Adventure
Small Town USA #22
Eddy and I trailed slowly behind Jesse as we approached the militant’s compound of a house on the corner of Lefevre and Idaho Street. We moved through the alley behind my parents’ house, guiding ourselves through the shadows, toward our unsuspecting victim of the infamous “Knock and Run.”
By Clifford Kincaidabout a year ago in Fiction
❤rian’s Night: When the Dark Almost Won❤
It was late at night. The wind whispered through the cracked window of a small room, lit only by a dying bulb. Arian sat on the edge of his bed, his hands gripping his face, his shoulders trembling — not from cold, but from the weight of everything he had tried to carry for too long.
By Abdulmusawerabout a year ago in Fiction
When the Sky Opened
The sky had always been a constant presence—endless, predictable, a backdrop to the rhythm of everyday life. But one ordinary afternoon, everything changed. When the sky opened, it wasn’t just a meteorological phenomenon; it was a profound event that reshaped a community, altered lives, and stirred the deepest questions about our place in the universe.
By Muhammad Asimabout a year ago in Fiction
The Clockmaker’s Secret: A Steampunk Adventure
In the mist-shrouded streets of New Babbage, where copper pipes twist like serpents across soot-blackened walls and clockwork machines hum in eternal motion, a secret lies hidden — a secret that could change the world. This is the setting for The Clockmaker’s Secret, a thrilling steampunk adventure story that weaves mystery, invention, and rebellion into an unforgettable narrative.
By Muhammad Asimabout a year ago in Fiction
After the Last Notification
After the Last Notification In the year 2042, death was no longer silent. When someone passed away, their loved ones didn’t discover the news in sterile hospital rooms or through the murmured condolences of neighbors. Instead, it came with a soft chime — a final notification on your PersonalFeed: "One final message from [Name] has arrived. Would you like to view it now?"
By Kine Willimesabout a year ago in Fiction
How to Invent Your Second Life After 40
How to Invent Your Second Life After 40. When I turned 41, my mother called to wish me a happy birthday and casually said, “Well, it’s all downhill from here.” She laughed when she said it, but I remember sitting on my couch, staring at the ceiling, and feeling the heavy weight of those words settle into my chest.
By Kine Willimesabout a year ago in Fiction
When the shores come calling. Content Warning.
His breathing unsteady and shaky, his stomach in knots watching the waves splashing up against the boat. Getting closer to the beach now, he can see it on the horizon. Looking around, pale wide-eyed boys, not men, but young boys dressed to the nines in their military gear clenching their rifles so hard their knuckles are white. Heartbeats quicken their pace as bullets start flying coming from all directions. He looks up and sees his captain calling out, but is unable to hear what he is saying, for a moment he leaves his fear behind and is taken to a place he goes in his mind when things get rough. Closing his eyes, and for a mere moment he is back safe in the comfort of his home. Suddenly, hands grab him by his collar, and he opens his eyes, “get your ass up and move soldier! Keep your helmet and keep your rifle, now let’s go! Move! Move! Move!” Captain yells out as the gate drops down. Before we can take one step 5 men go down, instantly killed. Others crawling over the sides of the boat getting hit before they are able to swing their bodies over the ridge, falling into the water, one by one. I manage to make it over the edge and fall hard into the water holding my rifle tightly close to me as I swim to shore. The waves dyed the color of red, staining the beaches shores that are riddled with soldiers bodies lining up and down the shoreline. Crawling over body after body, some in pieces, I manage to find a barrier to protect myself for the moment catching my breath. I glance around the adrenaline searing through me. I watch as my friends are dying all around me. Watching them fall to their deaths in slow motion before hitting the ground. Others, being blown up as legs, arms and torso’s go flying into the air. “I need to move, moving keeps you safe,” I say to myself. I wait for a minute and then begin to move further up the beach. Crawling like I was taught in boot camp to do. Moving my legs through the mushy wet sand, my body cold and soaked to the bone. Sending chills up my spine as the salt blood ocean water drips from my helmet and down my face. “Keep moving!” I say to myself again. Finally, I make it to another barrier. A young man, ducked behind the same one. Tears running down his face as his screams are drawn out from the noise of the gun fire and explosions. Taking a moment for him to realize he is no longer alone. We make eye contact, his fear strewed across his face “It’s okay!” I say to him. “We are going to be okay!” A lie, I repeat to my own self. I signal to him we need to keep moving. The young man nodding in agreement and pulls himself together. “We are going to move out at the same time. Okay? On the count of three! One, two, three! Move!” I yell out. Just when we turned to make our way from our around the barrier, a grenade goes off. Throwing the young soldier into the air. When he lands, he sees his legs have been blown, ripped from his body. He screams in agony, a blood curdling scream I have never heard, before today. I crawl over to him pulling him back behind the barrier. “Medic!” I yell out. I search for my med kit and can’t find it. “Shit!” I yelled; it must have fallen out in the water somewhere. I try and calm him down, but to no avail. He screams some more crying out for his mother, what seems to go on for a lifetime is only a few minutes and then silence; and just like that he was gone. I close his eyes and lean back against the barrier. I look at my hands, they are stained red, tears stream down my face as I look back towards the blood-soaked ocean, the noise starts to draw out and everything begins to fall silent once more. I close my eyes and when I awaken, I see myself standing in front of a mirror. Suit and tie, dressed in my dress blues, there stands a much older, more fragile and bruised, his mind broken from the traumas of war not to be confused of the young soldier that stood there once looking back at him scared and confused, but also excited for he had no idea what hell he was about to endure. My breath trembles as the images from that day, 81 years ago come rushing back, like a movie montage. My eyes fill with tears and my hands begin to shake, I can feel the same fear as I felt that day come rushing over me, as I did on that beach 81 years ago. D-Day, so many of my friends died on that beach, and so many more who I never had the honor of knowing. They sacrificed their lives for our freedoms today; 2,500 American soldiers never came home after that day. Their bodies, becoming one with the land and sea as the shores come calling them home. I take in a deep breath and wipe my tears from my eyes. I send up a small prayer for the fallen soldiers who became heroes, in hopes that their souls are finally at peace.
By Aubrie Sandnessabout a year ago in Fiction
Dan the Scientific Dog
There was a brown labrador named Dan. He was your typical canine friend. He loved to run in his backyard, eat his dog bone treats, and play with his squeaky hot dog toy. Dan was a fun, friendly, well-behaved dog. John had adopted Dan about five years ago, when he was just a puppy. In a way, they had grown up together.
By Judith Jaschaabout a year ago in Fiction
The Silence That Taught Me Everything
The Silence That Taught Me Everything — A Journey Through Pain, Reflection, and Unexpected Wisdom I never used to fear silence. I simply never noticed it. My days were full—conversations, background noise, the hum of city life. But that was before everything fell apart. Before I realized that silence isn’t just the absence of sound. Sometimes, it’s the presence of something deeper. Something that demands to be heard.
By Kamran khanabout a year ago in Fiction
Room for One More
It was already dark when Darren pulled into the gravel lot of the Halcyon Pines Motor Lodge, a roadside relic squatting on the edge of the forest like a forgotten museum exhibit. He hadn’t meant to stop there—he’d passed countless better options an hour earlier—but fatigue had gotten the better of him. The highway behind him seemed to vanish into an ink-thick fog, and his GPS had died two hours ago without explanation.
By Silas Graveabout a year ago in Fiction
The Unconventional Path
For years, I followed the script. Go to college, get a good job, climb the corporate ladder, buy a house, settle down. It was the well-trodden path, the one society assured me would lead to stability, respect, and ultimately, happiness. I excelled in my role as a marketing manager, pulling long hours, hitting targets, and dutifully attending every networking event. On paper, I was a success. In reality, I was slowly suffocating, trapped in a gilded cage of expectations and a relentless pursuit of someone else's definition of "making it." The hum of the office lights became a constant reminder of the life I was supposed to be living, not the one I truly desired.
By Momin Shahabout a year ago in Fiction
