literature
Whether written centuries ago or just last year, literary couples show that love is timeless.
"It's Cruel, Mickey"
The main hangout for the kids of Mavis street was the “El Mercado,” a mini-shopping plaza of little quaint shops located across the street from the Model Market, only a five-minute walk from those small middle-class houses we all called “home.” In the middle of the “El Mercado” was a modestly tiled water fountain which served as the hub for a fish restaurant, a jewelry store, a travel agency, a rattan furniture store, a tobacco shop, a barber shop and a large toy store. Inside my favorite store, old Mrs. Sund’s toy store, were many tables filled with an assortment of cheap plastic toys, most of which were manufactured in Japan; other toys that were not so cheap like “Robot Commando,” “Mr. Machine,” and “The Great Garloo”; a plethora of various kinds of candy, and of course, baseball cards.
By Stark Hunter8 years ago in Humans
Retribution: Chapter 27
Catharine finished up a letter in reply to one she had received from Agnès, who had sent it from Cairo, where they had arrived last week. They had taken the long way to Egypt, traveling through Italy and Greece. Along with her previous letters and postcards, Agnès had sent her mother a Fortuny silk scarf from Venice and a medal blessed by Pope Pius XI from the Vatican. In this most recent letter, she described how she and Kit were going to take a camel ride into the desert to look at the pyramids. Catharine reminded her in her own letter that she should not go out into the sun without a hat or parasol and that she should drink plenty of water; too much sun and dehydration were the worst things possible for the complexion.
By Rachel Lesch8 years ago in Humans
The Unwanted Ones
Prologue I never thought I'd be the one out of my friends to do self-harm, I never thought I'd do drugs either... I couldn't bring myself to believe that I had turned out this way, from an innocent teen to a horrible one after just a couple of years. I am Kendall and this is my story.
By Emily Gallerno8 years ago in Humans
Retribution: Chapter 25
January into February 1934 had given the people who came into La Première Etoile plenty to talk about. There had been Stavinsky's supposed suicide (or assassination as many were calling it). They were all repeating Le Canard Enchaîné's quip about Stavinsky having a "long arm" if he could have shot himself from the distance that the bullet which killed him came from.
By Rachel Lesch8 years ago in Humans
90 Miles an Hour
He could feel the cool evening breeze in his hair, 90 miles per hour, windows half rolled down in his late model pickup. It was a cool brisk evening for the middle of summer in upstate New York, he reached under the seat to make sure his father’s service revolver was still there, it had been a gift from his father on his deathbed. The wind from the window dried the blood on his face, he lights a cigarette and realizes that his clothes were still soaked with blood. As he saw the city lights disappear in the rear view he felt the cold beads of sweat as they ran down his neck. As the streetlights disappear and the yellow lines become mere dots on the highway, he feels overcome by emotion. Why did I think any of this was a good idea?
By Michael C. Lafferty-Shockency8 years ago in Humans
Retribution: Chapter 20
Augustin retreated into his cell at the end of the day with a newspaper he had managed to get ahold of. Nights were simultaneously the best and worst time of the day. They were somewhat more quiet and he could be alone with his thoughts but the quietness and solitude came with a feeling of uneasiness, which is why he kept a sort of dagger he had fashioned under his pillow.
By Rachel Lesch8 years ago in Humans
