucked close to the heart, a perfect black placeholder for where the ol’ ticker should be. The Midnight Pearl was full tonight, as most taverns are on Friday night. Groups of friends huddled around each other, filling the Pearl with inebriated laughs and voices. Let the hair down, baby. Time to relax. Those who arrived by themselves took their place at the bar, leaning heavy on the bar top, their shoulders visibly hunched by an unseen weight.
By Johnnie Walker6 years ago in Humans
Fare Tredici
Lucy jumped out of her car and raced up to the bar in Hunni’s Tavern. Her three friends followed at a more sedate pace. They had spent most of the day at Piney Willow Golf Club about 70 miles south down US 1. They drove the beer carts for Hunni’s annual golf tournament where Hunni and 53 of his fellow golfers teed up for a 10:00 a.m. shotgun start. Aubrey Bosephus Hunnicutt, “Hunni” arranged for a chartered bus to transport tournament participants from the parking lot of his tavern to Piney Willow, all covered in the $60 entry fee. Hunni drove down in his Subaru with his friends Artie and Keith.
By Amanda Woomer6 years ago in Humans
