Love
Shattered Love
A girl fell in love with a man. The man fell in love with the girl. This man was so fierce and strong, courageous even. Couldn't be beaten or torn down by anyone. The girl emotionally brought down this wonderful man. She stabbed him right in the heart. The girl was so scared of getting hurt that she hurt the only one that truly loved and cared for her.
By Courtney Chapman4 years ago in Fiction
The World Through Her Eyes
The World Through Her Eyes Taking a big sip of my iced vanilla latte, I lean back in my chair and breath out a huge breath, trying to fill my body with relaxation after a way too long day of university. The late September sun is warm on my skin, but there's a pleasant soft wind blowing through the air.
By Sonja Vogdt4 years ago in Fiction
Couples
Irene sat in a black leather armchair to my left. I was perched in its twin, nervously bouncing my knee. Across from us was Dr. Carr, who had informed us that we may call her Sarah, though her tone suggested that she might prefer to remain Dr. Carr. So far, no one had said anything. We all wore our cloth masks like the bandits wore bandanas in old western films. It was a standoff. For my part, I had no idea what to expect or where to start. I needed someone else to say something, offer some kind of context, something to riff off of. For the time being, however, Dr. Carr seemed content to wait us out. Testing our commitment, perhaps.
By M. S. Bird4 years ago in Fiction
The Brief Encounter
It all happened so quickly one minute Sophia was sitting comfortably on her favourite bench in Plaiza Park in London, the next minute a powerful gust of winter wind swept through the leafless trees and her whole work load catapulted into the air so swiftly, that it sent her looping sheets of papers skittering along the path in an instant. Sophia sprung to her feet and literally snatched her papers out of the air, in a kind of run and snatch it up quick method which actually worked, then she skidded to a halt and slowly made her way back to sit on the bench, in doing so she gasped a sigh of relief whilst she patted down her burgundy fur coat and carefully slid all the papers back into her bag.
By 𝕂.𝔸. 𝕃𝕦𝕩𝕖 𝕄𝕖𝕕𝕚𝕒 4 years ago in Fiction
The Return of the Cardinals
Almost everything about the house was in some stage of decay. White paint chipped and peeled off the exterior, rippling like alligator skin. Trumpet vines and ivy dripped off a crumbling wooden fence attempting to enclose the backyard. Dandelions and crabgrass infiltrated the brick pathway leading to the front door. In the front hall leather bound journals with yellowing pages overflowed into the walkway, each with notes sticking out of them forming spiral staircases of paper. Yellowed maps and old farmers almanacs littered the floor below a coat rack from which two old pairs of skates hung. The bookshelves were shrouded in dust, graying just like the old man. Beyond the front hall was the kitchen from which the old man watched the world. He spent most mornings sitting by the window with his glasses pressed up against his binoculars, taking detailed notes on the world outside. He exited the house at hourly intervals to scribble the temperature, weather, humidity, and dew point in the margins of his journal pages. He woke early each day before the birds started stirring, he liked to watch them waking and discovering the day, as he himself had just hours before. He gazed upon redwing blackbirds, their streaks of red like swatches of paint in the sky, and the angry flock of geese that frequented the pond behind his home. He caught the occasional blue heron nestled among the cattails balancing on its thin, bamboo legs. He squinted to see the muted yellow feathers of female goldfinches nesting in late July. But no bird held a candle to the cardinal. They had been there all his life, but always as part of the scenery, not as characters. She taught him to love the birds, always pointing them out and emptying facts from her head into his. Every spring he would find her sitting on the bench in the backyard staring at the woods for hours. How busy it was, she would say, and yet so still at the same time. She loved cardinals. They adorned all her potholders and linens, carved wooden ones were tucked in every corner of every bookshelf. Her stationery too had those little red birds on them; with all of her messages came a cardinal. All his life the cardinals had been there but he had not been looking. Since her death, he had not seen a single one. Now looking was all he did.
By Niamh McDade Clay4 years ago in Fiction
