literature
Whether written centuries ago or just last year, literary couples show that love is timeless.
Heist at the Royal Ontario Museum
I've been coming to evening events at the Royal Ontario Museum since I started university. They're always packed with people. Packed with witnesses. It's almost impossible to do what I've been planning to do for years. But this time is different.
By Moira Western5 years ago in Humans
Selling Ferdinand
Ferdinand, All that’s left of you sits before me on the wooden table, contained between the tattered covers of your worn journal. This is the first time I've seen the small, black book outside your arm's length. I'd been curious about the contents of your book since I first saw it, but I couldn’t gather the courage to inquire any further than a single sentence. I don't know how often you reflected on that night, but it sticks in my mind.
By Your Knabino5 years ago in Humans
The Book of Dreams
It was a dark and stormy night.The deep sounds of thunder were shaking the tiny house and the bolts of lightning lit up the mostly dark kitchen interior as I sat at my rickety table thinking about all the things I could be doing, had the electricity not gone out hours ago. Just as I started to rise from my chair in search of more candles, to help chase the shadows from the room, a strong knock rattled the door.
By Amber Dean5 years ago in Humans
The Church of Lorna
They didn’t scare me. It’s kind of hard to fear anything when you’re already dying. The chants of the protestors were growing louder by the second; I could barely hear myself think. You might think stage two lung cancer would get anyone to stop smoking but, that’s quitter talk. I smoked my first pack when I was thirteen and I hadn’t gone a day without a cigarette since. It had become the principal ritual of my religion, the Church of Lorna.
By Devon Redmond5 years ago in Humans
Rich Cabbage Soup
I awoke with the deep sense of dread that millions of North Americans can relate to, the kind of dread that comes with not knowing how you are going to make ends meet, or survive through the end of the month, not to mention the down the road hysteria of knowing that I am more likely to die in a homeless shelter than I am to retire and enjoy my so called Golden Years. Sometimes I can function through the dread, and other days I just lie in bed hoping for either death or salvation, but neither have come for me yet.
By Sheena Marshall5 years ago in Humans
Wooden Bench by the Creek
“I can’t take this anymore.” I thought to myself as I slammed the trunk full of boxes shut. At only seventeen years old, that was our fifth move since I began high school. I should have been running in the cross country meet that day, I know I would’ve won. I’d finally hit a 17 minute 5k. I’d trained at the high school track across from our apartment two, sometimes three times a day in my worn out tennis shoes. Maybe it was just to get out of our crammed little space, or maybe just to clear my mind, but I would run, despite my new shin splints. the wind would brush against my shaggy blonde hair. I was free, at least while I ran.
By Alyssa Cummings5 years ago in Humans
Blackbird Crying in the Dead of Night
“Alright, ‘m out.” Alex called over to the last bouncer. He tucked the bundle of tips under a strap of the outfit he’d danced in. Alex shrugged on his oversized hoodie, which fell just past his hips and was barely warming his body, seeing as under it all he had on was a holographic strappy piece. He zipped up his platforms and slung his bag over his shoulder.
By Noah Ray Meadows5 years ago in Humans
