friendship
C.S Lewis got it right: friendship is born when one person says to another: "What! You too? I thought I was the only one!"
Lavender Farmer
The lavender farmer stood at the top of the hill, watching the woman in the neighbouring paddock. She was tending her hives, or at least trying to, and seemed to be doing it in a very strange way. She would approach a hive gingerly, then retreat, turn in a little circle, then move towards the hive again. At first he thought it was some kind of hippy new-age bullshit, mimicking the dance of bees when they found a new source of honey, until he realised she was crying, bawling. She wasn't wearing her protective gear.
By Rebecca Lupton5 years ago in Humans
Extraordinary Expenses
The human component of any particular endeavor has invariably for me been a disaster to account for. A relentless engine comprised of I don’t know what: money-want, power-thirst and an admixture of other, more elusive, ephemeral, often enough quixotic cravings of the so called heart., the damning logic of which is sometimes revealed to me, more often not. This is just as true in the offices, workspaces and laboratories of the Brain Behavior Institute where I work as it is anywhere else. My predictive insight, when aimed at my own species, wavers, succumbs, is easily overwhelmed. And so when the phone in my office rang, driving away yet another reverie that itself had scattered an effort at concentration, I saw spring before me a murky tunnel, pocked with fissures like wormholes in its near and far ends – a choice such as it was between a direct route to a fixed point and circumlocution to that same point – encompassing the change of states from the fact of my right hand left to its own accord in the periphery of my vision and the fact of that same hand clutching the receiver of my desk phone to halt the ringing. Thus marking the inevitability of a new encounter.
By Brad Crutchfield5 years ago in Humans
When Once I Was 'a Walkin'
With a jaunt in her step, she sang: “Oh, when once I was a’ walkin’ down the selfsame road for which I was named, a swampy, cocksure woman came my way, and in her hands a game. The rules she wrote were in a book, black as autumn night. But when I looked (I peeked o’ course), it did not look quite right. The letters swam on waterlogged pages, which she slammed tight in one of her rages.
By Alison Belle Bews5 years ago in Humans
Follies Fixture
I had been torn between two worlds. The one I had built for myself, and the one I could feel lingering at my periphery. Unable to be named but realer somehow, realer than this one. I rolled over in my bed in the morning to find this sight waiting for me, a place I had never been and never would, a kind of sweet land waiting for me at the outskirts of my waking. My soul still staying in heaven unable to be brought down in those early hours, I waited. No body taught me how to do this, how to be patient. I had to learn it myself. No body taught me what this was, I had to learn it myself. A kind of calling to a life that was mine, crafted around my thought and word, my call. I saw it in the colours at the outside of my thoughts. I felt what that life must have felt like, real. Like wearing a nice dress that fit your body well. I could not reach it in my waking hours, but in the quieter moments, just before dawn when my body is waking, I can catch a glimpse of it.
By Rachel Ward5 years ago in Humans
A Chance at a Life Unlike Mine
Allen hails a bus. He is absent-minded, face ashen, eyes red and swollen. He has never had a discreet crying face and all his life he’s avoided such occasions. He boards the bus and recognizes the driver, sees her face almost daily and today feels like any other workday he’s grind through. Some days a friendly chatter between them, she observes that today he must need his space. She fell quiet, hands on the wheel, and gave him a nod as he took the steps up and towards the back, taking the same seat he usually takes at the deepest corner of the bus where he can view three beautifully lit parks along the way home to the far suburbs. He feels his shirt pocket for the stiff envelope, recalling his disbelief at its contents and still finding it difficult to accept. The surprise gain of a great loss. The ride is long enough to process the remains of a day that will change his life forever.
By CM Gonzales5 years ago in Humans
The Everlasting Memory
I’ve been coming to this park for months now. Ever since I moved here, I’ve been trying to do things that keep me connected and stress-free, since moving is stressful enough. There’s something about watching the birds in the trees, the ducks in the pond, and the people who come here, that bring me peace. Most are just passing through on their way to some destination, others are out for a run, and then a few like myself, sit on the benches and are lost in their own world, which is the most entertaining for me to observe. Well, one person in particular. I can’t quite figure him out, but he’s the most fascinating person I’ve encountered to date.
By Sanam Dhoot5 years ago in Humans
The Pine Mountain Clan Journal
She opened her backpack and took out the bundle. Carefully unwrapped it and put away the red cloth in her pocket. The blood had dried on the leather cover and made it look worn on those spots. She had read it several times. Even knew some pages by heart. But when she was standing at the crest. She wanted to read one page, the first page….
By Manuel G. Lopez5 years ago in Humans
