Adventure

Don't Call Me Sister
"Little brother, let's go slowly. I can't die right now. If you want to die that much, leave me somewhere. I'll call and get big brother or uncle."
By Rohitha Lanka2 years ago in Fiction
When the Chickens Stop Clucking
" Have you given up social work now? " " These days I am taking care of the family. " " What is that? " " Suddenly the chickens in the house have changed. There is not much talk. They are getting tired and flying around like bunnies. "
By Rohitha Lanka2 years ago in Fiction
OKC Thunder
iturn0image0turn0image3turn0image7turn0image8The Oklahoma City Thunder had an exceptional 2024-25 NBA season, finishing with a remarkable 68-14 record, the best in the league and the fourth best in NBA history. The performance earned them the top seed in the Western Conference and the first-ever Maurice Podoloff Trophy in franchise history. citeturn0search19.
By Rahul Sana2 years ago in Fiction
The Last Cup of Tea
It was a dreary Tuesday afternoon in the psychology department of a Midwestern university. Students were shuffling into class, expecting another boring lecture on cognitive bias or Freudian theory. But that day, their professor had something else in mind. Breaking with tradition, she started telling a story.
By Turjo Mia2 years ago in Fiction
A Letter Never Sent
Arman sat at his old wooden desk on a cold, silent evening. The soft ticking of the clock filled the room, yet he barely noticed. Tonight felt different. After so many years, he was finally writing a letter.
By Md Johirul Islam2 years ago in Fiction
Mary had a little lamb
The chapel was gone. In its place, a field of ash stretched into the gray horizon—windless, breathless, still. Mary stood at the center, her palms glowing faintly, threads of golden light weaving from her fingers into the sky. Ash knelt beside her, quiet, reverent. Sebastian… lay collapsed. His body was no longer shifting. He was no longer transforming. The wool had peeled away entirely now. His hooves were hands. His face—delicate, human, eerily angelic—stared up at her with wide, black eyes filled not with hatred… but fear. Not for her. For himself. Mary stepped toward him, her voice hoarse. “Who were you… before?” Sebastian shook his head. Ash, watching silently, finally spoke: “He wasn’t always this. You deserve to know what they did.” And then the world began to remember. The Real Origin of Sebastian It began in the village of Vehl, nestled in a valley choked with superstition. Sebastian had been a boy no older than six when the rains stopped falling. The crops died. The livestock were born deformed. The sky turned a sickly yellow. The elders, drunk on fear and desperation, demanded a reason. A scapegoat. And they found one in him. A child too kind. Too quiet. With hair like bleached snow and eyes that unsettled the priests. A child who had been there—present—when the mayor’s daughter went missing. What no one cared to remember was that Sebastian had tried to save her. He’d followed the scream into the woods. He’d found her doll in a bush. He’d run to the village, gasping, sobbing, begging someone to help. But by the time they arrived, the girl was gone. And the doll—soaked in blood—was still clutched in his hands. The real killer stood behind the crowd that night, expression calm, face smeared with holy ash. Elias, the herbalist’s son. Seventeen. Jealous. Clever. He had found the Tome of the Devourer by accident—buried beneath his grandfather’s floorboards. He never meant to use it. Until he saw the boy with the snow-hair smiling too brightly, too innocently. He planted the evidence. He told the priests. He showed them the cursed book. He whispered, “The child is a vessel. The demon has entered through his birth.” The ritual began on the night of a blood moon. Sebastian’s mother did not stop them. His father looked away. He was dragged from his home barefoot, crying, trying to hold his brother’s hand. But no one reached back. They stripped him naked in the village square. They painted his chest with runes that burned on contact. They broke his toys and scattered them around the circle, muttering that no soul could remain attached to “worldly tethers.” And then they cut off his tongue. To prevent the demon from “whispering.” He didn’t scream. He couldn’t. But his eyes—those impossible, dark eyes—watched them all. When they chanted the incantation, the air twisted. Time buckled. Something answered. But not the way they hoped. Instead of banishing darkness—they poured it into him. Sebastian had never been a demon. But the ritual made him one. It cored out his heart. It poured in sorrow, confusion, rage. It stitched the wool into his skin. It closed his voice forever. It made him immortal. And very, very alone. The ritual ended. The child slumped forward. And the villagers cheered, blind to what they had truly done. For centuries, Sebastian wandered. At first, silent. Confused. A lamb with hollow eyes and blood on his hooves. He did not remember being a boy. But he felt the betrayal. The pain became his compass. The hunger, his company. Until he met Mary. She had picked him up from the field, just as the villagers once dragged him away. She held him. Fed him. Named him. She did not know what he was. And for the first time in centuries, Sebastian felt warmth. But warmth, twisted through torment, becomes obsession. Back in the Present
By E. hasan2 years ago in Fiction
Buddus`s Father
Once there was an old farmer named Buddhu's father. His paddy fields were ripe, and flocks of weaver birds came and feasted on his rice. To chase them away, Buddhu's father made a clapper (a kind of noise-making tool). But even the sound of the clapper didn’t scare the birds away.
By Alomgir Hossain2 years ago in Fiction
A Journey of One
Chapter One: The Leaving The town of Ellensworth was the kind of place where silence clung to the walls. Nothing loud ever happened there. People moved in quiet, careful ways—mowing lawns in the early morning, waving politely from across the street, exchanging small, rehearsed smiles in the market. It wasn’t a cruel place, just...numb.
By THE STORY ROOM2 years ago in Fiction
The Sheep and the Lion
Once, in a land where the golden grass rolled like a sea beneath the vast sky, lived a lion named Karo. Karo was the king of the savannah. His roar could make the earth tremble, and his golden mane shimmered like the sun at dawn. All the creatures in the kingdom feared him, and for good reason. No predator in the land was as swift, as cunning, or as powerful as Karo. He ruled with the authority of one who knew that his strength was unmatched. Yet, for all his might, Karo lived in a world of solitude. His power kept others at a distance, and he had no friends.
By THE STORY ROOM2 years ago in Fiction
The Eyes of the Forest
There was once a young man named Jeevadatta. He lived alone in a small forest patch outside the city of Kusala, and he had a daughter whose mother had died whilst she was small.
By Rohitha Lanka2 years ago in Fiction
The lost books
# The Mysterious Library of Lost Books In a small, forgotten alleyway, tucked away in the heart of the city, stood an enigmatic building that seemed to defy the laws of time and space. The sign above the door read "The Mysterious Library of Lost Books," and the windows were filled with a dim, ethereal glow that seemed to beckon passersby.
By Divine Ashimole2 years ago in Fiction
The Last Ride of John. Content Warning.
I learned this morning that John had died in a car accident while returning home form work the previous day. I had not spoken to John much, but I remembered him because of his innocent appearance. This bad news shook my heart.
By Rohitha Lanka2 years ago in Fiction