Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Humans.
Too Close for Comfort
When the Ex Refuses to Let Go For most people, divorce signifies a permanent disconnect from your ex, their family and most of the time friends that will ultimately choose a side, one way or the other, and that is when you truly find out who your friends are. But there are those who for one reason or another stay connected to their ex, whether they have children, choose to remain friends, or just want to keep the options open, moving onto a new relationship is difficult when you are still involved with your ex.
By Christina Lee8 years ago in Humans
Butterflies
Clearly, what we have is something most might deem... unconventional. We are apart more than we are together; we have been in a relationship for four years, though we have only been in the same country a total of four months. What we have is by no means easy. What we have takes work. Despite all of this, what we have is special. All the time spent apart makes the time together so perfect. Every tear we shed on departure from each other is replaced by thousands of butterflies each time we return to each other's arms. Every time I board yet another plane to come to you I am overcome with the familiar feeling of blissful uneasiness I experienced my first time ever laying eyes on you in person. It is a nervousness that calms me in the most unexpecting way. It is an anxiousness that whispers in my ear, "You're going home." What we have is something I have never known. We have been together for four years, and every day feels like the first. Everything we are gives me butterflies. Everything you do keeps me in awe. Things as simple as:
By Final Thoughts8 years ago in Humans
Six Minutes of Insanity
On Wednesday night, I participated in Speed Dating for the first time. The night was so interesting I had to share my story. Unfortunately, I do not have any accompanying pictures, but you can use your own imagination to imagine what my “dates” looked like, along with the hilarious predicaments I found myself in.
By Deborah Scott8 years ago in Humans
#MyWorstDate
These days I'm not too positive what constitutes a date exactly. But I am gonna go ahead and count this. First a little background; at the time of this story, I was 20 years old, going through a breakup with a slightly abusive man who I'd moved back to Arizona for and just generally unhappy in my life and relationships especially. I was working at the Olive Garden in Scottsdale, Arizona as a waitress (and doing very poorly I might add).
By Taylor Parker8 years ago in Humans
Relationship Status
From the time we're old enough for bedtime stories or to play with a Barbie, girls are surrounded with the idea of a happily ever after, fairy tale, perfect Ken or prince charming style relationship. The expectation of a man riding up on the back of a horse and sweeping us off our feet, stealing us away to a shining castle on a hill. But why? For a start it's completely unrealistic; I can almost categorically guarantee most of us will not end up living in a castle and besides that, no two relationships are the same and nor should they be.
By Emmy Tumber8 years ago in Humans
Being Married in My Early 20s
I was just 18 years old when I met my one day husband, Roger. He was 26. I know the age difference seems big but it really wasn’t. He says still to this day that he knew he wanted me from the moment we were introduced. And how did I feel about him when we first met? Well my first words to him were “You smell good.” Yea. Not my finest moment.
By Taylor Searcy Holland8 years ago in Humans
Yes, Two Guys Can Just Be Friends #MyWorstDate
Hi, I’m E.J., I’m queer (specifically, pan), and I’m also transgender. I identify as male, people use my preferred name and pronouns, and I came out to everyone in my life halfway through 2016, so it’s been a year and a half now. And I’d like to say I pass decently when I really want to.
By Elijah James8 years ago in Humans
Homecoming
Crissy revealed herself to me first as a mirage. I saw her first as I'd always known her; that slight, black-clad, sullen little girl with her black hair pulled taut in a ponytail, and that blended in to who she was now. She still had the same facial structure and her hair was still midnight black, but she was older now. No Sepultura T-shirt and ripped jeans tonight. Instead, she wore a black blouse, knee high skirt, and fishnet stockings, and her hair was down, loose, and flowing over her shoulders, hiding the Egyptian ankh hovering around her collarbones. It took me a second to see what she'd been reading when I came in, but I frowned nonetheless. I'd never heard of Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, and I had only the most basic idea of what an archipelago was, let alone a gulag.
By Joseph Morton8 years ago in Humans
The Squad at 227 on Sunset Road
They were probably promised the world, when they were young, when their beauty was the most important quality they should have had. See Claudia still argues it is, but she’s covered it because she’s fucking tired of people telling her how it should be, she hid beauty behind layers of fat flaps that she doesn’t even bother to cover anymore. You can still see it in her face—beauty—the pain of it and what it must have meant to carry it around, the burden of those eyes. She was left alone, even he, the only man she ever loved and wanted and gave herself to, didn’t think beauty was enough in the end. And now she’s strong. She knows she lives a true life only now that she can stuff her face in cake. And she doesn’t have to be beautiful because she doesn’t give a shit, because it is not important anymore, because she enjoys being able to eat beans and fart all night alone in her bed. Now, Claudia lives next door to Barbara, and she heard her man beating her up. She heard it always at the same time, she heard every single slap she's been given, and knows how Barbara learned to scream in silence and cover the black marks on her neck with contour, because the shit-head squeezes tight around her neck and it felt almost as if she died last night. Claudia has monitored like a KGB agent and timed every fight, she now knows in detail the routine of the piece of shit, she’s been looking at the arms of the clock, counting every second, making notes, staying up, making cakes, eating cakes, giving no fucks. Tonight is the last night Barbara will be hurt, but Claudia knows she can’t do it alone. So she recruits from upstairs, the force of the women of the Smith family, mainly Helena, the queen of the kitchen and chained to her dishwasher and her side kick Gemma, the cleaning lady from the South of the country where tomatoes are as big as aunt Dina's head and they taste like stake. See Gemma didn’t take no shit from men either, and even if she didn’t go to school she was strong enough to hit her husband with the stir-fry wok the night he came back drunk and tried to set the house on fire with her in it, and her little daughter sleeping in her little bed. But Gemma hit him hard, and he fell on his knees, she tells the story laughing so hard her face goes pale. They all listen as smoke like chimneys. See it’s all they got now, nicotine, coffee and taking no shit. They listen to Gemma laugh as hard as hell as she tells them how he was on his knees and tried to grab her apron, but that wasn’t a smart move because he uncovered the back of his head, you see, and that’s when she hit him again and he fell on his stupid, red, drunk face and stayed there, and didn’t wake up until the police dragged him out the day after and told him to never, ever come back. And Gemma dreamt of that moment, the moment she could finally get rid of him, and still she laughs about it as she takes another drag and says “If I knew the wok had worked so well I would have done it fucking sooner.” Swearing is a thing, you see, no book of etiquette, or code of politeness for Gemma, nor Claudia, nor Barbara, nor Helena nor her four broken hearted, fucked up daughters. The tragi-comedy of five vaginas behaving like men in a patriarchal household, such a mess for little men thinking they are someone. Gemma has suddenly become the head of the committee. Barbara’s man has to go. The man is already down, he just doesn’t know yet. So they gather the courage, and a few tools, Gemma thought she might as well pick up the biggest wok, the upper class now bourgeois wok, in other words the heavier wok, Helena just will bring her motherly stare, and the power she borrowed from her husband’s name, the one who doesn’t touch her, look at her, or hasn’t asked her how she feels today in eight years, the one who maybe cheats on her but doesn’t even know how to put bread in the toaster. Claudia thinks she can just throw her self at him flapping like a bat. So they wait, and wait, and wait, Claudia has timed it all, and they wait and wait tick, tock, tick, tock said the fucking clock.
By Clara Malaussène8 years ago in Humans
