Adventure
The Man Beneath the River
Ben woke up gasping. The faucet was still running. That awful sound of dripping water, echoing like laughter through the pipes. His father used to say it was the river trying to whisper back. Whispering all the sins Ben had swallowed and never spat out.
By Muhammad Abdullahabout a year ago in Fiction
Whispers of the Wild
The sun was just beginning to rise, spilling molten gold over the forest canopy. A soft breeze rustled the leaves, and the dew on the grass sparkled like tiny diamonds. For Mira, this was not just another morning — it was the beginning of something she had been yearning for: silence, solitude, and a reconnection with nature. Mira had lived in the city all her life — skyscrapers, traffic, noise, and screens. It was a world of endless motion, where beauty came filtered through photo edits and carefully staged perfection. She had grown weary of it all — the artificial lights, the pressure to conform, the race that never stopped. When her grandmother passed away and left her a small cabin deep in the forested hills of the North, Mira took it as a sign. It was time to escape. To rediscover the raw, untouched beauty she had only seen in old books and childhood memories. The cabin sat on the edge of a lush valley, nestled between two sloping ridges. It was small, with weathered wooden walls and a stone chimney that puffed soft smoke into the morning sky. The windows were framed by ivy, and the wild garden had long since claimed the space around it. Mira stepped out onto the creaky porch, barefoot, breathing in the crisp scent of pine and earth. The forest didn’t ask her to be anything. It didn’t care about her hairstyle, her clothes, or her status. Here, beauty was everywhere — in the twist of a branch, the flight of a bird, the reflection of clouds in a still pool. It was honest, humble, and profoundly healing. She spent her first few days walking without a destination, learning the language of the land. She saw the vibrant splash of wildflowers in a hidden meadow, watched a family of deer drinking silently at a creek, and lay under the stars until sleep took her in the grass. Time stretched and softened. One morning, as she followed a narrow trail along a stream, Mira found herself at a clearing she hadn’t noticed before. In its center stood a single, enormous tree — a towering maple, with a trunk so wide she could barely wrap her arms around it. Its bark was smooth in some places and deeply grooved in others, and high above, its leaves danced in the light breeze like hands reaching toward the sky. She sat beneath it, leaning against its base, and closed her eyes. The sounds of the forest wrapped around her — the chirp of crickets, the song of distant birds, the rustling of animals in the underbrush. For the first time in years, her mind was quiet. It was then she realized that natural beauty wasn’t just something to be admired. It was something that reminded you of your own nature — of simplicity, stillness, and belonging. Days turned into weeks. Mira kept a journal, sketching what she saw and writing down what she felt. Her favorite moments were the unexpected ones — the glint of a spiderweb covered in dew, the sudden whoosh of wings as a hawk flew overhead, the moment a fox paused just long enough to meet her gaze before vanishing. There was no perfection here. The trees weren’t symmetrical, the ground wasn’t smooth, and the sky was sometimes clouded over for days. But there was beauty in every curve and imperfection. The forest, in all its rawness, taught her that real beauty isn’t something you sculpt or polish — it’s something you surrender to. Mira’s appearance changed, though she didn’t notice at first. Her skin, once dulled by pollution and stress, glowed with sun and fresh air. Her eyes, once tired and hurried, now lingered on small wonders. Her body moved with ease and purpose, no longer confined by crowded subways or desk chairs. One afternoon, as a gentle rain began to fall, Mira found herself standing at the edge of a small cliff, overlooking the valley below. Mist curled around the trees like smoke from a sacred fire, and the river shimmered like a silver ribbon winding through the earth. She stood there for a long time, soaked but not cold, feeling more alive than she ever had. On her final evening before returning to the city for a short visit, Mira lit a small fire outside the cabin. She sat beside it, sipping herbal tea made from foraged mint and elderflower. The stars emerged one by one, painting the sky with ancient stories. In that moment, she understood something deeper than words. Natural beauty was not just something to see. It was something to feel, to be part of, to remember in your bones. It was in the silence that wasn’t empty, but full. In the chaos that had its own quiet order. In the wildness that didn’t demand control. She thought about how people spend their lives chasing beauty in products, likes, and digital filters — when the greatest beauty required no effort to find, only the presence to notice. Back in the city, everything felt louder, faster, and harder to digest. Mira returned to her job and her friends, but something within her had changed. She wore less makeup now, let her curls fall freely, and spoke more slowly, choosing her words with intention. Her coworkers noticed a new calmness in her, a grounded presence that drew people in without trying. What they didn’t know was that Mira carried the forest inside her now. She had touched a truth deeper than mirrors or magazine covers — that true beauty lives not in perfection, but in authenticity. Not in control, but in harmony. Whenever life became too heavy, she would close her eyes and remember the tree in the clearing, the scent of pine, the hush of wind through the tall grasses. It was her anchor. Her mirror. Her home. Epilogue: A Lesson in Stillness Years later, Mira would write a book about her time in the woods — part memoir, part guide, part love letter to the natural world. She called it Whispers of the Wild, and it became a quiet success, passed between hands like a secret worth sharing. In its opening pages, she wrote: "We search the world for beauty, not knowing we carry it within. But sometimes, the forest must show us — in silence, in shadow, in light — what we've forgotten about ourselves."
By Julia Christaabout a year ago in Fiction
Savant Veila - The Aegis of Sages
Savant Veila - The Aegis of Lore In the heart of Cradlebrook, among the gilded shelves of Cradlebrook’s great library The Golden Gathering, Savant Veila sat within the embrace of knowledge. Though to many she was merely a librarian, to those who sought wisdom, she was Delnator’s chosen. She was the quiet force of knowledge shaping Goodhollow’s destiny.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)about a year ago in Fiction
The Witness Tree. Content Warning.
I dreamed about this episode a couple of days ago. I did not consider it a nightmare, but an omen of what was to happen in the future. I added the golden butterflies to bring a glittter of hope into the chaotic world of 2025. I completed voice over in Eleven Labs with my voice. This is a project I had to complete. I am a dreamer, psychic, empath, and love peace not war. War mongers, haters, and liars get on my last nerve. Just as I completed this story, my knocked on my door to tell America is at war with Iran. This is a useless war started by evil men with little tools. They are so about their tools they must compare bombs to how large their tools are. I worked with art, visuals, and story for two days. I wrote, created, edited, diced, and spliced the music, art, and videos myself. Microsoft Copilot is my assistant and quite complimentary regarding my art. I WROTE THIS!
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli about a year ago in Fiction
After The Sunset The Stars As My Witness. Content Warning.
As for Danae, she had her knight in shining armour. In the city, as she ran errands she would feel eyes stripping her bare and snarky comments low enough for her to hear them, but no one dared to touch her because they feared Perseus, and that's what she feared if Perseus died during the quest she would have to be her own knight but she wasn't as big and tough as her son and she hated violence. She’d have to marry the king to be protected from the predators waiting to pounce on her, The King, though a predator in Danae’s eyes, she felt he was a better predator, at least she would be queen.
By Ropafadzo Thokozani Zinyuke (Fadzo) about a year ago in Fiction
The Divine Pantheon of the World of Hurth
The Divine Pantheon of the World of Hurth The Divine Pantheon of the World of Hurth The world of Hurth is shaped not only by its people and lands but by the divine forces that guide, challenge, and inspire those who dwell within it. The gods of Hurth represent the many facets of existence, each wielding influence over their respective, sometimes overlapping, domains and watching over their followers with wisdom, fury, laughter, or cunning. Some shape destinies with a firm and guiding hand, while others revel in chaos, their influence unpredictable yet undeniable. Whether through grand temples adorned with sacred symbols, whispered prayers in tended fiends and hidden groves, or desperate cries upon the battlefield, the presence of the divine is inescapable.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)about a year ago in Fiction
Elion - The Silent Collector
Elion - The Silent Collector Though its name suggested stillness, Port Silence was never truly quiet. The world continued as it always had, merchants locking their shops, sailors securing their vessels, revelers stumbling from taverns, their laughter carrying through the darkness. But beneath the hum of city life, unseen and unnoticed, a quieter force walked among them. Not a lord, not a warrior, not even a priest, but something far older, far greater.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)about a year ago in Fiction
Guardians And Angels | Chapter Four (Part 16)
The first time my best friend met my father, he had a gun pointed at my heart; the next, it was aimed at his own head. Two silent moments, nestled on the ledge of violence. Two chance meetings, bookends to a weekend that would change my young life and the lives of everyone around me forever.
By Christopher Dubbsabout a year ago in Fiction
