humanity
For better or for worse, relationships reveal the core of the human condition.
Nothing Personal
The clock above the soda case ticked off another minute as the woman on the other side of the counter fished the depths of her purse. Evangeline glanced through the front windows to the gas pumps. If this woman found her wallet and paid soon, and no one else came into the store, she’d have time.
By Bethany J Miller5 years ago in Humans
The Least Boring Things I've Ever Done
You read stories often about paying it forward and performing acts of kindness in the world. There are a lot of similar stories, articles, tweets, posts, comments, etc. that tell the same moral over and over: pass along kindness, and it will be returned to you.
By Dani Banani5 years ago in Humans
Fortune of Fate
Magic doesn't exist. There are no last minute miracles that save the day. The world, and more specifically your life, is what you make it. And yet. There are always snippets of time, small moments of what can't possibly be real. It's the coincidence of the day to day. The parts of our lives where we left the house a few minutes late, for any number of reasons, and just narrowly missed a tragedy. What about the more outrageous coincidences, those that happen too quickly, too perfectly to actually be explained? The word of coincidence and humanity's power of belief, either for or against the existence of something just a bit more, is something of a marvel. The mundane becomes magic and the common place becomes coincidence.
By Diane Dunn5 years ago in Humans
Are We Playing Our Cosmic Role?
I'm a Taurus through and through. Don't believe me? Well, that's me up there in the picture. As you can see, I even have the tattoo. But maybe you're thinking I'm just a guy with a really cool zodiac sign and a tattoo to match. Well let me tell you about how I got punched in the nuts by a TSA agent, then maybe you'll believe me.
By W.H. Michael5 years ago in Humans
Anne's Tea Recipe
Life flows like water; not seamless, but continuous, like a stream bouncing its way along the rocks. Memories come forth however, like individual ice cubes poured from a pitcher. Sometimes they spill forth quickly, one after another, giving you disjointed glimpses of your past; sometimes they come slowly, one at a time, giving you time to savor each one, before going on to the next. Since my mother’s death, memories of my life are unstoppable, until I have become overwhelmed by the fullness of my thirty-one years. I have sat for days in solitude in the attic of the old Victorian boarding house in which I live, surrounded by the remnants and remembrances of life with my mother. The house has always been here. My mother has always been here. They are intricately interrelated. One without the other seems unreal, impossible even, and leaves me feeling empty and abandoned, even though the house is still filled with people and life.
By Kat Revier5 years ago in Humans
Lost and Found
The subway doors parted at Bleecker. He quickly stepped onto the train as he always did, even though it wasn’t necessary. In this post-pandemic world it was still easy to find a seat and would be quite some time before the trains were packed with mask-less faces. As he searched for a spot he eyed a small black notebook lying on an empty seat. Drawn to it, he walked over and took the book’s place, looking around to see if anyone would claim it. It looked like a journal. Private. Yet he felt the need to open it. It felt strange at first and voyeuristic, so he looked around once again as if to receive an okay from the world around him. Perhaps a name is inside, he told himself, as a reason to open it. He opened the book on the first page. No name, but something much better - a sketch of a small bird on a tree. Lovely. He turned the page and there were more smaller sketches in the margins alongside someone’s thoughts and prose. Now he truly felt like a voyeur and closed the book. But he kept it and slipped it into his messenger bag as if it was his own.
By Meredith Henning5 years ago in Humans
