literature
Whether written centuries ago or just last year, literary couples show that love is timeless.
The Bad Boy Stole my Motorcycle
Since I first laid eyes on him I’ve known he was a Jerk, I could tell from his fake motorcycle jacket that wasn't even the same brand of motorcycle that he owned, his black ripped jeans, and to match his whole facade a cocky smirk planted in the middle of his annoying face. But so it appears im the only one that knows it!
By Kiyah Williams6 years ago in Humans
Existing Obsolete
“He doesn’t even know I exist,” was my running thought every time I saw him. Every time I looked at him taking orders, standing confidently erect and flaunting every ounce of his physical beauty. This was never an intentional demonstration for he wasn’t vain despite having every reason to be; he was tall; his hair dirty blonde, wavy and soft, an imagined softness aromatized with his body's pheromones.
By Andrew Dominguez6 years ago in Humans
Trying
Trying I’ve tried. God knows I’ve tried. I tried scrolling through Indeed, Craigslist, and Upwork for longer than a minute; I’ve tried looking for jobs; I’ve tried working on my postponed novel. I’ve tried working without postponing; I’ve tried postponing my train-wreck. Instead I've driven the train through his Facebook and Instagram and wrecked by validating his political and career posts. Stopping myself is insignificant: in a matter of twelve days and four shifts, we’ll never see each other again and my wreck will postpone itself to pick-up elsewhere.
By Andrew Dominguez6 years ago in Humans
The Dragon's Lair
I watched the wheat fields and telephone poles race past as I looked out the window. It was the three of us, all packed into papa’s old station wagon; Papa and mama were up front talking about Sunday’s sermon and what Mr. Greene down at the drug store had said about someone or other, and I was in back, only the empty North Carolina horizon to entertain me. The car rattled over the gravel road, shaking my view from the window.
By Holly Galvan6 years ago in Humans
Choices
Many people hated Mondays and Wednesday because it’s either beginning of the week so you have to restart the bullshit you endured last week or its halfway through the week and you still have two more days until you can rest from the bullshit. Me I hated Tuesdays, not just any particular Tuesdays though a Tuesday after the summer holidays. I had over six weeks away from all the bullshit and now was the beginning of the first term in my final year at ‘The Dukes Grammar school and sixth form’ Sounds fancy? Yeah that’s because it’s filled with the privileged or scholarship kids and they’re even worse than the rich kids. The fact they named the bullshit school ‘Duke” showed how much their own arses they really are, and unfortunately I was one of them.
By Once upon a time 6 years ago in Humans
Club R
The cotton plants swayed gently in the breeze as a shrouded figure walked across the plantation. A large metal cross dangled from his waist as gnarled hands gripped a rosary. As he walked, two men stood in the distance waiting for him. One, the plantation owner, clad in rustic wear with a fat face and menacing glare in his eye. The other, a political man in an expensive suit holding a pocket watch as he checked the time every few moments.
By Keith Jacobs6 years ago in Humans
The Trials and Torments of the Regina Beaker
Regina Beaker was a shriveled onion of a woman with the light-hearted disposition of a sack of bricks. Her cheeks looked as if they were trying to touch each other inside of her mouth while her sharp, excessively prominent cheekbones were said to cut anyone who touched them. That is assuming anyone ever dared get that close to her. Her entire body was cold as a corpse with barely a suggestion of color. Her wrinkled lips sported a grotesque off-white. Her eyes were a cloudy gray. If one looked closely enough they could see memories of blue haunting them, but those days were long gone. Regina’s dark but slowly graying hair was pulled back in an intense bun on the back of her head. Each hair was pulled very straight. She did not believe in extraneous movement of any kind. Everything had a purpose. It is said that once she did not move for an entire day for she had no reason to. She sat perfectly still and stared at the wall. Her heart only pumped enough blood to keep her alive and allow her to proficiently do her required duties. With regimented control such as that, keeping her hair in place was hardly an unimaginable feat.
By Carly Polistina6 years ago in Humans
