literature

Whether written centuries ago or just last year, literary couples show that love is timeless.

The Weight of my Greatest Achievement
Upon grasping it, the money sent tremors to my body, and for an eternity, I didn’t know whether I’d raise it high or drop it to the ground. On one hand, the freedom and wings attached to the check could lift my far away from this life, but on the other hand, the weight and gravitas of what I now possessed could perhaps plunge me into a pit darker than I’d ever known.
By B. Easton5 years ago in Humans
Conflict Under Conflict
A patch of mould slowly creeps up the arched ceiling. Mice tentatively scuttle around the sleeping bodies in search of crumbs.
By James Cummings5 years ago in Humans
Small but powerful
Senator Tex O'Neel felt like a million dollars as he walked into the restaurant, clad in his dark grey silk and cashmere suit. As his assistant conferred with the maître d', the senator took in the feel of the room. The glass wall gave this place an unrivalled view of the Hudson, and it attracted some of the most influential people in New York. The food was pretentious slop, though. Even then, it was always filled with the cream of society, there to see and be seen.
By Pedro Mendes5 years ago in Humans
Futures Past
Sedate flames licked crackling logs. Comforting scents permeated the dimness: hot apple cider, steamy mulled wine, and embracing woodsmoke. Merry conversations, punctuated by laughter, filled the room. Gusts of frigid air stirred into the atmosphere of musical liveliness. Heavy boots on shivering toes, plodded up to the wooden bar as their owners melted into the softness of the happy room. Outside, beyond the thick log walls, snow blanketed the dark night in dreamy silence.
By Cesar GINOCCHIO5 years ago in Humans
The Cursed Blessing
Daisy was a selfless, caring soul who wore her heart on her sleeve. She worked in daycares, schools and Early ON centres, working with children and families. Daisy had a large, blended family; her five children (four boys and a girl) were her world but managing the day-to-day wasn’t always easy. With a spouse working away from home for several consecutive months, Daisy was the one who handled it all. At times, it was challenging and overwhelming for Daisy but like most, she always found a way to conquer the day. Daisy had places to be, deadlines, schedules, appointments, extracurricular activities, household tasks etc. "The day must go on", she always said. And so...it did!
By Melanie Malette5 years ago in Humans
Beijing in the Fall
Part 1 Maybe now we can talk about the long hug you gave me when we said goodbye at the airport. How I shed more tears than your mother, and even more tears than the woman you then loved.
By Ch5 years ago in Humans
Walking On Water
Surrounded by water, surrounded by sea, I drown now and wonder how this all came to be... It was a normal day, another straight-forward normal day. I sat in my boat, fishing for a feed. To feed my brothers. I heard a distant yell, I heard my brother scream. Running like the wind, what on Earth has he seen? He said he is here. The man we all waited for. The boss, the big man upstairs, the one that will lift us. I knew what he meant, I knew it all along.
By E. C. Holmes5 years ago in Humans
Unforgettable
It was a lonesome afternoon for 44 year old Richard Moleskine, like any afternoon Mr. Moleskine was sitting out on his porch, although something felt different. As he watched the children from the neighborhood ride their bikes, play with bubbles, kids making forts on the lawn, He could hear the laughter and as parents would pass by to say hello to drop off gifts to make their inquiry known. Many apologizing and sending in their deepest condolences on the recent loss of his wife. The couple had gone on a trip to celebrate their one year anniversary of marriage, that past summer, that changed the course of their life. The two lovebirds were known to be adventurous and one sky diving adventure turned into a woefully story. Ms. Moleskine, 38, lost her life so suddenly and her husband left with mounts of guilt, regret and heartbreak that could not allow him to surpass the idea of his missing piece. The couple never had the chance to have children on their own. An empty house that the couple only lived months in felt only now like a cold drift. Every night as if it was in a horror movie. Day by day felt no different. Pictures of the couple hanging on the wall from their wedding and all their other trips from riding waves in the Gold Coast to viewing the immaculate views in Norway, Greece, and Nepal. All her fragrances roamed near her vanity. Her work area not touched since. Paintbrushes sat on the desk as it was only a hobby, although she longed for it to be so much more. Her paint and canvases had already been worn out. Mr. Moleskine wakes up every morning only hoping to see his wife next to him, hearing her voice, wishing to smell the freshly brewed coffee downstairs. Moments that he was only able to recollect in his memory. Mr. Moleskine debated having his weekly therapy session, because all were the same. He refused and hated speaking on his emotions. He knew his wife deserved more and could not stand the idea of someone having to remind him of his hurtful decision that shattered his life. 3pm, and as he sits across his therapist. The only thing he awaits is for time to expedite, tick tock, tick tock. Mr. Crumley murmurs a word, but before he could get the full sentence out, Mr. Moleskine chooses to yell in bitterness, as he knows he is angry at the world. Yet again another unsuccessful session. Mr. Moleskine walks out the door and gets into his car and enters his empty home as it would be another night with a TV dinner and sitting out on the porch for it was the only place he felt close to his wife. They spent their afternoons watching the children of the block as the couple longed to one day have some of their own perhaps adopt, but they knew in those moments it would have been in store for them. As Mr. Moleskine came inside from being out on his porch he finished his dinner and about ready for bed. He looked at his wife’s clothing in the closet; a feeling was stirred in him, perhaps it was time. After 6 months of her being gone, it would be best to put away some of her belongings and as he reached towards a box and grabs one piece of a linen sweater pulls it off the hangar he seems physically unable to place her clothing inside the box. He moves away from the closet heads to his bed as he cannot hold himself together begins to pant and cry. Just another sad drifted night alone when suddenly a ring to the doorbell. Mr. Moleskine rushes downstairs as he opens the door to see who it could have been and finds no one at the door. Shuts the door and heads to bed. Morning came and as an early call from his cellphone he answered expecting to hear someone when the phone call was lost. Getting ready for the day and heads to the kitchen to have some breakfast as he will have to head to meet his therapist Mr. Crumley earlier than usual. As he gets in his car and heads down Blaker street he notices a car following him to his destination. Approaching the parking lot the car vanishes and meanwhile Mr. Moleskine steps out into his vehicle and walks into the office to meet his therapist. 30 minutes pass which seems to be yet again an unsuccessful session. Mr. Moleskine leaving the parking lot to head home, turns into the corner of his street and notices the same car that had been following him since this morning had just passed him by. Walking into his home he decides to do something different than usual and decides to look through some of his wife’s belongings. Books she kept near her nook and her favorite cassettes bunched up in one corner and suddenly there it was, a small black notebook about ready to open it; a doorbell ring and as he walks downstairs with this black little book in his hand notices no one is at the door. He finds himself in the living room skimming through this small black notebook that belonged to his deceased wife. Reading it he finds that his wife had been married prior and divorced. Not knowing this information he is confused as to why she never mentioned anything in relation to this. He sits back and continues to read inside the small black notebook to now only find her story began mentioning Mr. Moleskine. She talked about the day they met at the cleaners and how immediately smitten she was to their first date, Richard proposing, all their adventures and trips. All those memories he had were now only kept in a small little black book. He could not believe he had encountered such an amazing gift and how the words in the book were more than all the money in the world. Her very last sentence that was written read “Richard Moleskine is nothing short of amazing and this man is and has given me the best year of my life.” He considered himself lucky and so chosen to have come across, although he had questions he understood his questions would never get answered and he at that moment fully knew it was time to let not her memory fade, but in order for his grieving process to begin he had to put her belongings away, although her memory will always live in his heart. He gathers himself the next day to put away just a few things from his beloved wife. Perhaps this little black book was an answered prayer for him, because at that moment he felt assured it was a decision he had to take place. The doorbell rings and as he opens it he sees these two men dressed in black suits, they tell him “Do not ask any questions. We are here only for business. Give us the small black notebook for a full amount of $20,000” as one of the spies, opens the suitcase showing Mr. Moleskine the case. Mr. Moleskine is confused, but mentions he knows no such thing of a small black notebook. The two spies making their way into the house. Tying up Mr. Moleskine to blindfold him. He hears a third voice and a voice he is fully aware of. He recognizes. Asking "Is that you? Is that really you, Mr. Crumley?"
By Cassandra 5 years ago in Humans
Awash in Christmas Spirit
This holiday season, I had a shift at Rhode Island Hospital that was pretty rough. This wasn’t something I had to deal with back at home. In the middle of the Christmas party, some poor guy was wheeled in with a tree branch, complete with steel ornament hooks, through his upper leg. The decorations had been taken off already, and there was blood everywhere. I’m sorry, I have to gross you out because I work in the emergency room. It’s a lot of responsibility for a fifteen-year-old, but I’m the only one with the Talents for the job. So even though I’d rather be studying fourth-dimension architecture, I get it done.
By Jessica Knauss5 years ago in Humans
So, about that contest…
20k? Nice number. Strong. When I saw the check I just stared at it for a long time. I never thought, when I turned this in at the 11th hour, little black book in hand…that it would be selected. Sitting here, typing out this proverbial Hail Mary pass whilst entertaining the company of an intriguing prospect, while simultaneously extinguishing the yearning flame of another prospect. She was long tenured, and indeed seemed like someone worthy of a permanent fixture on my mantle. Tragic, then, that she would take her position for granted time and time again. Her loss, ultimately. Much too late for you to cry, said the esteemed Marvin Gaye, with his legendary ass. Little black book, you seem a product of another time, actual physical property for me to scribble in, scratch out or write over, tear out and ball up in embarrassment only to just narrowly miss in my bedroom trash can with a hoop that is certainly not regulation size. I’m watching You, the Netflix sizzler that every woman your age knows, and every child with Netflix access (including your own, somewhat disturbingly) has seen. It’s decent. That’s neither here nor there, they aren’t paying you for this check winning publicity. White people shit. Too bad this is being written right after then end of black history month. Though, nobody really cares about it but us, my darling little black holder of secrets. By secrets I mean mostly complaints with a dab of introspection. Tiny dab. Yo. This is the third time I’ve tried to write this story to make it regulation length and the server is crashing or something and my changes are not being saved. Please make some kind of feature that saves changes automatically after a brief period of time. It’s very frustrating to try and make this happen in a manner that’ll make the powers that be pleased, only to see it deleted randomly. My willpower has been drained to almost nothing, and this experience is adding to my recent stress which is just….through the roof right now. Little black book admittedly if I wasn’t writing in you right now I might fling you across the room at blazing speeds. Is twenty thousand dollars worth this stress? Remains to be seen after I take the check to cash it. Actually, I forgot that it’s going to be deposited automatically in some third party thing. Forgot what it was called but that’s a moot point now. Man, I’m so mad! I think I was really hitting a groove. Trying to grasp what I was writing about immediately before this. I think I mentioned something about Hollywood whitewashing foreign language classics, and wondering why since they so rarely work out. Train to Busan is what sparked that rabbit hole exploration. Then I spoke about The Departed being maybe the only good one. Definitely the only one I could think of off the top. Speaking of off the top, I’m watching these battle raps on YouTube. Amazing stuff. These cats are definitely superhuman esque. Couldn’t be me. I would be so salty any time anyone said anything about my family or myself. Too thin skinned for that shit. Hats off to them though. Ah yea made me think of 8 Mile after that, and the fire ass soundtrack that accompanied it being something like a phenomenon. Oh yes! LL Cool J. Any Given Sunday. This is some kind of fucked up backwards-ass version of six degrees of Kevin Bacon. I think that’s the name of that game. Anyway, piecing this lost thought process together is annoying. But that makes me think
By Filip Lizanna5 years ago in Humans
Finding Purpose
Lily let out a frustrated sigh as she ended the phone call. She took note of the ragged, peeling edges of her fingernails, destroyed by her current stress level. Scott Frances, her husband’s attorney, had smugly issued the proposition that would determine her fate. To remain happily, albeit aggravatingly wed, Lily had 48 hours and $20,000 to find her purpose.
By Hayley Marks5 years ago in Humans
Save us.
“It has to be a curse, nothing good ever happens to me,’’ I muttered to my best friend, who was standing next to me, giggling and swinging around the pole next to the bus station in utmost joy.
By Shallom Kimanzi5 years ago in Humans