literature
Whether written centuries ago or just last year, literary couples show that love is timeless.
Freedom
"It's time to go!" He spoke with an enthusiastic, cheery voice. He had finally done it - he made his dreams come true after all of his efforts. Granted, it wasn't his dream job to be an affiliate marketer, but now that everything was all set up and organized the entire show basically ran itself! He was making $10,000/mo after taxes, his employees were happy with their work, and he could sit back in his chair after a long time and sigh! Ahhh…
By Gabriel Mohr6 years ago in Humans
Silhouette and Shadow
I am the space under the stairs. A hidden nest under the eaves. Pause between words spoken during difficult conversation. A yellowed photograph. Reminder of before, when posing in time was a moment, and not an event. I reside within and between furrows and wrinkles. Deep sighs and passion pleas. I am a secret and a scream. The treasure and the tragedy. I am the space under the stairs.
By Kelly Girnas6 years ago in Humans
The White Book
One day Bill got home from his barista job and looked around his small apartment in frustration. “God, today was just the worst. In fact everyday is awful!” he screamed. “Every day I work myself to the bone just so I can barely scrape by. Then I endure a two hour trip through the shadiest part of the city just to get home to a dirty shithole. And! On top of that top, this whole goddamn building is two cracks away from being condemned! God damn it all!” Roaring with anger, he charged into the pile of clothes, books, food and paper in the middle of his living room. Venting his frustration, he grabbed whatever he could and threw them around randomly. In his mad dash he ended up power throwing a book against the wall. Focused on his task, he barely heard it slam. A sudden flash of light got his attention. Letting go of the pile, he stared at the book. It was laying open, emitting a bright column of green light from it's pages. Then the light faded and revealed a small figure. He was about two and a half feet high, with a mop of messy red hair spilling out from a small green cap. He had a red goatee and was smoking a pipe. He was wearing a green coat, green shorts, a white shirt, long white socks and pointed brown shoes. He stepped off the book and bowed. “Top of te morning to you, my name be Aesopaskin. May tis be a fine day for us all.”
By John Gallagher6 years ago in Humans
The Blind Healer
Many would cower and cry if they had to face up to the events that took place in Fiona’s life since she had been born. People she knew, and some she didn’t, had been nagging at her to write a book, her autobiography or even just the things she knew or had experienced with natural treatments, the animals she rescued or how she dealt with her rare genetic condition that took away most of her eye sight.
By Claire Byrne6 years ago in Humans
The Eternity of the Sea
I wake up to the siren song of the sea, that damp salty mistress shoving her low tide funk up my nose. There is no ignoring the summons of the sea and the man next to me won’t notice if I go, he doesn’t notice when I stay so really it shouldn’t make a difference. I acknowledge that this is probably a bad sign as I shove myself into jeans that are getting a little too tight and throw on a hoodie to fend off the damp chill waiting for me outside. I ease the screen door shut so it doesn’t slam and walk down the short drive of our apartment building to the cobbled street below. I turn right sharply and start up the incline to the main square, my hips rolling with each step and the empty feeling I started my morning with is reflected in the streets, too early on a Saturday for the shop owners and tourists to be out. I make my way through the open plaza of what is considered downtown in this tiny seaside port, past closed shops with their window displays slightly fogged up with moisture, showing off everything from clothing to local art. This is one of the things I love about this little slice of paradise, you never know what you’ll find in the shops, the wares shifting and changing weekly. Turning down one of the branching side streets I make my way to the quay on the edge of a park lined with large oak trees, their thick arms spreading and reaching toward the sky as if to tickle the stars, long since snuffed out in the early morning gloom.
By Abigail Cooke6 years ago in Humans
Like Dust
Marco walked in the shadow of twisted shapes of steel. He paid no attention to them or the ruins right at his side. Instead, he only counted his footsteps. He grew lean after the end. He was once a fat financial tycoon who counted in thousands and millions. Now he counted one step at a time. And then events to which he payed no attention became a global catastrophe. In what seemed like a matter of hours he was cast from a life of luxury into one of impoverished solitude. Now he struggled to live.
By Gabriel Vera6 years ago in Humans
Betty Doll
It was safest to look for cans after three in the afternoon. In the big dumpsters, anyway. Some restaurants were lazy enough to toss the cans from a busy lunch service, workers in offices discarded their empty boosts of caffeine, and at the bottom was a layer of morning trash bags taken out by folks rushing to work. If Beatrice stayed away from the blue recycling bins, nobody shouted at her, mostly.
By Lorelei Armstrong6 years ago in Humans
