Fiction
Citadel
“It is symbiotic. It has to be. The relationship between a citadel and its Hermit Titian. We have to trust that it's symbiotic. We have to trust that it does not hate us for what we must do to survive. Our lives are entwined with that of the titan. If it were to die, we would be left adrift in the cold vacuum of space; incapable of our hunts, slowly drifting to our demise..”
By Griffen Helmabout a year ago in Art
Bacon Hair
If you've spent any time in the boundless, user-generated worlds of Roblox, you've seen them. They are a constant presence, a familiar sight in everything from obstacle courses to role-playing games. They are the Bacon Hair avatars, and this simple, default character model has become one of the most recognizable and culturally significant icons within the platform. But what is the story behind this pinkish-tan hairstyle, and why has it endured for so long?
By KAMRAN AHMADabout a year ago in Art
99 Nights in the Forest
In the world of survival horror, true terror often comes not from a monster you can defeat, but from one you can only escape. In 99 Nights in the Forest, this philosophy is embodied by The Deer, the game's central and unkillable antagonist. This creature is more than just a simple enemy; it is a force of nature, a relentless embodiment of the forest's predatory darkness that transforms every night into a heart-pounding fight for survival.
By KAMRAN AHMADabout a year ago in Art
One Door, Two Worlds
I first noticed the door on a day when everything else in my life felt like it was breaking apart. It wasn’t supposed to be there. I’d lived in that apartment for two years, knew every crack in the ceiling, every stubborn drawer that refused to close. Yet suddenly, in the hallway between my bedroom and the bathroom, stood a door I had never seen before. It was plain. No golden handles, no carvings, no signs that it was anything extraordinary—except for the fact that yesterday it didn’t exist. At first, I laughed it off. Stress, I told myself. My job was draining me, my father had stopped calling, and my friendships were stretched thin across distance and silence. Maybe my brain had finally found a creative way to give up. Still, curiosity has a way of scratching louder than fear. The next morning, I twisted the knob and stepped through. And just like that, the world tilted. On the other side was a version of my apartment that looked… softer. The paint wasn’t peeling. The air smelled faintly of coffee and rain, not the stale detergent I was used to. On the table sat a notebook—the same brand I owned—but instead of empty pages, it was filled, cover to cover, with words. My handwriting, only steadier. More confident. Then I heard laughter. My laughter. I froze as I watched myself walk into the room, phone pressed to my ear, smiling as though life had never been heavy. This other “me” moved with an ease I couldn’t remember ever feeling. She was living the life I had imagined but had never managed to grasp. I stumbled back through the door and slammed it shut, my heart pounding. For days, I tried to pretend it wasn’t real. I buried myself in work, scrolling endlessly through my phone, doing everything to avoid the temptation of that hallway. But the thought gnawed at me. A door that could show me another life? A life where I wasn’t stuck, where I wasn’t half-invisible even to myself? The next time I entered, I stayed longer. I watched this other me cooking dinner for friends—friends who, in my world, had stopped calling months ago. I saw framed photos on the wall of places I’d always dreamed of visiting but had never dared to book tickets for. It hurt, watching her. Like pressing on a bruise you can’t stop touching. Weeks passed, and the door became both a blessing and a curse. On bad days, I’d slip inside just to sit quietly in her world, pretending it was mine. On good days, I’d try to copy her—buying a ticket to a concert, reaching out to an old friend, even daring to write in my neglected notebook. But it was never quite the same. One night, I caught her looking back. I don’t know how to explain it, but she paused mid-laugh, mid-life, and her eyes met mine. For a breathless second, I knew she could see me. She tilted her head, curious but unafraid, as if to say, Why are you standing out there? Why don’t you come in? That was the moment I realized the truth: the door didn’t just connect two worlds. It connected two choices—two versions of me. One who stepped forward, and one who stood still. The next morning, I found myself sitting in front of the door, notebook in my lap. I wrote down everything I’d seen her do—the trips she took, the conversations she had, the risks she wasn’t afraid to embrace. And for the first time in years, I didn’t feel stuck. I felt like maybe the door wasn’t there to mock me. Maybe it was there to remind me. That night, I dreamt of her again. Only this time, she didn’t look happier than me. She looked proud. As if by watching her, I had finally learned the secret: you don’t need a magical doorway to live a different life. You just need to open the one already in front of you. The door is still in my hallway. Some mornings it’s closed, some mornings it’s gone, and some mornings it stands wide open, daring me to step through. But I’ve stopped lingering at the threshold. Because now, when I see her—the other me—I don’t feel envy anymore. I feel gratitude. She is proof that the life I want isn’t impossible. It’s just waiting for me to be brave enough to cross over. After all, every choice is a door. And every door, if you have the courage to open it, leads to another world.
By LUNA EDITHabout a year ago in Art
Rhythms of the coast
It was a sweltering summer in Karachi, the kind of heat that made the air shimmer like a mirage on the Arabian Sea horizon. Aisha, with her wild curls and bright smile, was navigating the bustling streets of Clifton, lost in thoughts of the upcoming university semester. She had just turned twenty, and the world felt like an endless possibility, much like the sprawling city itself with its mix of modern skyscrapers and old colonial architecture.
By Uqail Jaanabout a year ago in Art
The Journey of the Tesla Dream. AI-Generated.
In a bustling city, Amira dreamed of a car that matched her love for innovation and the environment. One day, she stepped into a Tesla showroom, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. She chose a sleek Tesla Model S, drawn to its electric power and futuristic design.
By Omar Mohammed about a year ago in Art
The Mapmaker of Sleepless Cities
There are cartographers of oceans and of stars, but I have chosen a different trade. I am a mapmaker of the territories we carry within us — the sprawling, sleepless cities of the mind. I chart the highways of thought, the quiet suburbs of nostalgia, and the bustling downtown districts of our anxieties. For years, I believed these lands were invisible, impossible to document. Then, I began to paint them. What you see here are not mere pictures; they are recovered maps of a world we all inhabit but rarely dare to explore. Let us take a journey together.
By Prompted Beautyabout a year ago in Art
Met your best friend
I still remember the first time .I met my bet friend . It was the very first day of my school , and I was feeling nervous and shy As I entered the classroom .I noticed a girl sitting alone in the corner looking just a vn say as I was I decided to set next to her and we slowly began talking with in minutes we discovers that we shared the same favourite book and loved drawing that simple conversation turned into langhter and by the end of the day . I felt we had ones each other forever . Meeting her was on of the happiest day of my life . We now friend ship but my sister don’t like friendship but we like my friend is very kind and very pretty if i like it no body want to stand with me avery body disc like him but I like it so no body faraway me from she she is very kind for me if not for other.
By Queen shahabout a year ago in Art
