literature

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

Memorial
After you die, you get one phone call. You can call anyone you want and ask for whatever you want. At least, that’s what my best friend told me over the phone about an hour after I attended his funeral.
By Jason Hallows6 years ago in Humans
The Death of Jeffery Franks
Jeffery Franks was a high school dropout, and five days after his seventeenth birthday, he stole a bicycle and got arrested.
By Jason Hallows6 years ago in Humans
Ethan Writing
I had started on this a few years ago, it was supposed to be a cabin in the woods / paranormal horror story. I think it's rather amusing how writing about writer having writers block, gave ME writers block. Hope you enjoy.
By Sprat6 years ago in Humans
Octavia
Chapter One “Octavia, can you please hurry up? I don’t want to be late, again, messin around with yo slow ass!” Athena yells up the stairs at me.
By Jaamise Trimble6 years ago in Humans
The Bad Boy Stole my Motorcycle
Since I first laid eyes on him I’ve known he was a Jerk, I could tell from his fake motorcycle jacket that wasn't even the same brand of motorcycle that he owned, his black ripped jeans, and to match his whole facade a cocky smirk planted in the middle of his annoying face. But so it appears im the only one that knows it!
By Kiyah Williams6 years ago in Humans
Existing Obsolete
“He doesn’t even know I exist,” was my running thought every time I saw him. Every time I looked at him taking orders, standing confidently erect and flaunting every ounce of his physical beauty. This was never an intentional demonstration for he wasn’t vain despite having every reason to be; he was tall; his hair dirty blonde, wavy and soft, an imagined softness aromatized with his body's pheromones.
By Andrew Dominguez6 years ago in Humans
Trying
Trying I’ve tried. God knows I’ve tried. I tried scrolling through Indeed, Craigslist, and Upwork for longer than a minute; I’ve tried looking for jobs; I’ve tried working on my postponed novel. I’ve tried working without postponing; I’ve tried postponing my train-wreck. Instead I've driven the train through his Facebook and Instagram and wrecked by validating his political and career posts. Stopping myself is insignificant: in a matter of twelve days and four shifts, we’ll never see each other again and my wreck will postpone itself to pick-up elsewhere.
By Andrew Dominguez6 years ago in Humans
Baby Blues
"Thud, thud, thud..." Went your tiny heart beat on the monitor. "Thud, thud, thud..." Went my bigger heart beat on the gynecologist's table.
By A. C. Clementine 6 years ago in Humans
The Indian in Our Camp
Monday Morning, May 11, 1860 My name is Billy Thomas. I am 9-years-old. We’re leaving Santa Fe today, heading north and west. That’s what Pa said. He said there’s supposed to be land out there that a man can claim for himself, that a man can work, and that’s what he wants. Pa talks that way. He likes to farm.
By r. nuñez6 years ago in Humans
Intimate Exhibition
Bryher-Ann (Bry-An to her nearest and dearest) stretched her body out in the morning sun. The unfiltered light burned red through her eyelids and she enjoyed the warmth as it spread across her cheeks and chest.
By Deb Simmonds6 years ago in Humans
The Dragon's Lair
I watched the wheat fields and telephone poles race past as I looked out the window. It was the three of us, all packed into papa’s old station wagon; Papa and mama were up front talking about Sunday’s sermon and what Mr. Greene down at the drug store had said about someone or other, and I was in back, only the empty North Carolina horizon to entertain me. The car rattled over the gravel road, shaking my view from the window.
By Holly Galvan6 years ago in Humans
Seven
Why did she never seem to get to where she was supposed to go? Seven looked up at the building in front of her and rubbed her eyes tiredly.
By Ari Grossmann6 years ago in Humans