Fiction
WALKING ZOMBIE
Walking Zombie At the age of 12, I was sleeping at midnight. I woke up, and I saw a big horse standing close to my head. When I opened my eyes, guess what I saw? I found myself under a sea with a mermaid, where she decided to use me as a servant. I saw many people underwater; it was like another world. I observed different people's colors. I saw white people, black people, and red people. There were some people who were fighting for positions. I can tell you that the mermaid sent me everywhere I could not refuse. She sent me to buy a banana, spices, bread, food, peanut butter, etc. I could not be in a rebellion.
By Soinel Nouguesabout a year ago in Art
Pikey Peak Trek: Where Sunrise Steals Your Breath
Let’s be real: any trek described as "easy" in Nepal is a Himalayan prank. Pikey Peak—a "gentle" hill promising Everest views without the death march—turned out to be the universe’s way of reminding me that "moderate" means "your quads will file a restraining order."
By michal lendenabout a year ago in Art
Voice Unveiled: How AI Vocal Removers Are Transforming Music and Creativity.
Voices have always held a special place in the world of music. The lead singer’s voice can define a song, evoke emotion, and connect listeners to the heart of the melody. But what if you could peel back the layers of any song and isolate that voice — or remove it entirely — to reinvent the music to your liking? Thanks to advances in artificial intelligence, it’s no longer the stuff of dreams. AI vocal removers, innovative tools powered by machine learning, are quickly gaining traction among enthusiasts and professionals alike. They’re changing how we sing, remix, and even understand music.
By Echoes of Lifeabout a year ago in Art
Time Travelers Don’t Fall in Love
It was carved in steel on the wall of the Time Council chamber, etched into every handbook, and whispered like gospel among junior agents. Alaric used to scoff at the idea that anyone would be stupid enough to break it. He’d been an agent for nine years, a model of discipline. But that was before 1897. Before Evelyn Moreau. It was supposed to be a simple calibration mission—observe a temporal anomaly in Paris and report back. No interaction. No involvement. Standard cloak protocols. In and out. But Evelyn… Evelyn was the kind of woman who broke through centuries with nothing more than a glance. A novelist, a philosopher, and unknowingly, the anchor point of the anomaly he was meant to study. His orders were clear: monitor her from a distance. Never interfere. He lasted three days. On the fourth, she saw him. “You're either terribly lost, monsieur, or terribly shy.” He could’ve erased that moment. He could’ve reset the timeline. But instead, he smiled. “Maybe both,” he said. He returned every day after that. She called him Julien, a name he pulled from a book in her sitting room. They walked by the Seine, debated the future of France, and read poetry in candlelit cafés. Each moment stitched itself into his bones, into places no Time Agent training could touch. Back in the future, alarms were sounding. Chrono-Integrity had begun to fracture. Probability strands collapsed like dying stars. But Alaric wasn’t there to see the reports or decode the warnings. He was in love. It took the Time Council six weeks to locate him. Another two days to breach the temporal barrier he'd unknowingly triggered around 1897 Paris. They didn’t knock. They never did. Alaric was in Evelyn’s apartment when they came. He saw them the way she did—three men in grey suits, their eyes empty like they’d forgotten how to be human. The Council always sent enforcers. They weren’t trained to ask questions. Only to clean up mistakes. Evelyn stood behind Alaric, confused, still holding her teacup. “Julien… who are they?” Alaric’s mouth opened. Closed. He turned to her. “I’m not who you think I am,” he said. “You’re not Julien?” Her voice trembled. “Are you even real?” He stepped toward her, but she backed away. “I’m real. But I don’t belong here.” The lead enforcer raised his chrono-stunner. “Alaric Solen, in violation of Temporal Law 1A. Stand down and prepare for extraction.” Alaric didn't move. “She’s not just some fixed point or timeline variable. She’s—” “She’s already dead in the original timeline,” the enforcer snapped. “You’ve resurrected a ghost.” “No,” Alaric said. “I saved her.” They fired. The blast wasn't lethal—Time Council stunners fractured the nervous system, rendering agents unconscious without temporal contamination. Alaric collapsed, eyes still on Evelyn, his last breath in that century drawn with her name on his lips. --- When he woke, he was in a holding cell deep inside the Citadel—a floating fortress tethered between centuries. Evelyn was gone. The Council reviewed his actions. Every infraction was noted. Every moment of emotion dissected like a crime scene. They showed him the alternate timelines his presence created—wars that never happened, people who never died, revolutions that never began. All because he loved someone meant to fade into history. “Time isn’t a canvas you get to paint,” said Councilor Drayven. “It’s a structure you maintain.” “What if the structure is broken?” Alaric whispered. “What if love is the only thing that made sense?” The Council voted to erase Evelyn’s memory from the timeline. Not just remove her death—but every trace of her existence. A full Chrono-Nullification. But erasing her from history wouldn't erase her from him. That was his punishment. --- Years passed. Alaric was released under strict supervision. No fieldwork. No solo travel. His chronosuit deactivated. He walked the Citadel corridors like a ghost himself now. And yet, every so often, a poem would appear in his quarters. Folded parchment. Inked by hand. One read: "Even if the stars forget me, Even if time swallows my name— I’ll remember the man who called me 'light' In a world that only knew shadow." There was no record of Evelyn in any century. No trace in the archives. But the notes kept coming. Alaric suspected what had happened. In the final seconds before the Council fired their stunners, Evelyn must have grabbed the pocket chrono he carried—the emergency device that could launch someone anywhere in time… once. She had escaped the erasure. Somehow, she had survived outside of time. She was writing back. --- Alaric now lives for those letters. They arrive at random—tucked inside history books, slipped under doors, encoded in ancient texts. Every one is a rebellion. A love story scribbled between centuries. A reminder that even Time can’t control the human heart. --- Time Travelers Don’t Fall in Love. That’s the rule. But some rules were made to be broken.
By Asif nawazabout a year ago in Art
Chris Martin’s Kiss Cam Interrogation: When Concerts Turn into Relationship Court
Live music events are known for unforgettable moments—but Coldplay’s recent concert might have set a new benchmark for viral drama. In a twist no one saw coming, frontman Chris Martin took the mic not just to sing, but to question the legitimacy of a couple caught on the infamous kiss cam—immediately after a separate CEO-HR scandal made headlines for the exact same reason.
By Faiz Bashirabout a year ago in Art
A Friend in Need. AI-Generated.
In a peaceful village nestled between rolling hills, Lila was walking home one chilly evening when she heard a faint whimper. Curiosity led her to a rusty bench, where she found a shivering puppy hiding beneath it. Its fur was matted with mud, its tiny body trembling, and its eyes filled with fear and exhaustion. Without a second thought, Lila knelt down, wrapped the frail creature in her soft scarf, and carried it home. Her heart swelled with compassion as she gently bathed the puppy in warm water, carefully washing away the dirt. She prepared a small bowl of milk and soft bread, watching as the puppy ate hungrily, its tail wagging weakly at first.
By Omar Mohammed about a year ago in Art
The Quest for the Lost Ring. AI-Generated.
In a small coastal village, Sami and Layla, an engaged couple, were preparing for their wedding. One sunny day, they decided to spend time at the beach. As they played near the waves, Layla’s engagement ring slipped off her finger and fell into the sea. Stunned, they realized the ring, a cherished heirloom from Sami’s grandmother, was gone.
By Omar Mohammed about a year ago in Art
"A Blaze of Solitude: The Silent Rebellion in Yellow"
In the vast realm of digital illustration, where color and form collide to express complex emotions, the image of a lone, white-haired figure cloaked in vivid yellow stands out as a poignant paradox. At first glance, it feels electrifying—a vibrant aesthetic spectacle that demands attention. But a longer look reveals layers of mood and symbolism beneath its dazzling surface.
By Fazal Malikabout a year ago in Art
The Wind That Carries Our Sorrows
In a world dominated by distraction and noise, there are images that refuse to be scrolled past. They do not shout; they whisper. They do not dazzle; they ache. One such image stands here before us—a digital painting steeped in the quiet gravity of sorrow. It is a solemn moment rendered in windswept hues: a solitary man stands beneath a gray, heavy sky on a barren coastline, his eyes cast down at the scattered remnants of a life once full—photographs, old shoes, forgotten names.
By Fazal Malikabout a year ago in Art
A Symphony of Light and Bloom: Nature’s Masterpiece in the Mountains
Nature has long been humanity’s greatest artist, and in rare moments like the one captured in this stunning image, its genius is undeniable. This photograph is not just a scene—it’s an experience, a vivid tapestry of colors, textures, and emotions woven together in the early hours of a new day. The picture transports us to a mountaintop cloaked in wildflowers, just as the sun breaches the horizon, scattering golden rays across a rolling landscape. It’s more than a beautiful sight; it’s a reminder of the profound, healing power of the natural world.
By Fazal Malikabout a year ago in Art
Multiplicity of Perception: A Journey Through the Eyes and Mouths of the Uncanny Self
Art has long served as a mirror reflecting the myriad layers of human emotion, identity, and experience. Few works encapsulate the unease, multiplicity, and abstraction of contemporary inner life as powerfully as the surrealist painting presented here—a figure adorned with dozens of eyes and mouths, captured in a haunting, textured brushstroke style that provokes both curiosity and discomfort. This painting, with its eerie distortions and disorienting symmetry, invites viewers into a fractured but compelling psychological landscape. It is a place where perception is hyper-saturated, and expression is fragmented beyond comprehension.
By Fazal Malikabout a year ago in Art
