Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Humans.
Understanding Slowly
The worst part is there's no one else to blame. The worst part is not crying yourself to sleep or holding so tightly onto a crumbling bridge of a love long lost that your very soul is shattering from the impact. You cannot brace fully for the inevitable fall, but you are forced to watch as it crumbles bit by bit and still, when it hits the water, you will cry and sob. You will feel a bottomless pit of hurt so deep within your chest that there seems to be nothing to fill it ever again. Maybe you'll still be on the phone as they tell you that it isn't your fault but theirs, or perhaps it is all your fault and none of theirs.
By Sebastian Doe8 years ago in Humans
Delivering Flowers
I check my watch again. It's 4 o'clock. The bus is late. My arms are beginning to grow heavy with the weight of my umbrella and the bouquet of sunflowers. Sunflowers used to be his favorite. I begin to tap my foot with anticipation. The click clack of my heel joining the sound of raindrops on cement. I check my watch again. It is now 4:01. If the bus doesn't get here soon then I won't get back in time for dinner. It's the same thing every month. Wake up, try not to sit and stare at the clock, get dressed, grab the flowers, ride the bus, deliver the flowers, try to say something, fail, ride the bus home, cry, and eat your dinner alone. I've done this on the first Saturday of every month for almost a year now. I squint towards the end of the street, thinking that if I look hard enough, the bus will magically appear. I roll my eyes and move my gaze to my feet. My sensible black heels speckled with glossy rain drops. Maybe this was a sign. A sign that I shouldn't visit him today. Everyone tells me I should move on. "He's not coming back," they say. Sometimes it's, "He would want you to move on with your life." My therapist agrees. She says that a part of the healing process is moving on, yet I still visit his lifeless body in his white-washed tomb on the first Saturday of every month. Now, my tears begin to join the raindrops on cement.
By Kassie Henry8 years ago in Humans
How One Can Attain Power Through Displaying Vulnerability
We all like to feel the occasional sense of control. This feeling rises in a multitude of scenarios, such as the relationship between a mother and her child, an employer and his status of superiority over his employees, or even being the decision-maker in a friend group. However, people don’t commonly analyse the importance of these encounters or grasps of power in our everyday life, which is where I believe people make their initial fundamental mistake in the surge for power.
By Alice Stanley8 years ago in Humans
Chapter 1
Chapter 1: Setup I lay down on my new bed, in my new room, in my new house, in a new town. Too many “news” for comfort. My parents have moved us to the big city. Population: 1,896,743. I have lived my entire life in a town with a staggering population of only about three thousand—too small to have a consistent and regular census. Tomorrow is the first day of my senior year in a mega high that looks like a university on steroids. I hate them. My parents, they have uprooted our entire lives in order to “work on their marriage,” which is just fancy talk for saying mom cheated on dad.
By Jared Smith8 years ago in Humans
The Single's Guide to Returning to the Dating Scene
If you've been hiding under a rock for the last little while, perhaps feeling a little bit lonely, wishing you could share that last slice of pizza with someone else, or maybe you're fresh out of a relationship and you're ready to try again—just staring out into the vast blue ocean we call dating can be a little bit intimidating.
By Delilah Jayde8 years ago in Humans
The Beginning
I stepped into the empty hospital room and took a seat near the window on the far side of the room. A hospital bed with several little machines around it sat in the center of the room, its mattress laden with wires and chords. With so much adorning the space, it made me wonder how anyone could have lived through such bedding. My mind rushed back to the memory of me lying in that bed, unable to speak and losing my ability to walk as the days passed. I blinked the image away, remembering that it had been hard, but I had survived. It made me feel weird whenever my relatives said I almost died several times while here. Thinking about it, I slowly started drifting into offtrack memories and childhood experiences. Then she stepped in, interrupting the empty feeling. The room exuded and scattering my offline thoughts.
By Bruce Arnold8 years ago in Humans
