literature
Whether written centuries ago or just last year, literary couples show that love is timeless.
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
Autumn/Winter Romance - Part 3
By the time, we had pulled apart, his arm was around my waist, and we had basically become one person. He pulled back slowly, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. My eyes remained closed for a few more seconds, before slowly re-opening.
By Colleen Sweeney8 years ago in Humans
Dark Clouds Turn White
There was this beautiful young girl who existed at one time on this horrible planet we call our home. Her name was Liza. She was 17 years old with beautiful, straight dirty blonde hair, and she had greenish blue eyes. She was about five feet in height, and she was in between skinny and medium size in weight. She lived in Tampa, Florida but she moved to Mississippi not too long ago. When she moved to Mississippi she did not live with her parents. Instead, she lived with her aunt. Most people knew her as a girl who did not have a home. She wanted so bad to move somewhere and start a new life and have the most amazing little family, but no matter how hard she tried it just did not seem to happen. She was still in high school. She was almost finished with her junior year when she fell in love with her best friend. She did not only fall in love with him for his looks, but she fell in love with his words. The thing is that he knew she was and he did not use it against her, and he did not stop her. He did not even try to reject her love for him because he was falling in love with her too. Neither one of them had to tell each other how they felt because they could see it in their actions.
By Kasey Myers8 years ago in Humans
The Immigrant
Chapter 1 “Name.” “Aly-Annette.” “Please wait.” As I stood waiting for the man to process my information, I could barely believe where I was or even who I was, an immigrant on Ellis Island. A shard of hope sliced through my mind so fiercely that all I could do was muster a smile and look at the man attending me. I was 22; the man seemed in his late 40s.
By Nicole Zapata8 years ago in Humans
The Season of Selfishness
The twenty-second day of December brought an unusual warmth to the city of Wilmington, Delaware, at least for the winter season. Zevon Perell enjoyed the unseasonable climate. He had just reached the floor of his hedge fund, Perell & Power Capital. He stood at six feet four inches and possessed the skin color of embers. His business partner was Gerty Power, a five foot five inch lady with the skin color of sandstone and hair dyed the color of the waters of Aruba.
By Skyler Saunders8 years ago in Humans
Ceasefire
“Just who do you think you are?” she challenged. Things had grown increasingly tense in their relationship and this fight was just the result of residual anger from the last. And that of the fight before that. Constantly following the same tired template. She would offhandedly say something crass or make some snide comment. Usually just something passive aggressive. He simply was incapable of turning the other cheek, and as a result. It would escalate quickly. They’d spit venomous words, throw and shatter glasses, do or say things that they’d ultimately regret solely in the effort to hurt the other. They’d make vague but genuine apologies. Promises that, always seemed to be made too often, and kept rarely. Then they’d go off to lick their wounds, and wait for the cycle to continue. “But it’s love.”
By Cameron Dominguez8 years ago in Humans
Hooks
I walked out with my feet throbbing and my head banging from the music that surrounded each and every person. The lights made contact with my eyes almost instantly, and wincing as inevitable. Imagine waking up after a long surgery, and the light shines straight in your eyes. That was the feeling. My suede heels guided me through the hall towards the open door. I looked around at the timeless photos of parties of years before, weddings, anniversaries, and the occasional class reunion. As each photo got older, I could feel the rush of air blasting me from the winter weather outside. The bite of jack frost felt good as the sweat from dancing seemed to dry. My bandage dress was no match for the ice box feeling of the outdoors, but I wasn't trying to fight it. I made my way to the opening of the venue, and in front of me stood two dark oak doors that seemed like they weighed a million pounds. The designs of each door screamed "ancient" and "classical", something out of the manors of Downton Abbey. As I walked through these wooden behemoths, the chilliness seeped right into my body, the hot breath making little clouds out of my nose and mouth. The doors led right out onto stairs that showed me to a little path, surrounded by the snow and leaves that signify the transition of fall into a cold winter. It was calming, standing under the stars and breathing in the thin air that stung as it was inhaled. In that moment, I remembered why I had come out here in the first place. To run away from the person I could never have. Have you ever wanted something so bad, and known you could never have it? It makes you want the item all the more. Just like the one cookie before dinner or getting into your dream school when they want a 4.0 and you have a 3.0. That was this feeling. In that party there was a person who instantly filled my head, something about them drew me to them, and it wasn't something I could control. The way they strayed away from the crowd and I dove right into it. The way that I had to look up at them to get a real detailed look at their face. Even with my heels I had to take a step back and admire it. Then after, I remembered why I couldn't have them, and why I shouldn't want them. The hurt they caused me, and how they tried to catch the fish, caught it, and let it go before taking the hook out. I turned around and looked back at the building, the multi-color lights shining through the aged windows. The ground seemed to bounce along with the music. My eyes made my way to the Downton Abbey doors, and in the doorway stood a figure I didn't think I'd see. I stood back onto the snow in my heels as the figure made their way out as well. Crossing over to the opposite side of the entrance, they stepped onto the brick path and onto a cleared off bench. The figure sat down and took a deep breath, the big cloud of breath that formed in the air proved it. I slowly stepped back onto the path avoiding the lone sticks around my feet for fear of stepping on one and gaining attention from the loud crack. My feet made their way to the entrance without a glance from the figure. As I stepped onto the first step, I seemed to forget that high heels were possibly the loudest inventions in women footwear. The figure glanced over my way and realized they had company.
By Samantha Cabbil8 years ago in Humans
Evergreen
Chapter 1 “Do you like to dance, Mr. Darcy?” “Not if I can help it.” “No, Wil, no,” Dani ripped the remote out of my hand, Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy were replaced by black screen with me looking back at myself lying face first on my couch in day old pajamas. “You can’t do this to yourself. It has been three weeks since that ass hat left. I will no longer stand by and watch you be depressed. I won’t do it. As your best friend I am responsible for your wellbeing after a break up.” I grunted and rolled myself off the couch.
By Jessica Briggs8 years ago in Humans
The Mock Life – Chapter Two
I'm home. I haven't even been out of the house that long and I feel like I've vanquished a great demon. I find my bed, I find my nook, and my head rests gently on the pillow and I feel comfortable. I sense her. Before she even says my name, before her stench wafts in, before she breaks in like the shittest cat robber ever. There she is, the overwhelming figure of matronliness (or lacking of) lurking at the end of my bed for the second time today. Two times more than I would have preferred. She tells me that Janet her therapist has told her that maybe that I need to hear she loves me more. The Thug began seeing a psych a couple of years ago when she self-diagnosed that she was having a midlife crisis, obviously only me, my father and Janet knew this. I'm aware I sound cold, but she's just really fucking annoying. Like if you don't know someone like her you just won't understand. So then she sits. She sits on the end of the bed, she asks me how my day way, feigns some general interest and then she blindsides me. We are not an open family, we don't have family meetings or discuss our feelings the closest we've ever got is when my great aunt Marie died and my dad gave me a quick hug and a pat on the back. We're not emotionless, we are just not like this. She asks me if I'm a virgin. I feel my jaw literally drop a little and my irises widen three centimetres. This is not what we talk about. This is not who we are. Even the Thug can recognise my disbelief and slight nausea.
By Ellen Brooking8 years ago in Humans
