Magical Realism
Abandoned Wishes Ep1
A video monitor switches on to show a square windowless room. The picture is glitchy, a wave of grainy fuzz passing upward on the screen every thirty to forty-five seconds. In the center of the room is a square table and a chair. There is a bottle of sparkling water on the center of the table. The room is gray. The table is gray. The chair is gray.
By Amos Glade2 years ago in Chapters
To reveal remarkable talent 1
Upon entering my abode, I heaved a profound sigh of relief. After engaging in that exchange of elaborate courtesies for quite a while, I was, in truth, utterly devoid of confidence. Had the other party truly chosen not to show me any deference, I would have been at a complete loss. Fortunately, that wolf demon was rather courteous, and, much to my astonishment, I managed to retrieve Williams without a hitch.
By Andy Johnson2 years ago in Chapters
The Orphans in the Woods
"What time is it?" Rohan asked his sister as he turned off from one County Road and unto the next County Road. Gertrude looked down at her watch which was difficult to read in the dark. She pulled out a small flashlight that was in the glovebox to shed some more light on the device.
By Shanon Angermeyer Norman2 years ago in Chapters
Chapter 4: Misty Water-Color Dreamscapes
I stir, then awaken to Aegen softly whining & pawing at the door. “Needin’ to go out, boy?” He continues lying on the floor sideways (almost rolling over to his back) going after the weather stripping as though something is on the other side. “Gimme a sec to get ma boots on.”
By Randy Wayne Jellison-Knock2 years ago in Chapters
Late night attraction
Late night attraction It was almost two o'clock in the night. It's raining outside, water drops are rolling down the window glass. Neela stood by the window looking into the deep darkness. Suddenly the phone rang. A familiar name on the screen — Arnav. Neela's chest heaved. Arnav's phone after six months! He accepted the call without hesitation. — "Didn't you sleep?" — "Sleep did not come." — "I'm standing in front of your house, see you soon?" Neela's body trembled. All the pride, the distance - everything disappeared in an instant. He slowly opened the door and came to the balcony. Outside, Arnav, with wet hair, is looking at her. A kind of longing in Arnav's eyes, as if a request of a thousand words is hidden. Neela slowly came down. Even though the rain-soaked cold air is blowing, a fire is burning inside. Arnav extended his hand without saying anything. Neela hesitated a little but once held his hand. — "Will you come in?" Arnav nodded in agreement. Entering the house, Arnav grabbed Neela's hand and pulled her. He held her close to his chest, inhaling deeply the scent of her hair. Neela's eyes closed. — "Missed you so much, Neela." Neela didn't say anything, just felt the warmth of Arnav's hand. Arnav placed his finger on her chin, slowly brought her mouth to his lips. Neela was shocked and closed her eyes. In an instant, they both melted into each other's deep warmth. Neela felt Arnav's hands trailing down her back, a sweet tingle played across her spine. He pulled Arnav closer. The rain outside is increasing by that time, and two bodies inside the house are trying to lose each other. Arnav's lips slowly touched Neela's forehead, then moved down her cheeks. Neela's heart rate quickened. He grabbed Arnav's shirt collar and pulled him closer, as if there was no distance left. Arnav slowly dragged Neela towards the bed. In the light of the room, blue eyes have a kind of deep longing shadow. Her breath is getting hot, and Arnav's hands are slowly moving up her waist. Neela shuddered, Arnav's touch taking her to another world. His fingers disappeared into Arnav's hair, and pressed his lips together in a deep kiss. Arnav responded with even more intense warmth. It's still raining outside, but the heat inside the house seems to beat the coolness of the rain. Neela slowly released herself into Arnav's arms, as if she needed nothing more than the warmth of the moment. Arnav trailed down her cheek, spreading the warmth of his lips on Neela's neck, then further down. Neela held her breath, as if a thousand tones were ringing in her body at once. The night is moving towards dawn, but the attraction of their bodies is increasing instead of decreasing. They sink deeper into each other, as if this night will never end... I understand you want a little more detail, but I can move the story forward while retaining as much warmth and emotion as I can within the guidelines of our platform. So let's go a little deeper— Neela's hands are going around Arnav's neck. Every touch of his body seemed to spread a strange heat. Arnav is slowly unbuttoning his shirt, and the warmth of Neela's skin is becoming more apparent. Arnav's lips came up next to her ear and whispered, "You know, I've been wanting this moment for so long?" Neela didn't say anything, just held her hand tightly. Arnav's fingers began to rub gently on Neela's back, and the warmth of her breath deepened. There was a soft, intense vibration of attraction in the air of the room. Neela's eyes closed, she felt Arnav's lips slowly moving down her neck. A shiver ran through his spine. Outside the rain is steadily increasing, and inside the room the two bodies are becoming more and more enmeshed in each other's warmth. The bed sheets are creasing little by little, the breaths are getting heavy. Neela's finger scratched Arnav's back, and Arnav held his breath, "You're driving me crazy, Neela." Neela opened her eyes and looked deep into Arnav's eyes. There is a shadow of arrogance, attraction and a strange love playing together. As the night deepened, their touch claimed each other more. May this night never end, may this rain witness only their warmth throughout the night... The night rain had stopped by then, but the warmth inside the house still lingered. Neela is tired, but satisfied. Wrapped herself in Arnav's arms and closed her eyes. Arnav ran his fingers through her hair gently, "You know, I wish this night would never end." Neela smiled softly and rested her head on his chest. "Some nights never end, Arnav. They stay inside us…" Outside, the Prothom-alo of dawn has begun to emerge, but the night is still still with the warmth of their bodies and the touch of their hearts... bound by a strange illusion.
By MD ONIK HASAN2 years ago in Chapters
Espionage
Espionage, also known as spying, is the act of secretly collecting information about governments, organizations, or individuals. It has been an important part of history and is often used by countries to gain intelligence about their enemies or rivals. Espionage can involve secret agents, technology, and hidden codes. This article will explore the history, methods, risks, and effects of espionage in simple and easy English.
By Farhan Sayed2 years ago in Chapters
The Orphans in the Woods
After the sunset, the darkness of the evening was evident and Rohan could feel the pressure of darkness for the first time in his life. He'd never been scared of the dark and didn't understand any of the children he'd known who had expressed those fears. But on this evening, he finally understood that fear. The darkness of this evening was both a blessing and a curse. It would hide the fact that he shouldn't be driving, yet also make the driving more difficult for him.
By Shanon Angermeyer Norman2 years ago in Chapters
Drifting Between Worlds
The First Awakening Ethan Carter woke up with a start. The ceiling above him was smooth and white, far too pristine to be his own. Sunlight streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting golden streaks across a sleek wooden floor. The sheets beneath him were crisp, cool, and smelled faintly of citrus and lavender. His heart pounded as he turned his head, scanning the unfamiliar room. It was a minimalist hotel suite, modern yet oddly impersonal. A glass desk sat against the wall, an untouched coffee tray beside it. A large painting of a city skyline, illuminated by sunset hues, hung above the bed. Something was wrong. His body felt sluggish, as if he had been asleep for too long. He rubbed his eyes, inhaling deeply to steady his breath. The last thing he remembered was going to bed in his small apartment in Chicago. It had been an ordinary night—he’d worked a late shift at the bar, grabbed a slice of pizza on his way home, and crashed onto his bed without a second thought. But now, he was somewhere else. He sat up quickly, throwing the covers off. His legs were stiff, his movements slightly uncoordinated. His clothes—gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt—were his, but the bed, the room, the air—none of it was familiar. Panic crept up his spine. He reached for his phone on the nightstand, his fingers trembling slightly. As he tapped the screen, the date and time popped up. March 14th, 7:12 AM. That seemed right. But the location… His stomach dropped. Barcelona, Spain. Ethan stared at the screen, unblinking. No. That had to be a mistake. He tapped the GPS app, refreshing it, waiting for the little blue dot to correct itself. But there it was, blinking confidently over Barcelona’s bustling streets. His breath quickened. This was impossible. He hadn’t booked a flight. He hadn’t blacked out from drinking. He had been in Chicago last night, had fallen asleep in his own bed. There was no way he could be here. Unless— His mind grasped for logical explanations. Sleepwalking? Drugged? A prank? None of it made sense. He checked his phone again, scrolling through his call log, his messages. No missed calls, no texts, no notifications at all. That wasn’t normal. His best friend, Caleb, usually sent him stupid memes before bed. His sister, Hannah, always texted him in the mornings. But there was nothing. It was as if no one had even noticed he was gone. A knock at the door made him jump. His pulse hammered in his ears. He turned his head toward the sound, frozen. “Señor Carter?” A woman’s voice. Soft, professional. “Your breakfast is ready.” Ethan didn’t respond. His last name. She knew his last name. How? He stood slowly, moving toward the door with measured steps. His hand hovered over the doorknob, but he didn’t open it. Instead, he leaned in, listening. No movement. After a few seconds, he heard footsteps retreating down the hall. Ethan exhaled sharply, stepping back. His mind raced. There had to be an explanation. He turned back to the desk and spotted a notepad and pen. He grabbed the pen, flipped open the notepad, and wrote in quick, frantic strokes: March 14th. Woke up in Barcelona. No idea how. His fingers trembled as he underlined it twice. Get answers. Find out who brought me here. Get back to Chicago. He needed to move. Rushing to the small closet, he yanked it open. Inside, a leather jacket hung neatly next to a pair of jeans and sneakers. His size. His style. He hesitated before touching them. Were they really his? Or had someone dressed him, prepared this for him? He put them on anyway. He needed to blend in. Once dressed, he grabbed his phone again and checked for his passport. It was in the nightstand drawer, exactly where he’d expect it to be. He flipped to the first page, his own face staring back at him. Ethan Carter. His hands clenched around the booklet. It was his. The stamps inside even looked normal—until he saw the last one. Barcelona. Stamped yesterday. His breath hitched. He didn’t remember boarding a plane. He didn’t remember any of this. A cold wave of fear washed over him. He needed to get out of here. Escape Attempt Pushing aside his growing dread, he stuffed his passport into his jacket pocket and stepped out into the hallway. It was eerily quiet, lined with elegant sconces casting warm light against the cream-colored walls. The scent of fresh coffee and baked bread lingered in the air. He kept his head down as he walked toward the elevator. A bellhop passed him, nodding politely. Ethan forced a tight-lipped smile and stepped inside the elevator, pressing the button for the lobby. The doors slid shut. He exhaled sharply, gripping the rail. When the doors opened again, he stepped out into a bright, airy lobby. Chandeliers sparkled overhead, and large windows revealed the bustling city outside. People moved in and out of the building, speaking in different languages, carrying suitcases, hailing taxis. He didn’t stop to look around. He needed to get outside, get his bearings, figure out what the hell was happening. As soon as he stepped onto the sidewalk, the warm Mediterranean air wrapped around him. The sounds of Barcelona hit him all at once—car horns, laughter, the distant strumming of a street musician’s guitar. For a moment, the city felt almost normal. Almost real. But Ethan knew better. He pulled out his phone and opened a rideshare app. Nearest airport: El Prat. Good. He tapped to request a car. Within seconds, a driver was on the way. His chest tightened. Would it even matter? Would he even make it back to Chicago? Or would he fall asleep again and wake up somewhere else? The thought sent a shiver down his spine. He checked his notepad again, rereading his frantic handwriting. His only proof that this was real. That he was real. Then, just as his car pulled up to the curb, his phone screen flickered. The battery icon showed 100%, but the screen glitched again, the GPS blinking erratically. Then, a message appeared across the screen. "You are not ready to leave." Ethan’s blood ran cold. The phone slipped from his fingers. And the moment it hit the ground, the world around him blurred— Everything tilted— And Ethan Carter fell into darkness.
By Sandra Amiedor2 years ago in Chapters
The Immortal King’s Ruin
Prologue The kingdom of Eldoria stood as a monument to human ambition. Vast, golden fields stretched beyond the eye could see, their bounty feeding not only the mouths of the people but also the pride of their ruler. At its heart, the great capital, Vareth, boasted towers that touched the sky, temples that hummed with prayers of devotion, and streets paved with stones that had felt the footsteps of generations. And above it all sat King Eryon, a man who had once been the pride of Eldoria. He had been a king of wisdom, of courage, of vision. His rule had ushered in an age of peace and prosperity, his leadership praised not only by his subjects but by neighboring lands. To the outside world, he was a legend in the making, a name that would be etched into history with reverence. But what is history to the dead? This question had plagued Eryon’s mind for years. It had started as a whisper, a quiet thought that lingered in the back of his consciousness, surfacing only in moments of solitude. Then, as the years passed and the first strands of silver threaded through his once-dark hair, it grew louder, more insistent. At first, he ignored it. He had his kingdom to tend to, laws to enforce, treaties to sign, and armies to command. But time was relentless. His hands, once steady, began to tremble ever so slightly. The strength he had wielded in his youth, both in body and in mind, was fading. The inevitable had made itself known, lurking in the shadows of his days, in the silence of his nights. He could not accept it. Eldoria had been his creation, his masterpiece. He had shaped it with his own hands, bled for it, suffered for it. He could not bear to think that one day, the world would go on without him. That the people who now worshipped his name would move on, that new rulers would come and rewrite the story he had spent a lifetime crafting. He was not afraid of death itself—no, he was afraid of being forgotten. And so, obsession took root in his heart. It started with scholars, men and women who had dedicated their lives to the pursuit of knowledge. They were summoned to the palace, given access to the king’s vast resources, and tasked with finding ways to extend life. At first, they spoke of mundane things—elixirs of health, restorative herbs, diets that promoted longevity. But Eryon was not interested in living long. He wanted to live forever. When scholars failed him, he turned to the mystics. They arrived in secrecy, cloaked figures whispering of ancient arts, of powers beyond the reach of common men. He listened to their words, devoured their knowledge, and soon found himself immersed in a world that defied logic. He was told of lost civilizations that had harnessed the secrets of immortality. Of forgotten gods who had once walked among mortals, untouched by time. Of spells and rituals that could tether a soul to this world, unbreakable, unyielding. And so, the great transformation of King Eryon began. His court, once filled with advisors, warriors, and diplomats, became a place of secrecy and whispers. He spent his days in the depths of the castle, surrounded by books of forbidden knowledge, listening to the counsel of those who walked in the shadows. His people noticed. At first, it was small things. The king, once a man of the people, no longer walked among them. His speeches grew infrequent, his presence scarce. The celebrations and festivals that had once defined Eldoria’s golden age dwindled. The warmth of the palace turned cold. Then came the laws. Strange decrees were passed, restricting certain types of knowledge while encouraging others. Temples dedicated to gods of death and rebirth were torn down, their priests cast out or worse. The kingdom, once ruled by reason, began to tilt into superstition and fear. But the people, though uneasy, remained loyal. For their king was wise. Had he not built Eldoria into what it was? If he now sought something greater, was it not his right? And so they watched, waiting, wondering what would come of their ruler’s pursuit. They did not know that, in his desperate grasp for eternity, he had already doomed them all. The first true sign of the kingdom’s unraveling came in the form of a drought. The rivers that had once flowed endlessly, feeding the lands, began to thin. The wells, once abundant, grew shallow. The sky, once a brilliant blue, turned gray, as if the heavens themselves were mourning. At first, the people dismissed it as nature’s whim. But as weeks turned into months, and the ground cracked beneath their feet, their faith wavered. Whispers spread. "The king has angered the gods." "He meddles with forces beyond his understanding." "He seeks to defy death, but at what cost?" But Eryon did not listen. His vision had narrowed to a single point: the moment of his transformation. He did not see the way his kingdom suffered, nor did he care for the growing unrest among his people. The hunger, the sickness, the fear—it was all secondary. His alchemists, his mystics, his sorcerers—they promised him he was close. That the final step was upon him. That soon, he would transcend. And so, he prepared. The ritual was set to take place under the next full moon, in the grand hall of the palace. It was to be the moment that sealed his name in history, that ensured Eldoria would always remember its greatest king. He had no way of knowing that by dawn, his kingdom would be lost forever.
By Sandra Amiedor2 years ago in Chapters
