Adventure
Last Night . AI-Generated.
It was just a regular Tuesday. Or at least, that’s how it looked. I had made dinner around 8:30 p.m. — just some roasted vegetables, a bit of garlic, oregano, and olive oil. Nothing fancy, just the kind of meal that feels like a quiet hug after a long day. I always find vegetables oddly comforting. Maybe it’s because growing up, my mom used to make this same dish when things felt heavy in the house. Simple food can feel like a memory you didn’t know you needed. I had no plans beyond a late cup of chai and an old film. The kind of night that usually slips away without much thought. But there was something in the air last night. A strange stillness. No traffic noises outside, no messages buzzing on my phone, not even a barking dog in the street. The silence was so thick that I could hear the ticking of the wall clock like it was a drumbeat. I don’t know if you’ve ever had a moment where you feel like something’s coming, but you don’t know what. That’s how I felt.
By Sherooz khanabout a year ago in Fiction
The Never-Ending Midnight
The morning sun cast long shadows across Anchor's End's cobblestone streets as Finn Mercer leaned against the weathered brick wall of Gulliver's General Store, his dark eyes scanning the small crowd gathered around Mrs. Henderson's produce stand. At seventeen, he possessed the kind of easy charm that made people forget to count their change and the quick wit that turned every conversation into an opportunity. His unruly brown hair caught the coastal breeze, and his crooked smile suggested he knew something you didn't—which, more often than not, he did.
By Shane D. Spearabout a year ago in Fiction
Death is a mystery (Episode 3)
DEATH IS A MYSTERY😔... BUT IT OFTEN SEND SIGNS BEFORE IT COMES 😔 (Episode 3) UJUALA village was no longer the same after the death of the old man. People walked more slowly. They greeted more gently. Even the children stopped chasing each other around the village square. The weight of mortality hung like mist on everyone’s shoulders.
By Haya princessabout a year ago in Fiction
The Canyon of Echoed Choices
The first time Elara heard of the Canyon of Echoed Choices, she thought it was a legend told to frighten children. "Shout a decision into the abyss," the elders warned, "and it’ll show you the path not taken." But when drought scorched her village of Thornwood to dust, and the choice between saving her home or chasing her dreams tore her in two, the canyon called like a siren song.
By Habibullahabout a year ago in Fiction
The Taxi Only Comes at Midnight
I first noticed it two weeks after moving into Apartment 7B. Every night at exactly 12:00 a.m., a black taxi pulls up to the curb outside my building. Its headlights cut through the mist like twin blades. The engine hums low, steady, as if it’s been waiting for centuries to be heard. Then it just... waits. I assumed it was someone’s late-night ride at first. Maybe a neighbor working a graveyard shift. But no one ever comes out to greet it. No driver steps out. No door opens. And at exactly 12:10 a.m., it drives away, vanishing into the empty street like smoke. It happened again. And again. Always the same. So last night, I did something I wasn’t sure I had the nerve for. I got in. --- It was cold inside the taxi. Colder than it should’ve been. The kind of cold that creeps beneath your skin and makes your bones remember sadness. The driver didn’t speak. I couldn’t even see his face, just the faint outline of a cap and gloved hands on the wheel. A quiet, vintage jazz tune played on the radio — something from another era, soft and warped like an old memory. I cleared my throat. “Where are we going?” He didn’t answer. The city outside the windows looked… off. Familiar buildings in the wrong places. Streetlights blinking in patterns that didn’t feel random. The people we passed—if they were people—moved like they were stuck between frames of film, stuttering through time. I pressed my hand against the window, and it felt like glass and something else — something humming and alive. After what felt like hours but could’ve been minutes, the taxi stopped. --- We were in front of a small diner with no name, glowing faintly under a flickering neon sign that just said: OPEN. I stepped out. The door creaked behind me as I entered. The air inside was warm, filled with the scent of coffee and pie and something softer — like nostalgia. There were people in the booths, talking in hushed tones, none of them making eye contact. The waitress behind the counter looked up and smiled like she’d been expecting me. “You’re late,” she said. “I wasn’t told where I was going.” “Doesn’t mean you didn’t need to be here.” She poured me a cup of coffee without asking. I took a sip. It was perfect. Not just good—perfect. Like every warm drink you’ve ever needed during your coldest hour. Then a voice behind me whispered my name. I turned. It was my mother. But she had died five years ago. She looked the same. Younger, maybe. Healthier. Her eyes held no pain. “Hi, sweetheart,” she said, reaching out like we’d just seen each other yesterday. I couldn’t speak. “I only have a few minutes,” she said. “The taxi waits for no one.” We talked. I don’t know how long. She didn’t explain how or why. Just smiled. Told me she was proud of me. Told me to let go of the guilt. That her leaving wasn’t my fault. That I could stop punishing myself now. I cried. When I turned to wipe my tears, she was gone. And the waitress was at my side again. “Time to go.” --- The taxi was waiting where I’d left it. This time, as we drove, the streets felt calmer. The glitching figures were gone. The lights seemed to flicker more warmly. When we pulled up to my building again, the driver finally spoke. “Next time, bring someone who needs to say goodbye.” I blinked. “There’ll be a next time?” He didn’t answer. But as I stepped out and turned around, the taxi was already gone — dissolved into the misty night like it had never existed. --- It’s been five nights since. The taxi still comes at midnight. And now, I wait too. Just in case someone else needs that ride.
By Firdos Jamalabout a year ago in Fiction
The Last Message From Earth: A Time Capsule in the Stars
The Last Message From Earth The stars no longer blinked. From the observation dome of the Hera II, Captain Nara Myles stared into the dark ocean of space, where Earth once shimmered like a blue jewel. That jewel was now dust—swallowed by its own ignorance and fury.
By Waqar Khanabout a year ago in Fiction
