literature
Whether written centuries ago or just last year, literary couples show that love is timeless.
January Windfall
“It's not so bad… I suppose,” Astrid penned into her little black book. She isn’t sure how long she has owned this book, but it always seems to have one more blank page, room for one more story. It was once the keeper of inspiration and grandiose stories, now a crypt to unfinished adventures and epics turned tragedy. She gently replaces the book on her nightstand and looks at the clock; 9:17 am. Soft grey light filtering through dusty linen curtains, another snowy January morning inviting her to drift back to sleep.
By Christopher Pryde5 years ago in Humans
Live or Die by the Book
I am late. My heels are clicking on the sidewalk as I will my legs to move faster. I am supposed to give the eulogy at my professor’s funeral. Why did I agree to it? I took several philosophy classes from him, a sweet older man who always dressed impeccably. I did tend to ask lots of questions, visit his office pretty regularly and help him with his computer issues. I guess everyone figured I knew him well. He must not have any relatives.
By Amy Pauley5 years ago in Humans
Shadowed
Julia was five years old the first time she remembered receiving a gift from The Shadow Woman. The slatted wooden floorboards outside her bedroom door that creaked heavy whenever her daddy entered were silent as she watched the veiled apparition glide under the doorway and into her bedroom. The Woman stayed for awhile, sitting in the rocking chair in Julia’s room as the girl fell asleep, before fading into the smoky Memphis night. She left behind a small black notebook wrapped in silk, the book covers already soft and worn as if they had been carried by another for some years, the pages inside crisp cream and empty of any thought or reason. Young Julia was beginning to learn to write and was so afraid to cause any damage to the beautiful pages that for years after the gift was bestowed upon her, she only could bend her head into the journal and inhale deeply, imagining all of the different stories it might one day hold.
By Hannah Sullivan5 years ago in Humans
Kerrin's Journey
“Kerrin’s Journey” by Paige Jeffries On a cold Friday morning Kerrin held her face crying at what she thought would be her last semester at Stonybrook. Days like this she wished her dad was around to comfort her. He had died last year to cancer and nothing had been the same. Her scholarship was coming to an end and there was no financial relief on the horizon.
By Paige Jeffries5 years ago in Humans
The Notebook of Grateful
She’d had it for weeks before she found the money. On this day, Gracie L, fifty-seven years old, mother of three ungrateful kids, and grandmother to two children she had never seen, realized she was alone in the cardboard shanty she shared with Marie. Privacy was a rare luxury.
By Jacqui Burke5 years ago in Humans
RED'S REVENGE
If you ask any tourist what they recall most about Negril Jamaica, I’m sure they would say the breathtaking sunsets and Ricks Cafe however, growing up in Jamaica I can tell you there was quite a lot more. We lived in Negril, located right on the western tip of the island known for its beautiful beaches and tropical sunsets. Mom would say, “Exploit the magnificence God has bestowed on us.”
By Danita Davis5 years ago in Humans
OLD MONEY SMELL
“Mirlande, look at this, it’s locked!” Julián calls out. Julián and Mirlande are scavengers. They rummage through houses in abandoned towns and neighborhoods. Emmanuel, Mirlande’s father, taught Julián the job but he is retiring. Not that there is much to teach, just go into houses that now belong to no one and find something that can be sold back in the cities. Julián is teaching Mirlande, though Emmanuel had hoped his daughter would pick up something else. ‘Nothing left to scavenge,’ is old man Emmanuel’s saying, ‘everything has been picked.’
By Andres Manosalva5 years ago in Humans
A Harmonious Encounter
Maggie hastily jotted down the rest of the sentence in her little black notebook. She had found her groove, and the words had just been flowing today. The girl could barely get them written down fast enough. It was closing in on dinner time, though, and she still had to make the walk back home. She glanced over the page and nodded before closing the book and stuffing the pen into her pocket. She took out her phone and put in her headphones before pushing play. “The Rocky Road to Dublin” by The Dropkick Murphys kicked in the headphones as she stood up and headed out of the woods towards the trail.
By Anthony Crutcher5 years ago in Humans
