literature
Travel literature includes guide books, travel memoirs and the curious experiences that happen when you seek adventure.
Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass
“Your skin is so soft,” Mrs. Elkin said while rubbing her fingertips along the light beige-colored skin on Agatha’s forearm. Agatha set a dinner plate in front of the elderly woman and smiled at her. Mr. and Mrs. Elkin are her favorite residents at Menorah Center Nursing home. Agatha likes to watch them hold hands while teetering into the dining hall every day. Mr. Elkin always pulls Mrs. Elkin’s chair out, then waits for her to nestle into place before he pushes her chair in to secure her close to the table. His right-hand shakes whenever he holds a spoon to his mouth to test Mrs. Elkin’s soup in order to make sure it isn’t too hot for her. They hold hands while exiting the dining hall after every meal.
Noro OtitigbePublished 3 years ago in WanderNear Life Experiences
“Do you wanna hear about my near death experiences?” If I was a bit braver, I would ask if you care to hear about my life. But I can’t squeeze that out of my mouth right now. Katie, you can’t see the man I was then. You're just a little girl.
Ken FendleyPublished 3 years ago in WanderBlack Book
“Hey Kiddo.” “Yeah,” replies Mason, sitting at the kitchen table, scribbling with a green crayon on a dinosaur printout.
Shalasha DeesePublished 3 years ago in WanderThe Book Yet to be Written
"Well, that doesn't seem like a coincidence," James Marie Scott said to herself as flames overtook the small dilapidated cottage standing before her. The heat from the blaze warmed her cheeks as she ran a hand over the shaved side of her head, flipping her shoulder-length wavy locks to the other side of her face.
Melissa McGillPublished 3 years ago in WanderBorne on the Bayou
Borne on the Bayou By: Michael Cole In all, Marcus had to admit to himself that things could be worse. In fact, he’d seen worse, experienced worse and certainly lived through worse. Growing up in the murky, hazard filled bayous of Plaquemines Parrish in Louisiana’s most southern reaches into the Gulf of Mexico, Marcus had lived through hurricanes, flooding, battles with prehistoric swamp dwelling creatures and a host of hazards too numerous to mention. But Marcus was not at all put off by his upbringing. No, he appreciated all that he and his French-Creole small family of five had endured and triumphed over.
Michael ColePublished 3 years ago in WanderThe Black Book
The setee was colonial, easily late 18th century and was a delightful addition to my office. I arranged with the antique dealer to have it delivered to my building that week. I’m not normally in Maine but every now and again it’s pleasant to look out over the surf and think of all of the old ships, giant sailing vessels that graced those waters. Anyway I was in a mood so stopped by one of those antique dealers in the area and fell in love with it. Simply beautiful I tell you.
The Great Reopening
The north-facing windows in her south bank apartment face London City Airport. This was both a blessing and a curse, affording her magnificent river views and an exquisite sunset over Canary Wharf (so long as she craned her neck a little to the left), as well as the regular windy roars of arriving and departing planes. She is sitting upright in the wide sill, drinking in the view, as well as an unreasonably large gin. Her phone pings. The Monzo “ka-ching!”. She looks down.
Mike DalleyPublished 3 years ago in WanderThe lucky card
It was a Saturday afternoon. Birds were chirping and bees were humming. Mia and Tibi (don’t bother why his parents named him that way) were playing a game of Super Intergalactic Stellar Racing with their bikes. Mia pretended to be the ace pilot of the Nima Squad, Dan McCloud. As for Tibi, he was Ark’kor, tyrant of the Gemma system. Watching hours of Star Wars must have had an influence on them
Alexandre ChauvettePublished 3 years ago in WanderVoyage of the Myrina
Her hair was sun bleached and her skin was golden. All she could hear was the sound of the gentle waves from the bay washing shells and sea glass onto the white sand. Kai had spent the first two months since she moved to the Shore lying on the beach healing her soul from the unfulfilled life she had been living back home.
Laura SmithPublished 3 years ago in WanderThe Feeling
It was a dark stormy night when I first saw it. Hidden behind the canopies of a large oak tree. Why I was there in itself is an interesting story.
The Marble Arch
It wasn't anything special, it's just a river. Hell, Montana has a river that runs through it. Why are we still talking about this damn river when I could be looking at Notre Dame? I could barely keep myself still, as the instructor pointed at the Seine River, waving her arms frantically as if performing a mating dance. It was a failure of dance because as far as I could tell none of the sixty-nine kids standing around her were listening. Paris was dirty, and the Metro was horrendous to try and board all the time with this many people in our group; with maybe eight seconds to board and half of France trying to get on as well. If our bright orange backpacks didn't scream tourist, the traveling in such large numbers and screaming "'Merica" had to give it away. The French were not very friendly, nor were they all that stylish. I was expecting so much more from the "City of Lights" and yet I was not very happy, or filled with light. I love puns as much as the next person but that was terrible, still, I snickered to myself.
Travels With Uncle Nate
Branded with now scrubbed away ink, but forever carved into the Formica countertop: “Keep Portland Weird,” raced a divergence of imaginations as I deliberated the poet’s purpose. I’d never been to Portland, still, my mission there was indeed weird.
Jay RedmondPublished 3 years ago in Wander