literature
Whether written centuries ago or just last year, literary couples show that love is timeless.
He's Losing Her Respect
She met him at a bar about a week ago… Tall, muscular, charming, confident… He was everything she could have asked for that night, especially when compared to the other men there. There was something about him that was different, almost as if he carried himself in a different way… A better way.
By Gabriel Mohr6 years ago in Humans
Left Hand, Write Hand
I had that dream again. You know the one. In the dream, I’m standing in the middle of a large, empty room. There’s nothing in it but a black lacquer table that’s lit from above, as though by a spotlight. On the table are two things: a small black notebook and a stack of thousand-dollar bills. Twenty of them. Every time. I know because I’ve counted. Over and over.
By T. Strange6 years ago in Humans
Lana
The sun rose at about 7:15-ish here in Milan. I usually get up when the sun starts to shine on my face and wake me from my slumber. From waking up I sat at my desk with a little black, leather-covered book sat in the center. I always feel the outside of it before I open it to write down the dreams I had the night before because it reminded me of my grandpa's old car seats. I have very fond memories of that car, especially when we used to go get Italian icees every summer. After I’ve finished writing in my journal I get on with my morning routine and before I head out I always grab a cup of coffee and two buttered croissants from this little shop down the block from my house. The man that works there, Tomeo, is my dad’s best friend. I always viewed him as my uncle even when we don’t have any blood relation to each other. He always had the AC on, but always complained about bills piling up. I used to tell myself that if he never complained about the bills, something wasn’t right and I am right about it most of the time. Then I head out to go meet up with my date at the grand canal in Venice. I knew that it would be a three-hour trip more or less to get there, but he was kinda cute so I didn’t mind as long as he didn’t. As I am sitting on the train, I put in my earbuds to block out any noise and also to listen to a new album that Jeremy Zucker had put out. He kind of reminded me of myself because of how hopelessly romantic I could be and emotionally attached, but maybe that’s only true when he writes music. After an hour goes by, I start to get impatient and so I look up to see how far we were when I saw a strange man sitting in front of me. He looked to be around my age and his face had a stripe of freckles, from one ear to the other. His glasses were round and gold and his eyes were light blue and dangerous. He was a skinny guy, but had veins all over his arms, and when I noticed that my heart began to pound. As he looked at me in a way that made me extremely uncomfortable he picked up a black book, identical to my black book. So then I pull my black book and I look at him, distraught, but his face continues to show no emotion and I don’t even think he noticed I grabbed the book. He starts to write into his book and asks me a question, “What is your favorite color?” I look at him confused, clueless even because he looked as if he wanted to kill me. I pressed my lips together to tell him beige was my favorite, but then he spoke again, “My favorite is beige, you know. I always thought that it went well with everything you know? Beige pants, blue shoes. Beige dress, red heels. To me, beige is the universal color.” He smiles as he finishes his thought. More importantly, did he just read my mind or is he my stalker? I shut down my preemptive thinking, crossed my legs, and said, “I was going to say the exact same thing, but just not in such a creepy way.” When I stopped talking I realized what I just said and immediately felt extremely embarrassed because it sounded too bitchy. He looked at me, furrowed his eyebrows, and chuckled, and said, “What about that was weird? Just a friendly conversation.” Before I speak I fix up to show that I am interested in this conversation, but I was too nervous to think straight. So then while smiling I say, “Yes, but you looked like you were going to kill me. A poor lady like me couldn’t defend herself.”
By James Jean Pierre6 years ago in Humans
Old Man Iscariot
The night air was crisp, and a cold fog was rolling in. Old man Iscariot could feel in his bones that a storm was coming. How big, he did not know. Looking to his right he could see that his wife was fast asleep, a gift his achy bones would not grant him. After adjusting his night cap, he lit the bedside oil lamp, slid on his slippers and tied his robe tight. Though he had to work for what he had, in all his years, he had never wanted for anything, except perhaps for children. Tonight, all he wished was that he could buy himself a little more warmth and younger bones.
By Carolyn Huff6 years ago in Humans
Feast or Famine
Maybelline strut down the center aisle, unaffected by the various calls of the onlookers. She had done this before and her mission was of no less import than any other time. The air grew in fresh fragrance as the light drew nearer with every purposeful step. The commotion behind her continued and seemed to swell as the distance to her goal shrank away. The next few steps were always the most fearful and yet exciting as she was about to be overcome by the sheer brightness of the light. Her desire for what came after drove her forward unfalteringly. Bursting through the stale darkness and emerging gloriously into the brilliant atmosphere proved to much to contain, and Maybelline allowed her electric joy to shoot from her limbs as she took two playful hops. Turning about, she stared into the darkness she had just escaped and let out a bleat to allow her comrades the hope that it was indeed a beautiful day outside. A second bleat was offered as thanks to the good Farmer Brown for relieving the building pressure in her udder with his skillful hands. Having offered her encouragement and gratitude, it was time to go and rediscover the delights of this world, mainly in finding that elusive patch of clover.
By Andrew Schwark6 years ago in Humans
The Secret to Success
Twenty-one years old. I watch her tirelessly from the dusty floorboards beneath her bed. I hear her vacant cries about the unknown; will she find love, will her poetry ever take off, will she graduate and find a job in a city far away, will all of her twenties be spent in a global pandemic? She sits in the mirror every morning, painting her face with makeup to mask the natural beauty that beams from her aura alone. She gives herself pep-talks that she finishes with a smile at herself, but as soon as that bit is over, the emotion on her face tells you all you need to know. Life is hard and some days our mental health struggles win the battle, but I wish she knew how easily I could help her find the peace of herself she’s been lacking- confidence.
By ElenaMarie Williams6 years ago in Humans
A Book For November
“I can’t believe I married someone so useless!” The screaming had started again, but, for once, Gabriel barely heard it. His mahogany eyes were fixed on the letter in his shaking hand. His heart was on the floor and he felt as though he could step on it if he moved.
By Mandy Gomez6 years ago in Humans
Prattle and Titter
When you think of Hollywood in the 1930’s, one of the first things that comes to mind is “fashion revolution”. Gone were the flappers and Jazz Age looks of the 20s; this new era brought sleek, form-fitting, full-length and bias-cut skirts into style. Suddenly everyone seemed to shimmer, in silks and velvets decorated with beads and diamante stones. One or the other of the girls turned out in a glittering backless sequin-covered gown, and the others quickly followed suit. Fashion historians credit the bigger names with all things innovation, but it was more home-grown than that, at least at first. Word was, a shop opened right between Hollywood and Beverly Hills, where a talented dressmaker with a penchant for sparkle took up residence in the early 30s. Someone said she came in one day on a train from the mid-west, with nothing but a suitcase and a little black book. Now SHE would have been someone worth interviewing.
By Lisa Lynne6 years ago in Humans
Striking Resemblance
“How do you think it’s gonna feel being home for the first time?” said the counselor with a look of sincerity that puzzled Jacob. “What do you mean?” Jacob replied, with a raised eyebrow. Gary had never shown any interest in Jacob’s life outside of reminding him of how insignificant it was, so why was he suddenly so interested in his departure from the orphanage. “Well, we received a letter from an estate attorney addressed to you and thought you might've been aware of it.” Aha! Jacob thought to himself. His intuition was once again, right on point, but he was admittedly caught off-guard with this letter.
By Nick Straughn6 years ago in Humans
Everything But What You Need
Her fingers slinked across the row of books, tapping her chewed nails against each one as she walked down the narrowing aisle. The dried skin of her fingertips dragging along the leather until she spotted a little black book and paused over the spine where the title should have been. The pandemic had really lightened her wallet, but the smell of old books and sting-your-nose-strong black coffee made her feel like things were returning to normal.
By Samantha A.R.Weaver6 years ago in Humans
