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Submitted to Contest #339
The coffee shop was bustling the morning I first met Emily. It was a rainy Wednesday in February, and as I fought through the crowd of businessmen with their Bluetooth headsets and novice writers camped out with mocha lattes and dreams of the New York Times bestseller list, I saw her behind the counter. The air was thick with the smell of burnt coffee beans, frothy milk and baked goods, her mousy blonde hair was pulled back into a bun, freckles scattered across her face, dark brown eyes framed by steel-rimmed glasses. As I approached the cou...
Submitted to Contest #338
When you see a dusty red book that has your name on the front with your birth and (what you assume to be) your death date, you have to open it, right? That’s what I did. Big mistake. This story begins in a library and ends, well, we’ll just have to find out together. I’ve not written it yet, and you’ve not read it, so no skipping to the end to find out. I went to the library because I wanted a new book to read. A Kindle is fine, but nothing beats feeling the paper on your fingers, smelling the ink, especially of older books and seeing the st...
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