fact or fiction
Is it a fact or is it merely fiction? Fact or Fiction explores the lesser known truths in the corporate culture of Journal.
Cameron
The sky feels different when I look at it now because the last time I saw it, it was filled with smoke and ash. And I instantly wanted to pass out at the fact that no one made it out but me. The only thing I had time to grab was the small black notebook I call my diary. Tattered around its edges and bent along its spine; like we are twins.
By Dead Set On Dreams5 years ago in Journal
The Puzzle
Rich walked down the street, his earbuds tucked snugly into his ears, looping a playlist of his favourite songs. His head was tilted slightly upward, gazing wistfully at the stars. For as long as he could remember, Rich had wondered about the stars. How far away were they? What made them burn? Does each star have its own planets? What about their own “Earth’s”? These were the kind of questions Rich had thought about throughout his younger years. From age six he could name every planet in the solar system and could name their moons by nine.
By Matthew R Rivett5 years ago in Journal
The Secrets of the Black Book
“Hey welcome! I’m glad you could make it! Come in, come in, have a seat! Whew, it’s freezing out there! I can’t believe how much snow has fallen, since we last spoke an hour ago, but I’m glad you made it through this snowstorm, safe and sound. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll take your coat, grab the black book out of the study, and then we can get started. You may have a seat by the fireplace, if you’d like, to warm yourself up! I just put some fresh logs on the fire, so that should last us a few hours. Alright, let me go hang up your coat, grab the book, and I’ll be right back.”
By A World of Expressions5 years ago in Journal
SORAYA'S KEYS
She was holding the key so tightly in her hands, you would be surprised it didn’t cut her. Her hands were wrinkled and reflected an age much older than the number of years she journeyed this earth; her nails, perfectly manicured so as to not betray what she did for a living when she wasn’t at work. When she opened the door, she could feel the thickness of the dust and the mold but relished in them as they were all hers. There were still artifacts from previous owners-a few lamps, armchairs and a dusty black book engraved in gold with the name Soraya. If she were superstitious, it would be easy for her to believe her ancestors bequeathed this home to her.
By Shamaine Daniels5 years ago in Journal
The Black Book
Dedicated to: Stefani Germanotta The boys at my school picked me up and threw me into the dumpster like I was trash, and there, in that low, dark void of a space, I found a Sine from Above. There at the bottom, rendered almost invisible in the darkness, I saw a golden glint catch the faintest trace of light that revealed a little black notebook. Despite being an unhygienic social faux pas, I took the souvenir from my impromptu dumpster diving session that day. After securing it in my bag I climbed out of the hole.
By Danny Fantom5 years ago in Journal
The Little Black Book
Nora was a typical 22 year old university student. Working 2 jobs to stay afloat, still living at home, has a beautiful white cat named “Poppy”, working tirelessly through her 3rd University degree, and had a university debt much larger than she thought would be possible to ever pay back. She had just gone through a very difficult break up, when she started to think that life just was not going her way. One day on her walk to work, Nora noticed what seemed to be a little black book in the pavement just ahead. Her curiosity got the better of her, because on closer inspection, this book looked very old, and the dirty leather cover was as creased as a crocodile’s back, so she picked it up to have a look. She went to flick through the pages of the book, to find that all but one page was ripped out. Her heart skipped a few beats when he read what was scribbled on the page:
By Joshua Waugh5 years ago in Journal
BLACK BOOKS & WHITE LINES
BLACK BOOK & WHITE LINES Written by Azaleh Artist This is a typical Monday in the month of August in New York City. Just doing the normal thing up early at 6AM walking my beautiful dogs in Riverside Park in Harlem. As I am on the way back to my apartment to get dressed to go to work. I see this black book in the trashcan on the corner of 142nd Street and Riverside Drive. I get on the downtown subway as I get off the train at 42nd Street, there again I notice another black book in the trash can on 42nd and 5th Avenue. This was very a bit strange to me because I had never paid attention to the trash cans in New York City, unless I was disposing trash myself. In both trash cans I was not disposing any trash, they just happened to be on the corners where I walk my dogs every day and where I worked.
By Azaleh Villafana5 years ago in Journal
On The Books
Many mornings started the same, my alarm sharply wakes me from my deep slumber even though the sun has yet to shine. I slowly lift my body from my temperature perfect mattress and place my feet on the cold wooden floor, like pins, an uncomfortable sensation jolts me to my feet and on to my day. I make a b-line to the restroom not before grabbing my phone of course and like clockwork I was on to another average day. Eat. Work. Sleep. Repeat, and this pandemic wasn’t making it any better, stuck in my house, sitting through pointless zoom call where Patty insist we all have our cameras on to “keep the team virtually connected”. I had enough, ENOUGH! So one day I decided, “Heidi, let’s get physical!”. So Everyday to maintain a bit of normalcy in my life I would go on a light jog, strong emphasis on light, around my neighborhood, trust me I’m no athlete. At first I was nervous because I live in a town that borderlines downtown which is known for sketchy activities, but I had a pretty great route in mind, so I grabbed my gear and got to it.
By Kat Thomas5 years ago in Journal
