humanity
For better or for worse, relationships reveal the core of the human condition.
The Luckiest Man in the World
2/6/2006 Vegas. The beautiful blond let me light her cigarette, and then said “Look slow, you can only see something for the first time once.” I watched her walk away down the street, and she looked as good going as she did coming. Immediately as she turned the corner, I pulled out my Moleskin notebook and flipped it open, writing down before it faded, the words she had said. That’s the magic of words, of paper, of pen. Something magical happens and you capture a bit of it, just a bit of it, forever
By Keith Merritt5 years ago in Humans
Perception
I was sitting at my usual table when she approached. A beautiful woman with flawless dark skin stood opposite me, her black braids pulled back off her face. She clutched a small notebook in her hands and her walnut-brown eyes were anxious. I eyed her quizzically as she perched on an empty chair.
By Courtney Harris5 years ago in Humans
Cascading
Their phone chimed on the table next to them, almost simultaneously, a notification swung down from the top of their laptop screen, “Re: Project Proposal for Social Media Content Contributor”. A moment of contemplation, then hesitation, accompanied by that Hitchcockian psychological zoom, pulling all the possibilities and potentials forward, but dragging with it a feeling of unease. A decision had been made and, in a moment’s time, this episode that has been tucked away with crossed fingers, just out of mental frame in the peripheral zone of “cautious optimism”, would conclude, for better or worse. They read on.
By Paul Joseph Rivera-Carlisle5 years ago in Humans
Chance encounters.
Theodore sat on a bench in the enclosed bus terminus - earphones in ear - head bopping slightly to the rhythmic thump of the bassline to Eminem’s ‘Lose Yourself’. He was lost in his own world of catchy punchlines and enticing ‘bars’, but not so lost that he didn’t notice the old lady who had recently arrived at the same terminus and was waiting outside in the winter cold hunched over her walking stick.
By Lewis Nhongonhema5 years ago in Humans
On The Shore
On The Shore A boy dressed in blue combed the beach for valuable debris. His limbs were just long enough now to carry him with some speed and surety, though green enough to take the batterings and bruises that the rugged coastline greeted him with. He was of that age where the mind has not yet caught up with its gangly vessel, the pilot still used to shorter instruments, and so he was always slipping and bumping into things. His family were away from the scene, back at the white house where they were staying, or visiting the village. He was alone on the shore, and beside the sea was where he wanted to be. The sea was always what he wished for her to be, and he accepted all her changing moods without question. She was one voice, clear when she spoke, perfectly stark against the clatter of everyday conversation, and she always listened. The boy and her understood each other, he thought, much better than his human relations. Her coolness was serious when he needed seriousness, and he understood her temperaments and respected them. When she was tempestuous, he did not enter, and when she was calm, she invited him. On those days he would lie skyward afloat on the spray, glossing over glassy waves.
By Kell Tibenham5 years ago in Humans
Oh, My Stars!
Well, surprise. The obsessive, slightly disorganized writer’s sun sign is the lovely Virgo. While the average Virgo is mistakenly thought of as well put-together and grounded, I am both and neither of these. See, what most don’t know about the zodiacs are that each person has three main rulings. There is the sun sign; the point of the year at which we are born, the rising sign; the point the sun was at upon which we entered this world, and the moon sign; the point the moon was located in the sky when we came to be. Each sign rules a significant part of our lives. While my sun sign is a Virgo, I feel as if I identify more with my moon sign; Libra.
By Katie Dixon5 years ago in Humans
The Southbound Train
A slender red ribbon danced through nimble fingers winding around the forefinger and thumb. The ribbon stemmed from a drawing book the woman’s anxious hands worked, no matter if the already worn bookmark would detach. It was better to fiddle with that rather than her hair or glasses or the train ticket protected inside.
By Natasha Giannantonio5 years ago in Humans
