literature
Whether written centuries ago or just last year, literary couples show that love is timeless.
The Scottish Festival Surprise
Eleanor Morgan Dunwythe, a 30-something year old lady, five feet seven inches tall, a few extra pounds, with hazel eyes, auburn hair, fair skin, dressed in a burgundy skirt with a white peasant blouse, and a burgundy vest, walks through the local annual Scottish festival, filled with all different colour tents: white, blue and white striped, brown and white, canvas. The sounds of laughter, negotiating of purchases, tempting offers, and celtic music float on the slight breeze. She is perusing the items for sale or display in the various booths and tents: small statues, incense burners, candle holders, wooden signs, leather goods, bustiers, corsets, skirts, overdresses, children’s items, British food items such as vegemite, marmalade, Yorkshire tea, irn-bru, sgian dubh knives and swords. In one of the tents, she spies a handmade handbag, with a silk daisy on it, and purchases it. In another booth, she is drawn to a silver celtic triquetra necklace and matching bracelet, which she immediately purchases and puts on. As she’s leaving the booth, a six foot tall Scotsman with dark hair, ice blue eyes, and wearing a kilt comes running by and bumps into her, almost knocking her over, but catches her. Their eyes meet and they both feel an almost electric connection. He profusely apologizes and invites her out to dinner. She accepts his invitation and he explains he must first go to his Clan’s tent for a meeting and a commencement dance and would she mind coming along. She agrees, he takes her hand, and she matches his quick pace on the way to his Clan’s tent. People that they pass by look at them curiously and then resume their browsing.
By Emily A Dinwiddie7 years ago in Humans
The Idealists Anonymous Meeting
The hoodies covering everyone's faces as they filed through the door to the community center's basement gave most who came across it a wary feeling about what went on in there every Wednesday night. Occasionally, a brave soul or two ventured in with the crowd and sat down in the circle of chairs situated in the room.
By Alexis Lindberg7 years ago in Humans
Diary of a Dying Girl (Pt. 2)
YOU SAID "YES" TOO QUICKLY. "He proposed." I thought you were joking when you sent that text. My body knew you were serious before my brain did because I started shaking. My palms were sweaty and if I tried to speak I would've stuttered. I'm glad you were nowhere near me. I'm lucky you couldn't see my reaction. You would've seen my panic before you spotted my joy.
By Diary Of A Dying Girl7 years ago in Humans
Embers (Ch. 13)
GISELLE I chose the worst possible time to try and quit alcohol, weed, and cigarettes. The party I was hosting at the old welding factory had grown in body count within the last hour and I had no idea half of them would even show up, much less know they'd be passing around drugs like this was ninety eighty-eight. All of the high school cliques were in the same room, getting wasted, dancing to the same music, embracing the same false freedom that came with drugs and alcohol. It numbed you for the time being of course. But it wasn't a long term solution to the shit we constantly walked around with all day, and every day.
By Sharlene Alba7 years ago in Humans
My Fighter
I didn't want to, but I had to do it. I got a roommate. I love living alone and the idea of my apartment being my hideout from the whole world. But because I want to work part-time so I can focus on school I had to get a roommate in order to buy for my nice apartment. I called my old friend Tommy Conlon and he accepted to be my roommate. So now I wait for him to get here with all his things.
By Gisselle Canales7 years ago in Humans
The Forest
I’m in the forest. A cool, windless, lushly green forest consisting of moss-dappled earth and towering trees bearing a canopy of branches, so long and entwined only the faintest trace of sun filters through. The light bounces off the leaves in a way that makes them seem animated, alive.
By Saffron Dixon7 years ago in Humans
Coffee
It was strange to sit up in a bed, the smell the coffee coming from the kitchen, and I realize I wasn’t the first person up. I liked the idea of a hot cup of coffee waiting for me downstairs, but for so long, it had been my kitchen and my kitchen alone. I couldn’t help but think I was dreaming. Perhaps, it was a dream. Perhaps, if I pinched myself, I would wake up. Yet, the smell of my fresh, brewed beverage lingered through the room like a foreign language. I rose and tiptoed down the hall, cautiously, making sure I wouldn’t scare my fiancé. “Good morning baby,” I said as my fingers untangled his thick, chocolate brown hair. My other hand quickly made its way to his. Our lips locked and butterflies entered the room. I was drowning in admiration, adoration, and passion, all in different lakes; yet the enchantment he enthralled upon me was like the ocean, easy to get lost in and profound. His raspy, sexy voice made me want to do him right then and there. He has this amazing way with turning me on… he has trouble walking, trouble standing up, trouble buttering his toast, but he can do me right. When he tries to express himself with words, it doesn’t work out, but I’m not one for words anyhow. I admire him much like my favorite book, soaking up information as it’s given to me. I depict his emotions through the tone in his voice or the way his eyes light up talking to me; little things become everything. With his body—his lips, his hands, his muscle, his curves—love puts me in a fix. I become addicted. I was exhilarated with his existence. Unable to control myself much longer, I thrust myself onto him as my bare legs intertwined within his, our bodies compressed on the kitchen table. However, I continued to crave to, somehow, someway, get closer. I wanted to accomplish my goals with him, build with him, start a family with him, grow old with him. It awed me that a shot of vodka could no longer bring me the comfort his weight upon mine could. My heart sang a song, and he completed the verse. And it was then, in the midst of my manifestation, unconsciously roaming within my most intimate thoughts, that I tore open my chest, grabbed my heart, and placed it within the palm of my lover’s hands. And I just stood there, naked and vulnerable, as I kissed him with my bleeding heart in his hands, and the smell of coffee wafting in the room.
By Sofia Julien7 years ago in Humans
