humanity

For better or for worse, relationships reveal the core of the human condition.

A Life
A survivor. The rattle and spit of a man choking through his final moments, clawing at the shingle, dragging his broken body from the sea. Myrie approaches slowly, deliberately. She watches as he wrestles with his sodden cloak, tearing frantically at the fabric to reach what? A pocket. A small black notebook. He scrabbles at the pages which have curled and clung to one another, wails as his strength and life fail him. Myrie stands over him, his eyes meet hers, desperate and begging. She leans down and retrieves the book from his hand before walking away.
By Christy Taylor5 years ago in Humans
The Ledger
You check your bank account. You blink. Shock doesn't come easily to you, but now it's like lightning, electrical and all-consuming. You know (somehow) that your DNA has just been altered. You've heard of people who've been struck by lightning. Actually, there was a friend of your mother's, her husband - he's depressed now. Maybe you will be too when this hallucination disappears, so you refresh your little orange app. Did the shoeless finance man ever have a chapter on mysterious lump sums of $20,000 being deposited in your daily account? You stupidly wonder whether you should move it to your splurge account. Or fire extinguisher, or smile. Speaking of which, you try to do just that because surely you must do something, and you stretch your mouth to swallow the dread that's clawing up your throat like tar. You catch yourself in the reflection; you're grimacing. You wonder if this is a normal reaction as a thought bursts into your head like when you're watching porn and one of those ads punch through your browser of two people violently fucking (they're also grimacing) and you're trying to close it, but your stupid AdBlock isn't working. There was no furious doggy this time, but the thought is invasive and won't leave, and it's like an itch you need to scratch.
By Yazmin Bradley5 years ago in Humans
The Little Black Book:
I was 10 years old when the tramp came running through the forest. Older fella, he was, in good in shape, panting, dirty, missing a few teeth. I think I scared him as much as he scared me. We were up in the back quarry, not the running one, but the old one that had been turned into a park with trails up front. We were high on the south ridge where the rock had turned to brush and then imperceptibly turned into an aspen grove with coniferous trees splattered throughout. Up here, this abandoned part, I liked to call my own – nothing but mismatched fox and deer trails. I played up there, making forts out of sticks. Not the fancy treehouse forts built by rich Dads in the movies or the kind you find bought at Home Hardware in the suburbs but a real kid’s fort, with longer sticks leaning teepee style against a larger tree’s trunk in the middle, moss and leaves and boughs matted on top, mud in the cracks.
By AJ White5 years ago in Humans
The Choice
Warring scents of frankincense and meaty barbacoa drifted down Canyon Road in Santa Fe the afternoon the package arrived. Erin took a small table near the street and placed the padded mailer directly in front of her.
By C.D. O'Keefe5 years ago in Humans
Mr. Timmings
It lies there tauntingly, centered on the table. My lip is raw from subconsciously biting it. My body encased in time, the only giveaway that life is still going on around me is the subtle need to breathe and blink every so often.
By Kristen van den Berg5 years ago in Humans
The Numbers
Stilchester, England – Tuesday 6th June 2018 Two minutes’ brisk walk brought Lucy Whimple to the St Maurice tram stop. On a sunny Summer’s day she might walk to work – a pleasant one mile stroll through Erasmus Park, past the Quiritic Almshouses and across the ancient Gnashing Bridge to St Cedd’s – but today, with a cool breeze and ominous looking clouds, was definitely a tram day. A number 3 came along. She could have waited for a 4 but on a whim she took the 3 to Stangley Walk and changed to a 2 in the opposite direction.
By Tony Nunn5 years ago in Humans
Lost and Found
I'd made plans to take a hike to a small waterfall, which I used to frequent when I was in my 20s, once I'm off work that morning to start my weekend.
By Earl Pittman5 years ago in Humans
He Takes All of His Girlfriends to Mexico
I’ve been pacing the floors of my mind, contemplating these realities, and which of them to say. Because writing to you is not like writing to him, knowing one day you will read these words that accentuate these pages. More so in fact I’ve typed them before hand to keep track of my wonderings. As this life’s tempo quickens, I question my volition as Lucifer’s derision consumes God’s vision for my life. It’s life itself that I question; learning to be human is no simple task for one as myself. I’m simply a human in training, tripping over humanities customs. I’m constantly trampling the subtle feet of its dance.
By Atlas Quest5 years ago in Humans
Boundless Connections:
She stood waiting for the taxi outside the restaurant. The black canopy had tiny lights that resembled the night sky. Lightning hit the top of the building, creating flashes of red light to reflect off the windows. Brilliant flashes in the sky directly above her pulsed irregular. The wind blew leaves and flower petals from the fully bloomed Hibiscus trees. Through the street pink, orange and green debris could be seen gathering in doorways and against cars. Forcefull gusts of wind ripped branches from trees and plants surrounding the funky restaurant. Light pulsed behind grey clouds illuminating them a deep red. Thunder rattled the windows. Community art pieces surrounding the restaurant shook, violently. For the moment it had stopped raining. Lightning continued. This time striking the building next to the newest social cafe. The cafe lights abruptly went out. The woman turned her head quickly when the bus boy dropped the dish bin he had just collected. If it had not been for all the candles on the tables it would have been pitch black inside. Sighs of relief could be heard as the lights flickered on. The smell of Beef Brisket reminded the young woman of her grandmother's recipe. The aroma could be smelt for blocks. Moisture from the rain filled her nose forming droplets of water on her skin.
By Roxane Carey5 years ago in Humans
Freezing thoughts
The real kicker is that a small black notebook hides its' secrets well. A small black notebook is sly, ethereal, forgettable, and yet- powerful. The protagonist purchases the little black book because they have a tickle in their mind. The protagonist is you, and I- you see, the protagonist is all of us... The little black book cannot lie, the little black book contains the knowledge that as a creator lays pen to paper, finger to keyboard, voice to text, and thought to perception, eventually an image shall be formed.
By B Stuff5 years ago in Humans
Writing advice
Describe what you see behind you while looking into a mirror: be concrete. Writing under duress. Never next to or on top of. What did she see in the mirror? The outline of herself was clear as a possum tail in fog. Moments away from giving up at the desk today, she looked again. What if background is foreground? Can there be a behind if there is no in front? She turned in the chair to look at the rear of the room. The door, framed prints, bookcase, floor lamp. She untwisted her turn. In the mirror was no one—her face could be a stop sign, a juice box or a pile of ashes. The collar of her shirt and texture of the buttons were identifiable. Her face was not.
By Monica5 years ago in Humans
Be brave
Out of the blue, he gave me a book of poems. His self-published poems. Pages full of his musings and perspective on life. We had hit it off straight away when we first met six months earlier, both of us taking on whatever work we could find, to stay afloat during the pandemic. But now our contracts were up and it was time say: “See ya later!”
By Evonne Oxenham5 years ago in Humans