humanity
For better or for worse, relationships reveal the core of the human condition.
THE MINUTIA OF LIFE
The Minutia of Life Train Station, Downtown Portland, Oregon, December 19, 10 pm. "Listen, Ginny, we’re inside the women’s restroom in the Chicago Amtrak Station. If you get this message, cause you did not pick up your phone just now, if you get this message, well. Well, just know that you did hear from us here. We think we’re being followed, I mean, some man started being everywhere we went today, all around downtown, even in Nordstrom where we ended up buying winter coats because it is way too cold here in Chicago and parts east. Then a little while ago, after we’d bought something to eat, Maddie saw him at the ticket window, chatting up the clerk, before buying a ticket. He’s been hanging around the waiting area near us. When the loudspeaker announced the train to parts east, ending in New York City, was delayed for ninety minutes, the guy disappeared into the men’s room. That’s when we hightailed it into the womens. We’re down at the end in the handicap stall, the only one big enough for both of us to hide, along with our luggage. We’re waiting for our train to be announced, and we’ll call you again to let you know we made the train without any trouble from this jerk. Okay. Well, I’m going to hang up now."
By KateC Gaston5 years ago in Humans
Selador
Anxiously, tossing and turning beneath my bed covers. While the light from a lamp post on the cul-de-sac shamelessly radiated through my window. This was one of the few nights I wished there were blinds on the window or curtains. To my left emanated a minuscule blinking light. Rolling toward the light on my bedside table, it signaled, in softly lit green numbers, 1:45 am. “Only one forty-five” I huffed rolling to my back. Could time move any slower?
By R. M. Forté5 years ago in Humans
The Spirit of Things
Translation of Japanese text: During the Kangbao period (964-968), people abandoned old artifacts on the roadside. These abandoned artifacts came together and said, “We dedicated ourselves to serving the master for many years, and there is no reward. Our Masters throw us out on the street and let us be trampled on by cattle and horses. Why don't we turn into spirits to take revenge?”
By Nanako Water5 years ago in Humans
The Visitor
I’m not sure what it was that drew me to Mr. Moreau. The sight of him alone was ironic: the stark contrast of his shiny, silver hair against his rugged, puckered skin. It was as if his hair had only lost hue, never luster. I could see that time had not been so kind to the rest of him. His jaw was tightly clamped - piling the lines and crevices of his tired skin over his cheekbones, giving way to the sunken outline of a skull. There were divots and depressions in his forehead, and a waxy, scaly film hanging over his eyelids. His chest rattled with a hiccup-like movement each time he drew a breath. He smelled familiar, like the pages of an old novel high atop a dusty shelf. Well-read, once loved, but bested by time.
By Nicole Dominique5 years ago in Humans
Mother Nature's Members' Club
As the last afternoon sunshine cascaded into the valley, Adam assumed an inelegant squat position and quivered in his skis. A couple of wide, slicing turns across the mountain lay behind him. The next pivot would tip him onto the steeper terrain across which his legs, loose change and dignity had splayed earlier that afternoon. He whispered through clenched teeth at his ski boots ‘just blooming turn’. But as he slid tentatively on, the points of his two skis locked together. He had to reel backwards to regain balance. Every pound of his flesh wobbled with fright. Panting, he lifted his goggles for a moment. The incomparable beauty of the Swiss Alps, contours glistening under a perfect bluebird sky, seemed to mock him. It was Mother Nature’s members' club - and he was starting to realise that he may never meet the criteria.
By RG Glasgow5 years ago in Humans
