travel
The ultimate test of a compatible relationship is whether you can stand to travel together.
Life in Senegal
Imagine walking by an abandoned teenage autistic boy. He was on the ground near the children’s ministry, ironically, rocking himself back and forth with drool falling from his mouth while shrieking a noise that sounded like fear covered up by laughter. He wore a thick coat of dirt on his feet and he was itching himself. I couldn’t help but notice the people walking by him and their reactions; they had none. A classy woman on the phone passed by without acknowledging him, a man in a traditional gown too. As soon as I turned the corner, I broke into tears because the worst part of this boy’s situation was that I couldn’t do anything about it; nobody could. Going from Canada, a first world country, to Senegal, a developing country, is quite interesting. There are so many details about this journey that I want to share but I would have to write down thousands of words. There are some things that affect me on a daily basis like: being the only young white woman amongst millions, white prejudices, economical injustice, cultural differences and homesickness.
By Vanessa Wilson6 years ago in Humans
No words
He sat, staring at the blank page, the whiteness of the crisp paper mocking him as the words refused to flow from the pen in his hand. He wished he had started earlier, maybe if he had journaled his feelings and emotions earlier they would flow more easily now, but instead, it seemed a near-impossible feat; to let the words trickle out into the little black book in front of him.
By bryan danger6 years ago in Humans
Why Not
Cara was thinking about how much she loved the way the snow crunched under her boots, the satisfying way she sunk into each step. She was lucky she had her new boots on, they were fleece lined and waterproof. Perfect for the extra snowy winter they had this year.
By Sunday Ann6 years ago in Humans
Yours, Not Mine.
There are many things one could do with an extensive amount of free money. By ‘free money’, I mean no strings attached, no wings clipped, that sort of thing. For us humans, the prospect of “coming into money” is something desirable yet usually unattainable; not because of a lack of want or determination to seize it, but simply because of circumstance. For a young unremarkable person like me, twenty thousand dollars looks, to them, like a black leather-bound scrapbook recording all the places a stranger, who seems to be twenty-two years their superior, has been and seen. Imagine thick crusty pages of lacquered notes adhered to layers of stiff sheets. It would be a heavy thing to travel around with, so I’m not sure why this older person thought the space in the small of their back, tucked under their shirt and in the waist of their pants, was a good place to carry it. Maybe they thought no one would notice it thus avoiding any questioning on the matter. Where, if they carried it around like a note book or diary, I am sure some keen and prying individual would have stopped them to ask what important words were kept on the internal folds of paper. I know this to be the case in this instance, as I am one of those inquisitive and interfering people who have stopped strangers to ask what is in the note book they cling to so desperately. Most people respond with an ‘excuse me?’ ‘I’m sorry, who are you?’ But not this traveller I met only a week ago in a corner coffee shop in Yarraville, Melbourne. I was wearing my stage blacks as usual, looking like suave actor. Oh wait, let me introduce myself…My name is Ashton. I am not a suave actor. I am not a traveller. I am a watcher. I watch people, see people, uncover people when they least expect to be discovered. Of course, this is all a game I start playing when I step out of my musky rental and potter down the main street to acquire my late morning black coffee with a side of honey, and a block of dark chocolate that I discerningly conceal from the team members as they walk past me; so as not to bring attention to the fact that I have brought external food into an establishment that provides food…naughty me… I am currently unemployed and like to spend time making up stories about strangers I come across on my daily outings. Today is my twenty second birthday and day twenty-two of unemployment, which is why I chose to tell you about this intriguing person I noticed, on table 22(wink, wink), who had a foreign quadrangular protrusion from the small of their back. After a few moments of intense staring, I determined the outcrop to be a notebook of some sort. I watched this individual for the duration of their morning coffee. The usual sip and look around, place the cup down and cradle your chin in your cupped hands for a few moments while looking despondently out the window before slowly picking up the cup to take another sip. When they got up to settle the bill, they untucked their shirt and extracted the book from their pants, flicked through it, like a novel they’d read multiple times and were trying to locate a favourite quote to show a love interest of theirs, and stopped on a page that, as far as my eyes could see, was titled ‘AUS.’ With a delicate lick of their right index finger, by a wormy and caffeinated tongue, they plucked out a five dollar note and deeply resonated, “keep the change.” As they stalked out, they took a sharp look at me from underneath their frosty caterpillar eyebrows. I felt an internal pang and release as though my blood froze into icicles for a second and then defrosted immediately after piercing my heart. I squeaked out, ‘That’s an interesting looking notebook,’ and they replied, ‘Correct. You’ll never have seen anything like it.’ An indistinct caramel accent rolled off their tongue and their weathered face said more than their words did. In a single sweep they were out of the establishment and hastily bouncing down the street. Quite affected by their portentous demeanour was I, I decided to sit a short while after finishing the last of my coffee and honey (the chocolate was long gone by now), before floating up to the counter to settle the bill as my predecessor had done.
By Ashton Koroneos6 years ago in Humans
Future Journey
When the package came, Matilda had ignored it. Who would send her a package? She had dreams that the package held papers about a bad debt that had turned into a judgement against her. She knew it must be waiting to be dealt with and her mind could not handle one more setback. Then again the size of the package suggested something different entirely. It was a small mystery.
By Crystal Renee Bechler6 years ago in Humans
Curious path
Today is Sunday. An early, 6:30 AM sunny, Spring morning. Up in time for church, breakfast, yard work, house chores and then the weekly journey to see our grandparents. The scent of the sauce still makes my mouth water. Just listen, while it makes its noise, “blub, blub, blub”, perfectly, with vegetables seared just right. An aroma of fresh bread filled the house, to the point when a door was open or if a window was cracked, you could smell it outside. If you are close enough to it to hear it crackle and sing as it cools. Plus, if you are close when they cut it, you may be lucky to catch a corner of the heel! An another amazing afternoon is in store filled with food, family, and frank conversation around the table. Yes, between the recent rumors from the church, news of distant cousins in far away lands, chatter about the neighbors, and a few conversations where they waited for the kids to leave to play. In one families case, they new if these two brothers were within an ear shot, “radar” would hear and ask about it later.
By Victor Rieber6 years ago in Humans
Rose's Journal
Rose’s Journal June 1998 We made it through the first day or so, but man it wasn’t easy. They do stuff crazy over here and we don’t understand anything. We met two girls, Dani and Amanda, when we changed planes in Boston, they are backpacking, too. The four of us are sticking together. The more the merrier, right. My brother Anthony certainly doesn’t mind traveling with two cute girls who aren’t his sister.
By Connie Fleenor6 years ago in Humans
To Whom It May Concern
Simone’s normal routine was to work on her balance by walking on the large rocks that separated the forest from the sandy beach about 30 feet from the water’s edge for about a mile then, after about a mile, return to the cabin by walking on the sand. It was on one of those large rocks that she noticed the little black book. She jumped off the rock, picked it up, then looked around to see if the person who’d left it was still there. It was early morning and the sun wasn’t quite shining brightly on the western shores of Washington state. She was alone as far as her eyes could see.
By Susan Bailey6 years ago in Humans
A Chance
I sat at the end of my bed staring at the little black notebook. This book did not belong to me, or at least it hadn’t started out that way. Once you’ve stolen something, I feel like it becomes your property, right? Not that I steal often, actually, this is the first time I have ever done anything like this. Anyway, that’s beside the point. I first saw this notebook earlier today while walking downtown. I had been looking for the apartment number I was supposed to be delivering to. Being a pizza delivery driver in downtown Chicago, you gotta be careful. I always steer clear of trouble, I know if I mind my own business then others will mind theirs. So why hadn’t I done that today?
By Sydney Blankenship6 years ago in Humans
Tom and Hattie
We had scrambled down to the waterfall's cup with panic twisted tightly around our chests, steam peppering at the sunlight. Hattie was face down and pushing against rock, the sound of a thousand erratic hoofbeats, the basin spitting, boiling, unfinished with her death and then yielding as we peeled her from its custody. Her hair was pasted to her face as if nature had respectfully shrouded her with clay, the sombre folding of eyelids. We tried for an hour to push the blood and air back around inside her body, bagpipe lungs, dog-tired arms, but she had left. I gave my phone number to officials, ignoring their tutting about the idiocy of Instagram bloggers risking their lives for extreme content. It was too late, too soon, too sad.
By Sean Cohen James6 years ago in Humans
