literature

Whether written centuries ago or just last year, literary couples show that love is timeless.

Dirt Slopes
I was ten years old and the bracing sun of Central American summer was at its highest point. I don't remember much of how that day started. I probably woke up to the loud beat of reggeaton at the far distance, or ambulant merchants selling whole foods, or perhaps at the screams of my aunts and uncles arguing over who was going to do what that day. Whatever the reason for me to be awake was, it was there.
By Jose Duron5 years ago in Humans
Night Dancing
“Get up,” Jack whispered, leaning over to whisper in Gael’s ear. He knew his lover was awake. To the rest of the household, his creeping out of his room and into Gael’s would have been as good as silent, but to Gael, well he would have heard him the moment the door opened.
By Duointherain5 years ago in Humans
Sleep Schedule
N E W N O T E “Sleep Schedule” 12:05am It is past midnight and I am awake. It’s becoming an awfully painful habit of mine, one that I wish would stop.
By Leigh Hooper5 years ago in Humans
Jareth's Secret
"Holes punched through a black blanket," Everly murmured as she lifted her right hand and extended it toward the velvet black sky. Greyson, her boyfriend of two less than monogamous years, made a grunting sound to acknowledge her which pulled Everly from her reverie.
By Megz5 years ago in Humans
Portrait Of A Lady
Eureka, Duchess of Bonivia, had married the Duke at the age of 19, and had been widowed just after their sixth anniversary. The Duchess began experiencing severe health concerns just months before the Duke had suffered a fateful injury. She was a beautiful woman in her own right, but after suffering a stroke at the early age of 26, she became a recluse. She had always been very prideful of her looks, and now, she felt herself becoming more and more withdrawn. Her face was slightly drooped on the left side, and she was very self-conscious of this.
By Adrienne Huggins5 years ago in Humans
The Last Night
As the house falls quiet around me, I lay awake and ponder if this is it. Am I ready to give up? I lie in wait for a long while before slowly rising from my bed. I quietly sneak out of the room, and creep past the dogs, towards the back door. They lift their heads for just a moment before returning to their slumber. I take a long breath before the door creaks open and I slip outside. For a moment, I stare into the dark forest, pondering over whether I should change my mind once again. How far will I go this time? Should I turn around now? Do I have what it takes to be this person, to do this thing? I steady my breath.
By Kiwi5 years ago in Humans
Mouse and Owl
“Well, why didn’t you do it then?” tentatively asked the weary barn owl. It had been a long night, talking with Gilbert the mouse always turned wistful over Whiskey and smokes. Will was more of a walk it off and smash another line kind of owl. Talking problems through and crying about it didn’t make sense to him, like those dippy incestual pheasants down in Somerset. That’s how owls were raised in these parts of the woods. Regurgitate some vermin, shit some pellets, fuck some slutty barn owl down in Thetford. Life continues. Four in ten male owls not in education or employment commit suicide before the age of twelve. Short wingspans, short life plans. Growing up in the Woodland Projects was tough.
By Alexander Clarke5 years ago in Humans
A Timely Visitor
Oliver had awoken sharply at 3:33am from what had sounded like the fluttering wings of large bird. He still observed the “my side of the bed” policy despite that his wife passed away at the age of forty-two from breast cancer some 6 months ago. His side was the left from the foot of the bed, closest to the the window. Resting on the limb of the large northern pine on the opposite side of the glass pane was a rather curious and charming barn owl. Russet crown feathers framed his handsome snow white face. As he cocked his head to the to the left, Oliver couldn't help but notice how black his eyes were, like obsidian marbles.
By K.W. Thomas5 years ago in Humans
The Owl and the Pussycat
He is a night owl and takes some heat for that when his habits conflict with the lifestyle of who he spends time with. The house was plain on the outside but nice inside with huge arched doorways to the multiple adjoining rooms. It had a large river-rock fireplace that was where he felt the best magic with those he lured back to his lair. The master bedroom was the piece de resistance with a circular bed, and befitting the true bachelor that he was, it had it's own fireplace and sound system built into the walls. and balcony overlooking the barn.
By Robert Harrison5 years ago in Humans
Wandering Light
Small flickering flames light the path before her, just enough that she can see the next few steps. Her footfalls crunch into the autumn leaves, a noise that often brings her a sense of comfort-for the season of the harvest is her most favorite, where the spirits come to play within the realm of the physical world.
By Nicole Elizabeth5 years ago in Humans
Sawdust
The bag was still warm when the boy brought it into the shop. Ben looked up from his work table. ‘Help you?’ The boy held up the bag, an old canvas satchel with a draw string. ‘Can you take a look at this?’
By Angel5 years ago in Humans
A Good Soul
It was hard for the Owl King, looking out over a world so filled with humans he could barely stand it. He had to sit there and watch them make a mess of the world. Such a mess there had never been when the Owl's had ruled here. That of course, had been a long time ago.
By Lauren Meek5 years ago in Humans