Arshad Mecci
Bio
Stories (63/0)
Smoke
The sun-baked earth crunched under the feet of the children as they raced along the riverbanks. Weeks without rain had turned the once-flowing river into a dry, dusty expanse. The July heat pressed down on the town like a suffocating blanket, making every breath feel heavy and labored.
By Arshad Mecci24 days ago in Fiction
Match Point
Set point. The moment hung in the balance, a critical juncture that could determine the entire match. The first set slipped through my fingers; I couldn't afford to lose this one too. Across the net, Alex stood poised, eyes locked onto me. In that instant, the world around me faded, and I entered a state of Zen-like focus. Time seemed to slow as I analyzed every nuance of his stance, predicting his next move.
By Arshad Mecci24 days ago in Fiction
Stars Protector
The evening of my sister's death anniversary was painted with the melancholy hues of a vermilion sky flecked with gold. Low clouds, heavy with the weight of impending rain, rolled over the cityscape, casting a somber glow over everything. The air was crisp, carrying the sharp scent of winter pine that seemed to stab at my lungs with every breath. The pain was a tangible thing, a constant reminder of my loss, but even that was better than the numbing emptiness that threatened to consume me.
By Arshad Mecci24 days ago in Fiction
Match Point
It was set point, a pivotal moment that could tilt the balance of the match. Losing the first set wasn't ideal, and I couldn't afford to let the second one slip away. With laser-like focus, I locked eyes with Alex across the net, tuned into my Zen-mode, and watched as time seemed to slow down. Every move, every twitch of his muscles was crystal clear.
By Arshad Mecci24 days ago in Fiction
The Prison Cell
In the heart of London's bustling East End, Stocken Gate prison stood as a formidable reminder of the city's darker days. Often referred to as "The Gate," this Victorian-era prison had weathered the test of time, its walls echoing with stories of toughened inmates braving the cold, unyielding winters. The prison's notoriety wasn't just due to its harsh conditions; it was also a haven for rats, which seemed to have a life of their own within its confines.
By Arshad Mecci24 days ago in Criminal
The Lantern
The Arctic, with its melting ice and changing landscapes, stands as a testament to environmental change. For me, it's more than a place of research—it's a crime scene, and I am its CSI Ny-Ålesund. Trond, the coal miner turned Arctic miner, has left clues scattered across this frozen expanse, much like breadcrumbs leading to his identity. "Don't lock your doors," he had told me, a philosophy that spoke volumes about life here.
By Arshad Mecci24 days ago in Fiction
A Deep blue Cerulean
The door before me is cerulean—a vivid, almost jarring blue that seems to symbolize my sudden unease. A feeling of dread seeps into me, rendering me immobile. If this door were a mirror, reflecting my face back at me, it would scream, urging me to flee.
By Arshad Mecci24 days ago in Horror
The Arranged Marriage
In a dimly lit bar, the atmosphere was thick with laughter and the clinking of glasses. A man named Timmy found himself captivated by a vision of Claudia. She was perched on a bar stool, radiating joy with sparkling sky-blue eyes and bouncing blonde curls. Holding a strawberry margarita, she spoke animatedly about her impending arranged marriage to Jarrod Worthington.
By Arshad Mecci24 days ago in Fiction
A tale of Live and Love
Sara Mitchell cherished simplicity. Growing up in a tranquil household with congenial parents and no siblings to rival, she relished a drama-free existence. As she matured, Sara began to view marriage as a potential disruptor of her contentment, seeing no compelling reason to pursue it.
By Arshad Mecci24 days ago in Fiction