literature
Whether written centuries ago or just last year, literary couples show that love is timeless.
Ghost Story
There’s a breeze coming in off the ocean. The fog is rolling in like ghosts, reminding me of the specter the man I slept beside last night will soon be. Gooseflesh coils up my arms like a forest fire. It’s the 8th day of counselor training, I walk into the dining hall some kind of seven am, red eyed, black coffee awful. I’m wearing a tasseled crop top, bleached booty shorts. My shoulder length hair is done up some kind of backwoods beauty queen. Discount mascara is painted over my infected eye. A mosquito bit me on my eyelid yesterday. The man from the night before told me that it’s because the insects thought my eyes were pretty too. He told me some things were too beautiful to resist. I’m more sunburnt than tan, my face looks like I’m always anime blushing, so when I walk in and the entire dining hall goes silent, none of the other counselors can see the blood rushing to my face. They stare anyways.
By Aliza Dube8 years ago in Humans
Was It Meant to Be?
How do you lay next to the guy you fell head-over-heels for, knowing that he treats you like a friend or sometimes not even like you're the most important thing in his life? Yeah, I know, you can't answer that. They always say that true love never fails, it may bend at some points in time, but it will never break. So why does it feel like your heart is in a million pieces? Moral point is that you never know how the other person feels for you. They can tell you a thousand times but if they don’t show you then what’s its really worth?
By Kelsey Hollingsworth8 years ago in Humans
Only Charles and I
At first, we thought the black liquid was oil, that we'd struck it rich and that we'd be able to retire and live in leisure. After working for so many months in the same fields, we've finally reached our goal. We actually started writing down all the ways we'd spend the money.
By Mensur Hamzabegović8 years ago in Humans
A Man and The Man
Roger Paul Jameson, III meticulously pulled the shaving cream from his face as he stared into his large mirror. He saw that no piece of his hair had stayed on, and he nodded at this sight. He then put down his razor and reached for his toothbrush, which already had the toothpaste on its bristles.
By Alex Maurice8 years ago in Humans
The Hamiltons: Part 3
Alexander Hamilton paced back and forth in front of his wife's bedroom door and wished that it would all just be over already. His mother-in-law had told him that Eliza was a healthy young woman and that all was going well. If anyone was an expert on pregnancy and childbirth, it was Catherine Schuyler. The doctor and the midwife had said pretty much the same thing but none of this sage wisdom had done anything to make Alexander worry any less.
By Rachel Lesch8 years ago in Humans
Chains of Love
She sat on the small wooden bench so quietly as she gazed out the open window. I leaned against the doorjamb, my sunburned arms crossed against my chest as I looked in on her. From my angle, I could see only the side of her face, but it was enough to see the peaceful, thoughtful look in her eye. The sun was beginning to sink down below the treetops and a gentle summer breeze was moving just enough that I could pick up on the light scent of the flowers she had planted right outside the window. I thought it was a silly place for a garden.
By Jennifer Tate8 years ago in Humans
Chapter 1: Empty
Chapter 1 Have you ever had that feeling of driving into oncoming traffic or jumping off a building? Not because you’re suicidal, but because you just feel like you need to. Then you snap back into your normal frame of thought and think to yourself that everything is fine. That my friend is “L’appel du vide” or loosely translated to English, the call of the void. Some people hear the call more than others, like me… I mean, don’t get me wrong, life has been somewhat good to me. I’m 27, I have an apartment and a cat, a decent paying job, I drink sometimes, and I have the occasional female companion. My life is simple, yet the void calls to me as if I’m not happy with what I have, as if I’m incomplete.
By Jack DeWitt8 years ago in Humans
Stranger on a Bus
A Guy is on a bus, the same bus he rides at the same time to the same place from the same place while in the same seat just like he does every day. He's listening to music on his headphones while he hides from the world around him under the hood he pulls over his head every day, just enough to fake being asleep because it falls just short of his eyebrows. The Guy's hood head leans off to the side resting carelessly on the worn window of the public transportation bus, almost exactly below a terribly drawn heart that's been etched in by an elderly artist named Earl, but his friends called him Gus, with Parkinson's disease, dedication, and entirely too much time unsupervised on the bus for someone with his trend of mischievous behavior... or at least Guy likes to imagine that's how it got there. Guy imagines a lot, like how many others have stared through the window fantasizing about the impossible in the very same seat as him? Why the seat was so warm when he sat down? Especially during October, and what kind of person has butt heat like that? Was it a medical condition they should probably get looked into? Did they already know about it?
By Jayson Rich8 years ago in Humans
Memoirs of a Depressed Girl Part One
hen I was seventeen years old, I tried killing myself. Only my family and a few close friends know my secret. It's not something I like to share. That particular time in my life was in all honesty, hell. I hated my life. I hated my job. I hated my friends. I hated my family. I hated my boyfriend. And most of all, I hated me.
By Jennifer Rubey8 years ago in Humans
