literature
Whether written centuries ago or just last year, literary couples show that love is timeless.
Billy's Book
Allison knew when she touched the surface of the black notebook that she had found something special. Its cover was worn leather with areas rubbed down from repeated use. She carefully pulled it out of the wall she was tearing down and blew decades of dust off its cover to read the name inscribed at the bottom: William “Billy” Ritter Jr. Sitting on the floor, she unwound the leather strap holding the book closed. Carefully, turning the cover she was surprised to see how well the inside had been maintained. The first page again listed the owner and included his birthdate of January 12, 1889. “Wow!” Allison said to herself. “This notebook is over a hundred years old!”
By Felicia Glenn Genovese5 years ago in Humans
Carlos
My hand trembled, revolting against me, as I took the phone in my hand. My eyes first commanded my gaze towards the sackcloth bag I had kept under my bed for decades, then to the black pocket notebook on my night table. The book’s cover was worn and wearied, the scratches and ridges on its face like those on my own. I suppose seventy years is always long, but it had been a long seventy years since I had first taken pen to those pages. Yet the first page was still empty except for the nine digits that had already been there on the day the book entered my life. I never wrote on that first page, though all the other pages of the book overflowed with redacted memories, each painful or joyous moment asking the same question, just not in words: do I call now?
By Alexander Xavier Urpí5 years ago in Humans
Easy
It was easy, too easy. Yet Byron also had great respect for the process. He had learned never to assume it was going to work each time. As he placed the folded piece of paper in the pocket of the notebook he would think, maybe this is the last time. But it never was. Each morning he’d wake up and there would be another wad of cash in the pocket where the note had been.
By Catie Dargue5 years ago in Humans
The Heavy Wool Coat
The park was under total darkness of night, and it had begun to lightly rain, but Sofia didn’t care about that right now. She didn’t want to go home, not to stare at an empty apartment and think about Ryan’s affairs. Her mind was swirling with wondering thoughts... what had she done to deserve such betrayal? Could she afford to renew the lease without him? Would she even want to?... The cool rain felt cleansing, hiding the tracks her tears made from the corner of her eyes down her chin and onto her chest. Sofia didn’t know how many hours she had been sitting on that park bench, or what time it was when she felt a hand on her shoulder.
By Alicia Stamm5 years ago in Humans
Trust and Hope
Trust and Hope The words just started to flow – so many words, full sentences, paragraphs of thoughts. She wrote them down as they flew out of her mind straight to the paper. Words that she would treasure – she didn’t even know the importance at the time but as the words came, she wrote. The words would come at odd times – sometimes in the morning, sometimes during her workday, and sometimes in the middle of the night. She would write them down whenever the thoughts flew in her small black book.
By Catherine G. Anderson-Keller5 years ago in Humans
Black Book, Red Label
Two girls. Soulless laughter. Empty martini glasses. Suddenly, joined by two men. --- Back in the pocket went the little notebook, tucked close to the heart, a perfect black placeholder for where the ol’ ticker should be. The Midnight Pearl was full tonight, as most taverns are on Friday night. Groups of friends huddled around each other, filling the Pearl with inebriated laughs and voices. Let the hair down, baby. Time to relax. Those who arrived by themselves took their place at the bar, leaning heavy on the bar top, their shoulders visibly hunched by an unseen weight.
By Johnnie Walker5 years ago in Humans
Fare Tredici
Lucy jumped out of her car and raced up to the bar in Hunni’s Tavern. Her three friends followed at a more sedate pace. They had spent most of the day at Piney Willow Golf Club about 70 miles south down US 1. They drove the beer carts for Hunni’s annual golf tournament where Hunni and 53 of his fellow golfers teed up for a 10:00 a.m. shotgun start. Aubrey Bosephus Hunnicutt, “Hunni” arranged for a chartered bus to transport tournament participants from the parking lot of his tavern to Piney Willow, all covered in the $60 entry fee. Hunni drove down in his Subaru with his friends Artie and Keith.
By Amanda Woomer5 years ago in Humans
Freedom
"It's time to go!" He spoke with an enthusiastic, cheery voice. He had finally done it - he made his dreams come true after all of his efforts. Granted, it wasn't his dream job to be an affiliate marketer, but now that everything was all set up and organized the entire show basically ran itself! He was making $10,000/mo after taxes, his employees were happy with their work, and he could sit back in his chair after a long time and sigh! Ahhh…
By Gabriel Mohr5 years ago in Humans
Silhouette and Shadow
I am the space under the stairs. A hidden nest under the eaves. Pause between words spoken during difficult conversation. A yellowed photograph. Reminder of before, when posing in time was a moment, and not an event. I reside within and between furrows and wrinkles. Deep sighs and passion pleas. I am a secret and a scream. The treasure and the tragedy. I am the space under the stairs.
By Kelly Girnas5 years ago in Humans
The White Book
One day Bill got home from his barista job and looked around his small apartment in frustration. “God, today was just the worst. In fact everyday is awful!” he screamed. “Every day I work myself to the bone just so I can barely scrape by. Then I endure a two hour trip through the shadiest part of the city just to get home to a dirty shithole. And! On top of that top, this whole goddamn building is two cracks away from being condemned! God damn it all!” Roaring with anger, he charged into the pile of clothes, books, food and paper in the middle of his living room. Venting his frustration, he grabbed whatever he could and threw them around randomly. In his mad dash he ended up power throwing a book against the wall. Focused on his task, he barely heard it slam. A sudden flash of light got his attention. Letting go of the pile, he stared at the book. It was laying open, emitting a bright column of green light from it's pages. Then the light faded and revealed a small figure. He was about two and a half feet high, with a mop of messy red hair spilling out from a small green cap. He had a red goatee and was smoking a pipe. He was wearing a green coat, green shorts, a white shirt, long white socks and pointed brown shoes. He stepped off the book and bowed. “Top of te morning to you, my name be Aesopaskin. May tis be a fine day for us all.”
By John Gallagher5 years ago in Humans
The Blind Healer
Many would cower and cry if they had to face up to the events that took place in Fiona’s life since she had been born. People she knew, and some she didn’t, had been nagging at her to write a book, her autobiography or even just the things she knew or had experienced with natural treatments, the animals she rescued or how she dealt with her rare genetic condition that took away most of her eye sight.
By Claire Byrne5 years ago in Humans
