literature

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

Ghost Train
Mrs. Lattie Birkenhead, the Widow of Birch Copse It was a fine May morning in Yorkshire. The sky was cloudless and birds could be chirping from the manicured shrubs planted in front of the Birkenhead household. While it was a beautiful day, it should be noted it was a strange day. There was not any rain. It was also strange because this fine morning of May twenty-eighth, Lionel Birkenhead was found dead in a hotel bed in Italy. Conversely, Mrs. Lattie Birkenhead was asleep in Birch Copse, their Yorkshire home.
By Ellen Nev5 years ago in Humans
The Fiery Object
“My uncle is dead,” I announced as I came into the room. Jack, my roommate, was kneeling in front of our coffee table and staring at a series there of three Newton's cradles. He turned to look at me. “You seem awfully broken up. I see how it affected your appetite.”
By Susan Joy Clark5 years ago in Humans
Going Home,
She had passed by it so many times, that which sat on a shelf deep inside her, covered in dust. The dust that accumulates when you have self-doubt, the clutter that happens when you lack confidence. As the years passed and she grew from a child into an adult, Her life continued to get harder, By the time she reached the age of 30, she couldn't see it at all anymore so she stopped looking.
By Ashley C5 years ago in Humans
A House Betrayed
Columbus, Ohio Spring 2017 The day was extremely hot and humid one for this time of year. However, that didn't stop the tens of thousands of people who gathered outside of the historic Ohio Stadium. They came from nearby and afar not for a football game mind you, but to witness love ones graduate from the famed Ohio State University. One of those graduating sat hidden amongst the thousands of other graduates. A stunning brunette whose exceptionally bright and highly intelligent young woman. Her physique looked as if a sculptor carved out of marble, but if was from the countless hours she spent at the gym when she wasn’t studying. Charlotte-Jacques Reis her given name, but those who knew her called her Charlie. She glanced up at the podium where Dr. M. K. Samuels stood. She was the first Black-American woman to be named president of the university.
By James E. Reese5 years ago in Humans
A Most Curious Maid
Most people use the hotel safe to lock up what they perceive as their most valuable items: passports, jewelry, and cash. They trust the heavy door and combination will protect their most valuable possessions. But what they forget to lock up, as Claudia knows, is their diary. Luckily for Claudia, she never had to crack open a safe or dig through a guest’s belongings too much in order to find a diary. In fact, sometimes it’s tucked under a pillow or even left idle on the desk and Claudia would’ve had to touch it anyway while making the room impeccably clean during her shifts as a maid in a five-star hotel in New Orleans.
By S. S. Esty5 years ago in Humans
The History of This Place Cannot Be So Completely Erased
“A man takes his sadness down to the river and throws it in the river / but then he’s still left / with the river.” Richard Siken, “Boot Theory”
By Fallon B5 years ago in Humans
No Place Like Home
No Place Like Home: Chapter 3: "The Long Shadow" Highway I55 crossing Rainbow Towers Way, Friday, June 7, 2024, 1945 hrs:
By Rob Nelson5 years ago in Humans
I'm On It
She fumbled with the door of the convenience with the two wet bags of dough in her hands. She was having a bad day. It had started in the morning with the neighbours kids screaming, the dog barking and in turn the parents swearing at them.
By Jason Bomers5 years ago in Humans
Sorry Terry
In retrospect, I think he over-reacted. He knew I liked a laugh, and he knew that, as dismal as the job was, I truly appreciated it. I concede that perhaps the two squashes down the shirt where a bit much, but I tend to get a little stupid around sad women, and Marge had just lost her dog to an overly aggressive sedan. Boy she loved that dog. What was I supposed to do? Morning shift in that cafeteria was shitty enough without a heartbroken head-chef. Being the go getter that I am, I took it upon myself to boost moral. The choice was obvious, I swooped into my classic imitation of the boss’ wife, it always landed strong. I wobbled around the kitchen, squashes in my shirt jingling about waving a ladle frantically, screaming “when are ya gonna put ambrosia salad on the menu Terry?”. Terry took exception. He’d been there all along. ‘Oops, sorry Terry.’ And, even though I told him that, no, there still were many, he swore that it was indeed the last straw and told me to leave. I left with the ladle. At least Marge laughed.
By David Granger5 years ago in Humans
Lost and Found
“DE-DE-DE-De...de-deet...DE-DE-DE-De...de-deet...” for once in my life, the painfully startling screech of the iPhone alarm didn’t even phase me. I had been awake for some time now. In fact I had been waiting for it to wake me up from what had to be a dream. I deliberately swiped away the usually monotonous yet always ill timed notification in one swift motion, my eyes not breaking stride from my highly illuminated phone screen lighting up my motionless, yet engaged best 5:30 am face. Was this a joke? Did the IRS make a mistake? For the last hour I had been perusing through my online bank statements trying to make sense of the fact that there was now suddenly a $20,000 deposit into my account that was not there yet 6 hours ago.
By Tim Hearne5 years ago in Humans
The Nook
It was a drizzly Thursday afternoon in Southern California. Fiona Fitzgerald was combing through dilapidated antique stores and thrift shops in hopes of finding some inspiration for her next art piece. She wasn't looking for anything in particular, but nothing was catching her eye. Her feet were soaked through. Her socks and shoes were squishing as she trudged along, and she was catching a chill. The shops were about to close Fiona needed something to warm her up from the inside out. She headed to her favorite cafe in the neighborhood, The Nook.
By Wendy Sanders5 years ago in Humans
A Line in the Sand
She clicks the mouse, and the laptop comes alive in the gloom of her kitchen. It looks at her, knowingly. “Yes, I am awake and ready for action, but you, you are set to spend another day procrastinating,” it accuses, as the home screen blinks open.
By Michèle Nardelli5 years ago in Humans