fact or fiction
Is it a fact or is it merely fiction? Fact or Fiction explores relationship myths and truths to get your head out of the clouds and back into romantic reality.
Legacy
The light was streaming through the window, as Angelica sat on the sofa sipping tea from her favourite mug. As she placed it back on the table, Marilyn Monroe's screen-printed face gazed up at Angelica from her neon pink background. Andy Warhol had always been a hero of Angelica's, particularly during her time at Art College and Doug had given her the mug during their first Christmas as a couple.
By Susannah Way5 years ago in Humans
The Ambassador
The caressing fingers of chocolate icing drip down the sides of the golden, fluffy doughnut. Like so many other things in his life, Jack Toll can’t resist it. Looking from left to right he moves like a bandit, snatches it from its box, and wraps his lips around it. He preens the chocolate residue from his fingers with cat-like precision.
By Francesca Flood, Ed.D.5 years ago in Humans
The Last Drop
In Los Angeles, It's 6 am. On the street, you can see A homeless man named Michael is housed in front of E.D.'s liquor store is sleeping in his arms cradles his favorite drink, a bottle of Jack Daniel's. That is almost finished. He carries a pair of raggedy blankets slumped over his shoulder. When the sun rises, this forces him to wake up the moment he opens his eyes. The cold crawls over his body, but not for too long to stop the cold he feels. He reaches for his bottle of Jack and starts to gulp down the last little of the last drop from his bottle and that swig of Jack Daniel's putting him back into a deep slumber.
By Pame Molina5 years ago in Humans
The Heartbeat Log
Sarah stared down at the little black book, stolen from her boss's desk in a spur of the moment bout of desperation. A heartbeat log, a prime possession of the Heartbeat Cartel that prowled New York City. The King of the City, her boss, would kill her for stealing it. Not that she had anything left to lose.
By Jennifer Jackson Anderson5 years ago in Humans
The Ecstasy of Gold
I was in a bar one night when this guy sat at my table and asked me if I minded. I had been stood up earlier that evening – thirty years later I ran into the lady in a bar and mentally high-fived my then twenty-year-old self – and was dying for human company, so I said I didn’t mind. Right away you could tell two things about him – he liked his drink and he was a compulsive talker, albeit not without a certain charm. In any case, who would you rather listen to over a drink – an insurance broker or a wino?
By Victor Makourin5 years ago in Humans
The Last Cardinal
The tour had been quite boring. Quin had only gone because Stevie was such a big fan. But Stevie was gone; the long line and dull drone of the guide could serve no purpose but a flash of nostalgia. It didn’t even manage that, despite the phrases that seemed to be lifted directly from Stevie’s ramblings. Maybe all fans talked that way. Quin still couldn’t see what it was in this author’s writing that was so interesting. A bunch of mid-20th century conspiracy theories with some superficial romance and cliché action. Quin felt the rest of the land around the cabin, which was at least alive and changing, full of grass and trees and birds and squirrels, to be much more compelling. This is what she told herself, anyway, despite not being an outdoorsy person at all. But that spirit of adventure, mystery, and intrigue that had so richly emanated from Stevie’s aura was, perhaps, what brought Quin to the one-room museum now dedicated to the Author, Stevie’s favorite.
By Scott C Lillard5 years ago in Humans
Destination Waffle House
I’ve been a waitress at The Waffle House at the 325 Savannah Highway location in Charleston, South Carolina, for a little over ten years. I took this job after my son Danny was born because they work around my schedule. I need flexibility as a single mom. Sure, there are other jobs, but I stay loyal to the WH. It’s grown on me. My boss. The co-workers. The customers. The food. The tips are rather good too.
By Cathy Torres5 years ago in Humans
THE LITTLE BLACK NOTEBOOK
THE LITTLE BLACK NOTEBOOK BY ANA-MARIA MANOILA (London, 01/03/2021) The dawn light creeped in, animals were waking up, the smell of fresh morning rain was embalming my soul, birds were singing, a random owl was still flying around owling her heart out. I was 6 at the time, the year was 1916, a few months into the Russian occupation of my hometown, I was getting ready at 3 am to go with my father to bring the few cattle left to the fields. We always started early in the morning, as by lunch time the heat was unbearable. Russian soldiers were living at the time in our home, and we were allowed to sleep only in a small bedroom, all 5 of us: myself, my two brothers, mom and dad.
By Ana Manoila5 years ago in Humans
