humanity
For better or for worse, relationships reveal the core of the human condition.
Underpass
Cara It had been one of those days...you know, the days where you contemplate lying down in the middle of the street, announcing your official surrender from society, succumbing to an overwhelming feeling of defeat. The day had begun at Cara’s least favorite place, the dentist’s office, where she was poked and prodded under glaring white lighting; Adele droning on about “Rolling in the Deep” over the buzzing of toothbrushes and the scraping of metal on teeth.
By Kristin King5 years ago in Humans
The Black Books That Saved My Life
Have you ever found an old notebook from your past? You know like a diary but not because you used it for everything. I had such a notebook, actually I had several notebooks because that is how much I used to write during my early 20s. The consistent writing however waned after having kids. I still do not write as much anymore, and I am actually disappointed about that because writing saved my life. Not figuratively saved my life, writing literally saved my life. Recently during a depressive episode, I was wondering what I was going to do with the rest of my life and trying desperately to figure out what had went wrong. Did anything go wrong? Was this just a part of the normal course of the human condition? When we near the age of 50 do we all just ponder what we could have done differently, or do we reconcile our lives and settle for where we are?
By Nikki A. Higgins5 years ago in Humans
Brief
Brief, you said, handing me the flyer as I made a beeline for the door. Keep it, you said, not feeling the need to repeat yourself now, indeed never repeating yourself. Besides, the word brief was echoing in my head already, completing your sentence as I began to search for mine. I hadn’t written a paragraph in weeks, maybe even months, let alone a short story. Had I ever written one? Of course, you said, even if it never made it onto paper. We never stop writing stories, you told me, and I nodded, as I do, even if we never really start. You’d often told me it would help - setting things down in words. Fixing the imaginary in a visual, less virtual form. Pen and paper is best, you’d said, and I’d remembered these words, when I heard about the competition and reached for a medium to transcribe my own words, my thoughts, my tale. We all contain a multitude of tales, you’d often say, and I’d think about the reasons why not more of us were artists, what blocked some of us, maybe most of us, from becoming (or remaining) storytellers. Is the shame of the human race that powerful that our innate abilities, our innermost desires and drives, become a source of embarrassment, of pain, that our tongues and ink wells dry up rather than overflowing with beauty, vitality, joy? On the wall, I point to Adam and Eve, and you nod, as you do, and for a moment we both ponder on the melancholy that could so easily, so quickly be remedied, were we to undress, to take off these fig leaves and write on them. Book leaves. Pages. Tactile memories. Truths we can touch. Feelings unleashed.
By Daniel Harvey5 years ago in Humans
The English Teacher's Notebook
Each Tuesday and Thursday morning at 8:15 sharp Professor Adams walks into the lecture hall. Unwilling to sacrifice a second of time she begins talking as she makes way to the lectern at the front of the room. “Your quiz grades were posted just before I walked in the door.” She continued setting up her mobile classroom. “Most of you did pretty good. There were some little hiccups we are going to review, but not too bad overall. I will pass back your paper quizzes next time and you can see me in office hours if you have any questions about your grade or any of the concepts.”
By Matthew G. Sommermeyer5 years ago in Humans
You can’t take it with you
She was not sure what time it was when the pain woke her or how long she had been lying in the dark, waiting. The only sound she could hear was the old clock on the living room mantle faithfully, steadily slicing seconds off the borrowed time she was biding. The insidious ache grew larger and she struggled to control her thoughts. Once happy memories that brought her comfort had been reduced to longing and regrets causing her to shake her head now and then in an attempt to erase those faces that were long gone. Her body was too weak to get up on her own so she was forced to wait and try to breathe and relax like the hospice nurse had taught her. She focused on the muted sounds of her heartbeat and the small high pitched wheezing of her breath until the first pale rays of sun slipped through the tiny gap in her curtains. It wasn’t long till the staccato of bird songs began to welcome the dawn. In the distance she heard a rooster declaring his rightful place in the world. The pain was stronger now and she took deeper breaths telling herself it wouldn’t be much longer. When she finally heard a car door slam outside her house her eyes filled with tears. She had made it through. Leah was here.
By Melissa Sweeney Simpson5 years ago in Humans
PAUL'S DREAM or HIS ETERNAL LOOP
He woke up once again today under the overpass. He sometimes wishes he does not wake. He has never found his place in this world. He feels this world just passes him by so fast. Deep down he truly believes he will never be able to catch up.
By Corey Jacobs5 years ago in Humans
