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!"

Judith Bottom Is Going To Cape-Horn
All right, look. I didn’t steal the $20,000 from my parents’ safe, I borrowed it, took it out on loan. They have enough money to buy England, okay, they aren't gonna miss it. Anyway I need it, because I, Judith Bottom, am on a crusade of great splendour and importance. I live in Phoenix Arizona, and I'm marching my way 6,713 miles to the tip of South America, Cape Horn.
By Fior Raspbell5 years ago in Humans
The Muse
It was a typical, bustling Sunday morning at Monahan's Meat Emporium. Throngs of people lined up outside to get into one of the hottest spots in the market. The lucky few who were permitted in browsed the shelves and freezers of imported and local goods, and shouted out their orders to burgundy aproned meat hawkers for anything from house-made sausages to steaks; from lamb chops to chicken breasts, and everything in between.
By Raquel Haber5 years ago in Humans
The Little Black Book
“Sir, sir” she called but to no avail. He was already gone. She placed the little black book in her bag and walked back from Regent’s Park towards the Harley Street Cosmetic clinic, where she worked as a receptionist. As she sat at her desk, she pulled the book out of her bag and looked at it. It was very old. She held it for a minute and then placed it back in her bag. “Tomorrow” she thought “I will return it to him tomorrow”. Jenny spent her lunchbreaks at the park, eating her lunch and studying for her evening classes in Birkbeck Collage. She has been living in London for a year now. She found the hustle and bustle hard to cope, coming from a little village in Cornwall. The peaceful park was her favourite place. Every day she saw him. An elderly man, sitting on a bench staring at the trees while caressing this little black book.
By RW5 years ago in Humans
The Magnificent Maisy
His mother knew how to punish him, Jimmy had to give her that. He stuck his bottom lip out in a pout and he swept his eyes over the park. There was a playground; a slide, four large plastic toadstools, monkey bars and a rock-climbing wall. Nothing special. Gum trees surrounded the outside.
By A. V. D. Heuvel5 years ago in Humans
Autumn's Rose
Simon had always loved fall. The sound of the bristling wind against the leaves that surrounded the cemetery ground, reminded him of that. Taking him away from the soreness he felt in his chest. He could hear the words coming from the priest, yet they did not elicit any reaction from him. His friend was gone. No words would bring him back.
By Oumar Diagne5 years ago in Humans
The Legend of Carla B. Jones
Carla B. Jones was ninety-three when she died. She was ninety-two when I met her, and I admit at first she didn’t seem like a woman of much consequence. But that’s my fault.
By Zachariah Putter5 years ago in Humans
Closed Doors, Open Windows
Dios mío, ¿qué haré ahora? What am I going to do? Luna turned and looked up into his dark glistening eyes and felt her heart constrict. In had taken 5 years to get him to crack a grin and now 12 to spring a tear. Her own face was streaked with sweat, grime and sadness. They had fought the good fight, but the dream was done. No amount of repositioning of tables, creation of covered, heated outdoor spaces, mountains of biodegradable eco-friendly to-go packaging could bring back the comradery, compañerismo, that had patrons once tagging the Bean Pub as the best Coffee Bar in the Northwest. They tried it all, yet the bills finally outweighed the efforts. One by one, she had looked into the eyes of her best friends, her family, and told them their livelihood was dissolving into fear and uncertainty.
By Kim Solis5 years ago in Humans
Old Dead Gods
“Mr. Sanders!” you shout, banging on the door. “Mr. Sanders I’ve got lunch!” You hold up the bag to face height in front of the door as if the door itself is going to pass on the message that yes, you do in fact have lunch. A plastic bag with some cheap Chinese from around the corner. You bang on the door some more. Usually Tuesday night is Chinese, you watch Jeopardy with the old man and eat on his 1950’s style TV dinner trays. Not last night though, you had a date.
By Jacob Allen5 years ago in Humans
The Manuscript of Irene Summers
There’s a certain euphoria in discovering something new in yourself. Something unique. Your painting came out leagues better than your classmates’—why, look at that. Maybe you ran the fastest mile in the entire school. Extraordinary. Let’s unpack that. Let’s explore. Sign up for art lessons. Get a gym membership. Stand out. Compete. Make something of yourself.
By Danielle C5 years ago in Humans
Butterflies
I work as a physical therapist in a skilled nursing facility with the elderly. The past year was hard on healthcare workers, but it’s been just as difficult for our patients. They are dealing with failing health, emotional pain and isolation. Many are laid at our doorstep by their own family. Frequently patients tell me relatives no longer answer their phone calls. They are viewed as being slow and an inconvenience; a nuisance to a culture that is afraid of facing their own mortality. It’s not an easy work environment. Often I journal my thoughts in my little black notebook or grow things in my garden to escape.
By Catherine Fielding5 years ago in Humans
Lily in White
When Elisabeth found a check for twenty thousand dollars among her mail, she was devastated. Though she had no clue of its origins, the money wrought whispers of promises that she had tried to forget, and now the paper seemed to mock her. It was just like Kai to ignore her wishes. That fool had it in his head that the responsibilities of her well-being fell upon him when they both knew it was she who provided in their relationship. At least, she did once. Kai had just managed to one-up her with a slip of paper that carried far too many zeros than Elisabeth cared to count. If he were here, Elisabeth would have yelled herself hoarse. Instead, she had to address his notebook—a journal bound by well-loved black leather.
By Alex Labaro5 years ago in Humans
A Life Well Lived
Jules brushed his hands roughly across the front of his jeans and pulled the cuffs down over his weathered brown loafers. With a small dollop of hair tonic, he ran his fingers back through an unruly thatch of wavy brown hair. He straightened his collar, peering in the mirror with furrowed brow, not feeling convincingly presentable. The rumble of the garbage truck on the street below signaled that it was time to head out, or risk missing the Q bus. Standing with one hand in his pocket and the other gripping the rail above, he gazed out of the window as the city came to life with the ambient noise of car horns and sirens and the indistinguishable chatter of fellow passengers. He struggled to find even a modicum of enthusiasm to push his way towards the door as the bus approached his stop. That journalism degree is certainly paying off, he thought, twisting one side of his mouth up into an indifferent grin. Being a copy editor wasn't very exciting, but it was a start. Having left the tranquility of Northern Kentucky to work in Manhattan after college, it didn't take long for the reverie of big city life to evaporate, leaving only the crushing reality of student loan debt and a growing distaste for ramen noodles. He shared a flat in Queens with a Macedonian expat and a nightclub promoter who frequently interrupted his slumber by burgeoning through the door at 3am, often accompanied by friends in various states of inebriation.
By Gary Weldon5 years ago in Humans