Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Humans.
Friendly Issues
When you make a new friend, it's a wonderful feeling. You learn new things and have new experiences with this friend, expanding your mind to possibilities, opportunities, hobbies, and more. You usually don't think that with any person you call your friend, that anything truly bad will happen to your friendship. Sure, you'll have spats and disagreements every now and again; but that's normal. But what about when something happens that destroys the friendship? How do you know if it's your fault or not, and regardless which, what do you do?
By Savana Verret8 years ago in Humans
Meeting My Soul Mate
I never thought I would ever find anyone. I've had a few boyfriends throughout high school, but I never really clicked with any of them. I thought something was wrong with me. I thought I was unloveable. I thought "Maybe I am just weird?" For 18 years, I never felt like I belonged. I never thought I could ever fit in, until I met her.
By Chantel St.Croix8 years ago in Humans
For You
The yellow lines on the highway sped by in a blur, and we flew through the night, and we felt free. But we weren't, and we knew it. We were running away from something and running away was never the path to freedom. I thought about telling John to turn back. I thought about suggesting to undo what we had done. I looked at him, only seeing his face when lights from passing cars lit up his strong features. His sharp jawline. His full lips. His thick eyebrows and long eyelashes. The little wave his hair made above his forehead. He was focused on the road. I wish I could tell what was going through his head. How he was feeling. The pain in his chest and it's severity. I reached out to touch his hand as he started to cry. I knew what we had just done was a life changing decision. I could tell he was heartbroken by the silent sobs escaping in the dark. Whimpers and gasps of sadness. Maybe even delight. We were still wearing our tuxedos. Mine, a navy blue. His, white like the roses at the reception. He was still wearing his engagement ring. Traditionally a ring for a woman, but after planning the wedding for two years, it was decided John would wear the diamond and his fiance would wear the ring meant for the male of the occasion. I started to wonder why he hadn't taken it off yet. He had plenty of time when I voiced my opinion at the aisle. Breaking the silence after the father said, "...or forever hold your peace." Plenty more time as we ran away from his family and family-in-law to be. So why was it still wrapped around the finger that lead to the heart. Was there an ounce of regret I didn't feel but he did? Did he still love her? His girlfriend of eight years and fiance of two? No. He left her at the altar. He stopped loving her four years ago when he met me. So why is he still wearing it? I didn't ask, because it didn't seem like the right time. So I tried to distract myself with the stars above us. I concentrated hard and tried to make out any constellations. The first one I discovered was Orion. I then focused on each individual star. Starting with Beetlejuice. One of the stars on Orion's belt. When I felt a tap on my shoulder bring me back to Earth. Back to the Oregon forest we were traveling through. John wasn't looking at me, but moved his hand from my shoulder to my lap. His hand curled up like he was carrying water. John's hand unfurled like a rose blossoming in the spring. A white and golden rock attached to a platinum ring was sitting on his palm. "For you," he said. I hesitated but picked up the expensive gift. I held the precious gem meant for another. It wasn't as heavy as the feeling I got thinking about what we had done. I have stolen another's lover, I was a thief. I was selfish. But, on the other hand, I was madly in love. And John was madly in love with me. The second he got engaged, he saw the perfect opportunity to escape what he thought he wanted to actually be with his soulmate. Me. The one. His other half, split from him when Zeus believed humans were too powerful. Whether we were on the path to paradise or damnation, I'm glad it's with him. I rolled down my window, allowing the cold air to chill our skin and bones and tossed the key that had opened the last door in the way of John's happiness. We had a bright future ahead of us. Little did I know that was just headlights heading right in our direction.
By Mensur Hamzabegović8 years ago in Humans
Signs The Guy You’re Talking To Is A F*ckboy
He doesn’t let you touch his phone – red flag. His phone is always facing down – red flag. If says, “come over, let's watch Netflix” – red flag. If he texts you anytime after 10 PM – red flag. If he ghosts on you mid conversation and picks up hours later where the conversation ended without an explanation – red flag. He goes for sex right away – red flag. I’m so sorry, ladies, but it’s not what you think it is with this guy. And I know it hurts because you want to believe all the sweet nothings he tells you, but take it from someone who has chosen all the wrong fish in the sea. What I’m about to tell you are the ultimate signs of a f*ckboy.
By Bianca Ebako8 years ago in Humans
Roses and Daisies
Reporters are trained to develop a sixth sense, a nose for when a story smells fishy. And something about this one wasn't right. First of all, I knew that the young and beautiful Sabrina was a total fraud. She was the biggest face in the modeling industry since her first spread traveled through the world like wildfire a year ago. She posed as the friendly girl next door. Pretending to love puppies and feed orphans and all the warm feeling nonsense. She even supposedly donated all the money she got from her follow up cover a couple months ago. Lies! If she donated all she gained from her own work, how would she afford all the luxuries she has surrounded herself with? She was climbing her way to the top by tricking the public. And they fell for it! Well not me. I have been a writer for four years now and can see right through her character. Nobody believed me though. So I know there was only one way to prove my story. Catch her in the act! I will pose as paparazzi and stalk her. I'll blend in with the rest of the admiring crowd. I will do what I must. My male colleagues will praise me once reveal the truth. So I went on and planned it all out. I kept a close eye on Sabrina's schedule. Every time she left and returned to her home, I noted it. Luckily for me she had just completed her third spread and is in the relaxing and editing phase before anything is published. I've learned her daily routine and have discovered she has time to herself on Thursdays, right after the sun sets. I've decided to make my move and confront her. I came up with a plan to sneak in past the gate, through her strangely large yard, and into the Victorian home. It won't be easy but I need this story! So I set out, waiting for the sun to fade to nothing. Waiting for the patrolling security guards not to be around. Slipping over the black and spiky bars. I made my way to a wall covered in flowers. I climbed the roses and daises to a balcony. What happened next made me feel like I had been shot. A heavy pain in my chest. There she was. The stunning Sabrina. With her long black hair and olive toned skin. Face nude. Free of any social quotas and layers of make up. She was playing around with several golden retrievers on her bed. Holding red and green chew toys high above her head as the dogs did their best to topple her. Wearing a custom made night gown. Probably Gucci or Versace. She looked over and saw me. I thought she would scream or yell for help. The thought of an intruder sent shivers down my spin and legs. I was the intruder which made the feeling worse. Throughout my thinking I never imagined the actual confrontation. But she only smiled and said, "So you're the one who's trying to make me look bad." I was shocked that she even knew who I was. She got up and walked over to a table with two champagne glasses. The dogs followed her. Sabrina, looking so elegant and divine with her long and smooth legs, commanded them all to sit. She grabbed both the tall glasses and walked over to me, handing me one of the expensive drinks. "I've been keeping tabs on you as well. As soon as I discovered you were stalking me I knew I had to give you a chance for an interview. One model, seven dogs, and a gorgeous reporter," she whispered.
By Mensur Hamzabegović8 years ago in Humans
Born to Not Fit In
I realized growing up that I was different from the rest of the world. Not because I have a different set of fingerprints or that my social security number was one of kind, but that I physically looked different. When I was 5-years-old and truly started to see a difference in the way I looked, I thought it was AMAZING! I had an insight that no one else had. To give you some background information of where I’m coming from, I have a very diverse heritage. My ethnicity includes black, white, Native American, Puerto Rican, and a bit of Haitian. My dad had red hair and freckles, my mom had the lightest skin a black woman could have (in my 5-year-old opinion), my older two siblings were definitely a lighter shade of brown than I was, and then there was me. Don’t get me started on my white cousins who lived in California. But growing up through the ages of 5 - 10, I saw myself as “lucky” given that I could relate to some many people of color. Then society hit hard, and my innocence was quickly taken away. I was being told through social media that there was a right way to look, and that was not me. Here, let me take you on a journey of why I was born not to fit in.
By Erika Watson8 years ago in Humans
Love Languages 101
When it comes to love, our styles are as unique as our features. The way we communicate love to one another is usually the sum of all the ways we have learned to express love in our past. Soaking up lessons on love from our parents, teachers, romances and TV shows. Sometimes, serendipitously, you find a friend or a lover who seems to be already fluent in your love language. On the other hand, some people have to practice at learning to speak the other's lingo. It can feel like each person is giving it their all, but still there is a disconnect. But don't lose hope! By understanding how the other person accepts love and gives love, the communication will flow and each person will feel appreciated and equal. Here are some ways to note your different love languages:
By Danielle Lmt8 years ago in Humans
Only Human
Rows were filled with people. Everyone settled into their seats. A few people talked. Not in a rude way. Probably in a respectful way, saying something about George. The first row was sparsely occupied by a few people, all in tears, all hunched over, quietly sobbing to themselves. They didn't seem too focused on the crying though. They seemed to be either learning how to bottle it and hide it or trying to get it all out of their system. They were thinking about the speech. That's what it's called, right? The eulogy comes later? They save that for a family member or loved one, surely? Or do we call it a eulogy even if it's from the guy who only learnt of George after death, and probably has all he knows about the man summed up in cliff notes in his pocket to learn beforehand. Yeah, I'd say that's the case. It'd be weird to say the minister gave a speech on George. It makes it seem like it's accompanied by PowerPoint slides and a brief Q&A. Eulogy sounds better.
By Joel Jackson8 years ago in Humans
Am I a Soft Boy?
For as long as I was able to look for categories of belonging in books, on the television, movies, fashion articles, I had always managed to discard those as proper descriptors for who I felt I was. You can’t put people in a box, you can’t just sum a whole human person up by a couple of token pieces of clothes, commonly-used expressions, vaguely ascribed character traits and call off 150 years of painstaking psycho-analysis. That is my hardcore belief that, whatever happens, there is more than meets the eye with every person I’ve met, than any bullshit denominator could say about them. Even when I do judge someone based on the facial hair that dangles off their membrane, there’s always this moment when I stop being a garbage piece of judgmental weirdo once I actually talk to the non-ironical type-writer user, manbun-sporting milk-and-sugar-with-a-dash-of-coffee drinking guy.
By Public Mistake8 years ago in Humans
My First Boyfriend Was a Total Heterophobe
I had the awkward pleasure of coming out of the closet as a gay man when I was 20 years old. Coming out was a terrifying experience for me, but I was two years into my undergraduate studies in music, and it didn't really surprise anyone that I was a man-on-man kinda bro. Plus, considering that most of the people I ran with were young arts majors, I didn't really deal with that much discrimination, so the process went fairly well.
By Sterling Bluford8 years ago in Humans
