literature
Travel literature includes guide books, travel memoirs and the curious experiences that happen when you seek adventure.
Lost Treasure
The sun beat down upon the sand in glorious rays of golden heat, and Cassandra would have enjoyed the spectacular view of the white beach and blue ocean waves if her mouth didn’t feel like sandpaper and her skull wasn’t splitting with an excruciating headache.
Kimberly TPublished 3 years ago in WanderSometimes the World Needs a Little Magic!
I do not remember life before the little black book. My first memory is fluttering pages slowly flying over me in my crib. A page removed itself from the binding and began to fold. Fold after fold the page gracefully twisted and spun in the air. Drifting down into my hands it had taken the form of a swan with a long neck and carefully tilted head as if it were sent to watch over me.
A book of magic
“Are you sure this is it?” I asked, frowning. For a book of magic it sure is unassuming. Just a small black notebook, no sigils or even a title on its cover. I expected to find something more, I don't know... artistic? Elaborate?
gustello xPublished 3 years ago in WanderRight Up Your Alley: The Pilgrimage of Roy Cox
A trickle of sweat drips down Roy Cox’s brow as he takes the last long drag of his rolled cigarette. He butts it, like the thousands he had butted before, then points out to the crowd of screaming fans- the same way John Travolta did when he danced in Greece. Roy stopped to stare into Charlie's eyes. It was the stare that one mate does to another when he knows that this could be the most important moment of his life.
Edward MartinPublished 3 years ago in WanderXin Chào Sài Gòn
The silence between us was heavier than the stale, humid air that hung over the room. A ceiling fan whirred, mosquito-like, in its futile attempts to cool the tropical heat.
Ollie CartwrightPublished 3 years ago in WanderThe Writer & The Illustrator
Oliver Wendell Winston the Third Oliver Wendell Winston the Third was bored. He lived in a time when children were preferred to be seen and not heard, and it was better when they were not seen as well. His father had clients in the study, which left Oliver alone in the library. There, the dark-haired, freckled-faced boy sat quietly in his chair, surrounded by books.
Jessica ClarkePublished 3 years ago in WanderThe Coffee Shop
I can't help but wonder if my mom was right. I've never been this far from home, but here I am on a sticky bus with everything that is important to me in my untouched suitcase. My essence in North Carolina fades with each state line I pass, but the ropes of that small town loosen against my skin. I'm going to New York. I'm going to be a writer. I'm going to be a NY Best Selling author. Hours go by and a small overhead light at the front of the bus has kept me comfortable. I smiled to myself as I drifted asleep.
Victoria NguyenPublished 3 years ago in WanderDelving Deep
Sticky sloppy sludge squelched between my toes as I trudged through the narrow passage. Grazing my fingertips along the dampened brick wall to keep my balance as I tried to focus on the light ahead. I clutched my skirt up to avoid the droplets of backsplash as my mind wandered; I began questioning myself:
Rose JonesPublished 3 years ago in WanderMega and the Black Book
There once was a man from Nantucket- What? Don’t believe me? Okay, he’s from Mississippi but he’s in Nantucket now. He was a traveler of sorts; some may say a rolling stone. He moved like the wind with nothing but his Sax and his satchel. If you heard the story of how he ended up in Nantucket you wouldn’t believe it, you’d think he was made up. You’d say, “that stuff only happens in books or movies.” I can assure you that this is the absolute true story of Mega Magnolia.
Cedes SaidWhatPublished 3 years ago in WanderThe Little Black Book
The smooth, round stones sunk slightly as the water washed over the shore. Anna watched mesmerized as the waves plucked pebbles from the embankment and set them upon their unwilling journey. Would they find themselves upon the shores of a distant land or would they be destined to toss endlessly in the turbulent ocean without ever reaching a destination? Anna stood up, waited patiently for the next tide to swallow her calves, and then gently placed the airtight box of photographs along with the Little Black Book into the waiting arms of the Mediterranean. She secretly hoped that the ocean would carry her painful memories far, far away --- and the sea obliged.
Charlene FlickPublished 3 years ago in WanderA Strange Discovery
I have often enjoyed my solitary walks through nature. Mornings such as today were such that could only be described with the word ‘fine’. Not ‘beautiful’, not ‘perfect’, such words seemed overly magical and perhaps unreal for my liking. The sun was shining brightly, with little wisps of white among blue skies. That, too, was ideal. I had always found entirely blue skies oppressive in their intensity. The temperature was the perfect balance of warmth, just slightly too warm but with a light breeze to balance out the surplus. The shadows of the trees provided momentary comfort, with the small distance between them arousing a faint longing for their shelter which was momentarily satisfied upon reaching the next.
Dmitri YendrzheyevskiyPublished 3 years ago in WanderORPHIC
Alexandria, Egypt 18/02/2021 Layla’s torch illuminated the dark spiraling tunnels ahead of her, the light glistening against the layers of dust that, until this point, had been undisturbed for millennia. She examined the small black notebook in her hands with a puzzled look in a last hopeful attempt to get her bearings straight. Michaela, who had hastily copied the tunnel’s blueprint from the formal archives on the notebook's pages, seemed to have missed the turn Layla currently found herself at.