Young Adult
Before It Ends. Top Story - February 2025. Content Warning.
I sat there for several moments trying to process everything that Aunt Mina had said. A curse put on the family by my Aunt Renee? This "shadow" that would try to drag my mom under the bed? It definitely sounded like something that could be induced by too much drinking. Maybe Aunt Mina was right? Maybe it was just my mom freaking out over old memories and hallucinations brought on by drinking too much? But... when mom was screaming and freaking out at me... she was sober. She hadn't drank any alcohol that night before bed... something was not adding up.
By Luna Verity2 years ago in Chapters
Is Leather Sustainable?
Introduction Leather has long been a staple material in the fashion industry, used in everything from shoes and bags to jackets and accessories. However, as sustainability becomes a key concern for consumers, the ethical and environmental impact of leather production is under increasing scrutiny. This article explores whether leather is truly sustainable, covering its environmental footprint, ethical considerations, and ways to make leather production more sustainable.
By Sheepskin Leathers2 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
Drifting Between Worlds. AI-Generated.
Ethan Carter woke up gasping for air. His eyes shot open, his body jerking upright as if he had just been yanked from the depths of a nightmare. Cold sweat clung to his skin. He blinked rapidly, trying to ground himself, but the room around him was foreign. Again. The ceiling above him was not the smooth white of the Barcelona hotel. This one was lower, painted a dull beige, with a ceiling fan creaking overhead. The air smelled different—humid, musty, with a faint trace of something metallic. He turned his head toward the window. A narrow street below bustled with people carrying baskets, their voices a blend of different accents. A sign hanging outside the building read: Brixton, London. Ethan's stomach twisted. Yesterday—Barcelona. Today—London. His hands clenched the bedsheets, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. He needed to stay calm. Panicking wouldn’t help him. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his movements stiff, unfamiliar, as if his body wasn’t fully his own. Is this going to keep happening? He forced himself to stand, bracing against the nightstand. His legs wobbled slightly, but he steadied himself. The small hotel room was dim, a weak morning light filtering through the sheer curtains. His clothes—dark jeans, a navy sweater—were neatly folded on the chair beside the bed. Not the ones he had worn yesterday. His heart pounded as he grabbed his phone from the nightstand. The screen lit up. March 15th, 7:08 AM. The date was right. The time felt right. But there was no Wi-Fi signal. No data. No notifications. He opened his notes app and scrolled to the last entry. March 14th. Woke up in Barcelona. No idea how. His hands shook as he typed: March 15th. Woke up in London. Still no idea how. He swallowed hard, staring at the words on the screen. This wasn’t a coincidence. It wasn’t a prank. It wasn’t some weird dream he could wake up from. This was happening. A sharp knock at the door made him jump. His pulse hammered against his ribs. He turned toward the sound, frozen. Just like in Barcelona. A voice, muffled through the wooden door. “Mr. Carter?” His stomach twisted. He took slow, cautious steps toward the door. His fingers hovered over the handle, but he hesitated. “Who is it?” His voice came out hoarse. A pause. Then, “Room service.” Ethan didn’t believe that for a second. He pulled the door open. Standing in the hallway was a man in his mid-thirties, dressed in a brown coat and holding a folded newspaper. He had a calm, knowing expression, as if he had expected Ethan to open the door. The man studied him for a moment before speaking. “You’re awake.” Ethan’s throat tightened. “Who the hell are you?” The man didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he handed Ethan the newspaper. Confused, Ethan unfolded it and scanned the front page. Then his breath caught. His own face stared back at him. The headline read: "Ethan Carter: Missing for Three Weeks. Last Seen in Chicago." Ethan stumbled back, gripping the doorframe. “This—this isn’t real.” But the photo was unmistakable. It was him. His same dark hair, his same sharp jawline. It looked like a security camera still, grainy but clear enough to recognize. His heart pounded in his chest. “This is a mistake. I’ve only been gone for a day. Two, maybe.” The man shook his head slowly. “Not from the world’s perspective.” Ethan’s skin went cold. “No,” he muttered, flipping through the pages. “This isn’t possible.” “Isn’t it?” The man’s voice was steady. “You woke up here without knowing how. The same thing happened yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that. Time doesn’t move the way you think it does.” Ethan’s head snapped up. “You know what’s happening to me?” The man exhaled, tilting his head. “I know enough.” Ethan clenched his jaw. “Then tell me.” The man studied him for a moment before asking, “Have you noticed it yet?” Ethan narrowed his eyes. “Noticed what?” The man’s gaze was unwavering. “It’s not just the places that change, Ethan. It’s you.” A slow dread curled in Ethan’s stomach. He didn’t understand what that meant. He looked down at himself—his hands, his clothes. Everything seemed normal. But then, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the window. And his blood ran cold. His face. His hair was slightly longer than it should have been. His beard had grown out, even though he had shaved yesterday. And his eyes— They looked older. Worn. As if he had lived through years he couldn’t remember. A deep, gnawing terror gripped his chest. The man watched him carefully. “Now you see it.” Ethan’s breathing turned ragged. He took a step back, gripping the doorframe to keep himself steady. “What’s happening to me?” His voice was barely a whisper. The man sighed. “You’re being shown something. The question is—are you ready to see it?” Silence stretched between them. Ethan wanted to say no. He wanted to pretend none of this was real, to wake up in his apartment in Chicago, to erase every unsettling detail of the last two days. But deep inside him, something whispered: You already know the answer. This wasn’t just about waking up in new places. This was about who he was. And why he couldn’t remember the life he had already lived.
By Sandra Amiedor2 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 Edge of Tomorrow. AI-Generated.
Prologue: The Beginning of the End The night was thick with the scent of rain, though the sky had yet to open. The streets glistened under flickering streetlights, and the air carried the restless hum of a city that never truly slept. Nia sat on the rooftop of her home, legs folded beneath her, staring at the vastness of the sky. It was one of the few places that gave her space to breathe. Tonight, though, even the sky felt heavy. She gripped her journal, fingers tracing the edges of the worn cover. This notebook had been her constant companion, filled with scribbled thoughts, frustrations, and half-formed dreams. A lifeline when the world felt too loud, when expectations threatened to crush her. She flipped to the last page, where she had written a question weeks ago: "What do you want, Nia?" She exhaled sharply. She still didn’t know the answer. Life in her family had always been about survival. Work hard. Make ends meet. Don’t ask for more than what you’ve been given. Her father had spent years hammering those lessons into her, his voice as unyielding as the calluses on his hands. "The world is not kind to people who dream too much," he had told her once. "Keep your head down and do what you must." Her mother, Ada, had been a quiet force—a woman who carried the weight of the household on her back but never complained. She had always seemed tired, as if life had demanded too much from her too soon. And then there was Nia. The girl who had always wanted more but never knew how to ask for it. Until now. Because something inside her was shifting. She wasn’t sure when it had started—maybe the day she overheard her parents arguing about money again, or the moment she realized she was terrified of waking up ten years from now in the same place, with the same problems. Maybe it had been building for years. But tonight, as she sat on that rooftop, she knew one thing for certain. She couldn’t keep living like this. She was done waiting for life to change. She would have to change herself. The next morning, she made her first move. It was a small thing—insignificant to anyone else—but monumental to her. She walked into the local bookstore, a small, cluttered shop tucked between a tailor’s stall and a street vendor selling roasted corn. She had passed it a hundred times before but had never gone inside. This time, she did. The owner, Madam Kofo, raised an eyebrow as Nia hesitated by the entrance. She was an older woman, her presence commanding without needing to say much. “You lost?” Madam Kofo asked. Nia shook her head. “I… I need a book.” The woman smirked. “You’re in the right place, then.” Nia hesitated. “Something about… money. Business, maybe.” Madam Kofo’s gaze sharpened slightly. “Ah. You’re one of those children,” she said, but there was no mockery in her tone. Only curiosity. Nia frowned. “What does that mean?” Madam Kofo turned, pulling a book from the shelf and handing it to her. “It means you’re tired of the way things are.” Nia stared at the book in her hands. The Psychology of Money. She wasn’t entirely sure what she was looking for, but this felt like a start. She nodded. “How much?” Madam Kofo studied her, then waved a hand. “First one is free. But if you waste it, I’ll make you pay double next time.” Nia blinked. “Why?” “Because knowledge should cost you something,” the woman said simply. “Even if it’s just the effort of taking it seriously.” Nia nodded slowly. “I won’t waste it.” Madam Kofo smiled. “Good.” And just like that, a door cracked open. One that Nia had no intention of closing. That night, she opened the book, flipping through its pages long after her parents had gone to bed. She read about how people stayed trapped in financial cycles because they were never taught anything different. How wealth wasn’t just about making money—it was about understanding it. She thought about her parents. About their endless struggle. About the life she didn’t want to inherit. And she made a decision. She wasn’t just going to wish for change. She was going to build it. Even if no one else believed in her. Even if it meant walking alone. For the first time in her life, she felt something settle inside her. A quiet kind of certainty. It wouldn’t be easy. But she was ready.
By Sandra Amiedor2 years ago in Chapters
A Valentine's Day to Remember
The sun had just come up over the peaceful town of Willowbrook, and its soft golden light illuminated the snow-covered streets. It was February 14th, Valentine's Day, and there was a mood of expectation and warmth in the air, even though it was winter. For Clara and James, this was not just the day for love—the day to celebrate it—but also a time to look back on how far they had reached as a couple.
By Punit kumar2 years ago in Chapters
Harper's Hill, Chapter 19: The Cost of Protection
Emily had finally found out the truth. She sat by the window in her small hotel room, looking outside and watching the world go by in a town that was a few hours away from home. It was big enough for her to hide in, but small enough that she didn't feel lost in it.
By Amanda Doyle2 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
What is Cowhide Leather?
Introduction Cowhide leather is one of the most widely used types due to its durability, versatility, and natural aesthetic appeal. It is derived from the skin of cows and retains the original markings and texture, making it a popular choice for various applications. From fashion to furniture, cowhide leather is a staple material providing luxury and resilience. In this article, we will explore the characteristics, uses, benefits, and care tips for cowhide leather.
By Sheepskin Leathers2 years ago in Chapters
