literature

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

Have A Good One
The baby was kicking again. Sidney Lapert rubbed her aching abdomen, bruised blue-green lumps deforming an otherwise smooth sphere. A proper protruding tummy. It was bigger than she thought it would or could get, every day growing a bit bigger until all she saw was her bulging belly when she reached to tie her shoes.
By Lisa Muschinski5 years ago in Humans
Little Black Book
Wet. She reached over and with a trembling hand, turned on the light. 2:30am. Breathe. This is my bed, my quilt, my pillows, my sheets, my room in the house I bought. I am here. I feel the sheets on my skin, the sweat sliding down my shoulder blades. It is quiet. I am here. I am safe.
By Krissie Madden5 years ago in Humans
Nefarious Tea
Now hear me out. I am not prone to bouts of hallucinogenic insanity. Anxiety? Sure. Depressive episode? Who hasn’t been there? But I can tell you with absolute certainty that what I see has always been in true and proper alignment with reality. So please..tell me how I seem to be standing on an actual cloud.
By The Unbalanced Optimist5 years ago in Humans
The Little Black Book
Michael is a stock broker at a well renowned investment firm in NYC. He works in the Financial District with a 3-bedroom penthouse loft in SOHO. He has worked his whole life to get where he is now.
By Alexis Fenton5 years ago in Humans
If Hemingway Only Knew
This strange tale is not about a simple notebook. It is not even really about Ernest Hemingway, a burly, hard-drinking Pulitzer and Nobel prize-winning journalist and writer of the twentieth century who was also an adventurer, revolutionary sympathiser and profligate womanizer. Anyway, much has already been written about Ernest, his books and his "iceberg style" of writing that helped shape men for generations. Most people know he blew his ruggedly handsome face off with a shotgun in 1961. Many may even know that the night before his suicide, his last words were "Goodnight my kitten." to Mary, his fourth wife. Some may know he was injured some years before in a terrible plane crash. A few still seek out his books to imagine a better, harder life than they have today.
By RJ Ashfield5 years ago in Humans
Darkest Before Dawn
The autumn leaves rustled beneath Brandon’s feet as he ambled through the woods. The crisp night air swept through the mop of hair on his head that was in need of a good wash. Brandon’s feet were screaming at him after working 4 12 hour shifts in the Emergency Department. Bobby, Brandon’s boisterous golden Labrador Retriever, had gotten loose for the third time this week. As luck would have it, the moon was full and seemed to be fueling the chaos. Brandon had a hectic day at work and was looking forward to face planting into his bed after taking a hot shower. Instead of beginning to vegetate in his room for the next 24 hours, Brandon was following Bobby on a wild goose chase. Sticks crunched under Bobby’s paws as he ran between the trees. Brandon noticed that Bobby was running toward the huge gnarled oak tree that stood in a clearing. It was quite an eerie sight at night.
By khville065 years ago in Humans
Everything Returns In Love
I stand perched beside the lighthouse like a mythological creature summoned to protect what it loves. The ancient Scottish sea cliffs and I greet the sun as it rises and sets daily. I imagine someday my bones will become a part of the stones. My breath an echo on the wind. My words, all that remain of me, a reminder that everything does return in love. A daily hope cast out to sea. A human ritual of trust and surrender to what is to come.
By Sarah-Alexandra Teodorescu5 years ago in Humans
Under the Umbrella
Under the Umbrella "I'm sorry, but I don't understand why I'm here." Dean Bridges glanced around the elderly lawyer's comfortable office taking in the richly framed certificates, the shelves of well-used law books, and the expanse of the mahogany desk across from him. "I don't know anyone named Priscilla Barnes."
By Tamara Lorenz5 years ago in Humans
Pockets
Most of the stuff we nicked was worthless. The bags always turned out to be fakes, the wallets empty of cash. Tommy and I had started picking pockets in the sixth grade. Watched a tutorial on YouTube and at first it was a prank we pulled on our friends, then a way to get hall passes, and by high school we were running from police every other weekend.
By Max Miller5 years ago in Humans
Robbers
Robbery: 8:00 Claire sits on the bed in her childhood room; sunbeams stream through the window and converge on her, bathing her in lemon light.
By Change with Carrie 5 years ago in Humans
Little Black Book
Stephanie searched her father’s eyes. The walls around her were dressed in an alarming red wallpaper with faded, gold parallel lines running across the length of its body. The occasional rift in the material exposed bits of the white wall underneath, revealing the restaurant’s old age. Without much precision, or reason, the shiny, brown furniture was scattered around the main room. Stephanie’s family sat around the circular table in what felt like the middle of the room.
By WritingAnon5 years ago in Humans
Curious Little Find
My mother recently passed, and her lawyer had contacted me requesting a meeting regarding her Will. I arrived in the downtown area early and with time on my hands, I decided to wonder around this little bookstore I found tucked back between its towering neighbors; like a child hiding behind its mother. Dust danced in a weak stream of light that ushered me in the door. The musty scent aged books give off comforts me as I peruse the shelves hoping to find something of interest. I happen upon this black, label less, journal. My interest now peaked, I flipped through the pages when I noticed the time. I quickly made my way to the counter to purchase my find and headed out to my meeting.
By 5 years ago in Humans