humor
"Humor is what binds humans together and makes difficult times just a little less painful; Sometimes you can't help but laugh. "
When Anita Met Charles
Anita Harris had finally had enough. Her shirt stuck to her skin as she uselessly flapped her hand around her face. It had been stupidly hot all day and she was still suffering. Did she smell? God, she hoped she didn’t. Her nose twitched as she inhaled deeply but any scent of hers was masked by the overwhelming mix of dust, engine oil and musk that was the London underground.
By Zarah Andre5 years ago in Humans
A Leo Like No Other
I have never put much faith in Astrology. Well that is to say as far as who is compatible with whom. I feel as though even if you have stronger personality traits leaning one way or another should not decide your fate. If you want something to work, you must believe it will, and work to make sure it will. I guess in saying this it leads me to my next point I was born at the end of July, making my star sign a Leo. I do posses many of the traits of this fire sign. Anyone that knows me may even tell you that I am your typical Leo. For the most part I would predominantly agree with that.
By Carolyn Leonelli5 years ago in Humans
I am Cancer
I am Cancer. Hear me… cry myself to sleep at night. If you ever come across a description of Cancerians that doesn’t begin with ‘sensitive and emotional’, please send it my way, for the novelty value. When people ask me what my sign is at parties, I try to make a joke of it. I always reply: “Cancer, the emotional wreck of the zodiac.” If they know anything about astrology, they usually nod, and say: “Yeah.”
By Lorelei Russell5 years ago in Humans
An Open Letter To My Lovely (if somewhat ancient) Neighbors
Dear F & G, who both live in the flat downstairs, I hope you’re keeping well. I’m basically writing to let you know that you are genuinely very nice neighbors, and although due to COVID-19 we have only seen each other through the window, or over the yard wall for about a year, I would also like to express my eternal gratitude that you are a massive improvement on “the ones that came before”.
By The Duffers Diary5 years ago in Humans
The Betty St. James Scholarship for Moderate to Severe Sleep Walkers and Talkers
Ever since we were kids, Imogen has kept a little notebook of Big Secrets. I don’t know how she does it, walking around with all that highly classified information in her backpack. Imagine if she left it on the bus, or dropped it in the hall, or got mugged by someone who decided to read its contents at an open mic. (Imogen says this last scenario is “unlikely.”) I don’t know. The anxiety alone would kill me.
By Kefira Berlin5 years ago in Humans
Unbound
Snowflakes twinkled in the soft morning light, drifting slowly through the air. Not to land on the concrete sidewalks, nor the muddied patches of grass that adorned them; instead, they found their resting place on a small black leather-bound notebook. Countless students, walking through the back neighbourhoods on their way to university, passed over, on and around the book. Not a single one determined it to be of any worth and simply continued along their predestined path towards their schooling.
By Griffen Helm5 years ago in Humans
Buried a Life
I hear a noise. I drop to the ground. A plume of dust kicks up as my beer belly hits the dirt. I’m in the middle of North Coast bushland at least an hour trudge in all directions. There shouldn’t be anybody here. That’s why I chose here. The dust settles on my sweaty forehead as I army crawl up a small termite mound to get a better angle at where the noise came from. In the clearing I see a man, wearing a collared shirt and trousers, in the final stages of planting a tree. He plunges the shovel into the dirt making the same noise that had just startled me. My heaving breath disturbs the loose dirt near my mouth. Don’t breathe in the dust. Even the cicadas won’t drown out a cough.
By Ashleigh Hanley5 years ago in Humans
Green Glasses
If you close your eyes, you can remember the smell, the feel and the sound it made. That black journal that you spilled your inner thoughts into. You can’t really describe the smell of the paper; the crisp yet smoky odour that is left on the tips of your fingers when you’re done. Whether you finish covered in tears or show a subtle smile with that indented dimple. This is what your mother wanted when she said,”This is yours and only yours. A place for you to hide or flourish with dreams and goals.” No pressure for a ten year old. I could barely finish Black Beauty but here I will enter my every thought and feeling. Doubts? Maybe. Willing? Definitely.
By Ewa Ritchie5 years ago in Humans
Litter
The receipt I dropped last night, perhaps I pretend I did not see it fly away in the breeze as I took my keys from my back pocket, perhaps I pretend I do not hear the rustling noise it makes as it travels across the parking lot taunting me as a I walk to my car, “litterer, litterer.” Perhaps I am afraid that someone has seen me drop this receipt and will report me to the authorities after which I will receive a letter in the mail informing me of a fine for littering, and so I pick it up. Or perhaps I think, I’ve done enough for this world, it can take one indisposed receipt. Or maybe I don’t pick it up and maybe the fear of getting a fine for civil disservice haunts me and my dreams that night. Or maybe I sleep peacefully and dream of pastel rollerblades.
By Lily Marie5 years ago in Humans
