fact or fiction
Is it a fact or is it merely fiction? Fact or Fiction explores relationship myths and truths to get your head out of the clouds and back into romantic reality.
Samuel's Story
Noah looked down at his watch, “Only 30 more minutes” he thought to himself as he restocked coffee cups for the next day’s morning crew. At the sound of the door chimes knocking together, he looked up to see his regular customer stepping inside. He was a homeless man, with kind eyes who stuck to his routine. Every evening at 5 O’clock he came into the shop to order some chamomile tea and enjoy the warmth of the indoors before braving another night sleeping in the subway. “Chamomile tea for you today?” Noah asked the homeless man. He nodded in response; He was a man of few words. In a matter of seconds, in what seemed like a single swift move behind the counter, Noah produced a steaming cup of tea for the small sum of $1.50. The homeless man reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins. “Thank you” he said and was about to walk away but then turned back and asked Noah “What are your plans?” “For tonight? Uh, I’ll probably just head home, maybe watch some TV” Again, the homeless man just nodded before turning around and heading towards his usual table by the window.
By Claire Bledsoe5 years ago in Humans
Penobscot 89.1 WXJT
Helen placed the headphones over her ears, adjusted the microphone, and opened her small black notebook to review her morning radio show plan. The notebook’s worn cover and crinkled pages told the story of her 73rd year – her radio show outlines, to-do lists, reminders, important dates, and doctors’ appointments.
By A. M. Watson5 years ago in Humans
The Little Gold Watch
I stumbled upon a little black notebook in the attic while I was rummaging through my great-grandma’s belongings, in the summer of 2020. The little black book had little significance to me, but I’m sure it was at least as old as my grandma had been when she died at the ripe age of 99.
By Heely Golian5 years ago in Humans
The Gold Watch
I stumbled upon a little black notebook in the attic while I was rummaging through my great-grandma’s belongings, in the summer of 2020. The little black book had little significance to me, but I’m sure it was at least as old as my grandma had been when she died at the ripe age of 99.
By Heely Golian5 years ago in Humans
The Suitcase
This tale will begin as such: This day began just like any other. This day was thought to be normal or average at best. It was thought to perhaps be ordinary. However, we know that nowadays are quite odd. Nowadays are seemingly the same, day in and day out. Lengthened by the same old same of mundane pleasantries and tasks. Yet, these days are undoubtedly a kind of bizarre made normal. The “New Normal” as it has been coined.
By Erin Warfield5 years ago in Humans
Secrets in the Fall
I remember the first snowfall, how I stuck my tongue out to catch the cold. The cold... I will never forget the coldness of your hands. It was just an accident with no deeper meaning. I hated myself for thinking, what a dumb way to die. My cousin, who had blue hair since before I could talk and pierced his lips before punk rock made it cool. You rode your skateboard everywhere, smoked weed and drank Forty’s. God, I wish I could have talked to your longer. We had all thought the lung cancer would have killed you first, but cigarettes do not seem so bad anymore especially when you smoked them since you were twelve and would have probably still be smoking them today. Because the cigarettes did not kill you, neither did the alcohol nor weed. None of your bad habits did you in like we used to say, no your death was simple, too simple for someone as rad as you were.
By Narissa Narotam5 years ago in Humans
Time Well Spent
There has to be a metaphor here. I will admit that I have found myself in some rather unpleasant homes before – I have slept on couches of drug addicts and accompanied the abused on the run from their abuser – but this has got to be the most unpleasant. I can feel the street sludge from last week’s winter snowfall soaking into my backside as I lay crumpled on the cement. I have found that as soon as you make your home where the sidewalk meets the storefront, you become cellophane to the strangers who pass you. Not having a permanent residence has never bothered me much, I have never stayed in one place for very long. It is the invisibility that haunts me. I have value, you know. No one likes to be ignored. When I was young, I bounced from home to home. I was never any trouble, and most held onto me for as long as they could, but my home will always be ever changing. I am old and worn now, and still I drift through society. I have been called many names, but I prefer George. It fits the image of the man people see me as. A woman on her cellphone passes me without a second glance.
By Callisto Stars5 years ago in Humans
