Adventure

Above From Below Part 8
After many shots, and several beers, Andrea and Rick headed back to their hotel. Rick had opened up to Andrea. She now understood the ghosts, and why he wsarned her that he wasn't someone to get too close to. Still, she trusted Rick, at least as much as she trusted anyone else. Under any other circumstances, she might have considered making a move on him, but as much as he opened up, she could tell Rick was still holding back.
By Jason Morton6 months ago in Fiction
Above From Below Part 8
As Rick and Andrea sped away from the Observatory, keeping his lights off to stay hidden in the dark of night, Rick heard the information he briefly gleemed from the computer as the words rattled around in his head. He didn't understand what he'd seen fully, but knew that the classified stamp that had been entered on the files meant it was likely what got Nico killed. That they hadn't secured the files better meant they didn't know about him. The connection between him and Nico hadn't been found. How though, had Andrea found the tie?
By Jason Morton6 months ago in Fiction
The Weight of Winning. AI-Generated.
The courtroom had an energy that day he could not explain, something heavier than tension, something that settled quietly in the chest and stayed there. He had walked into rooms like this for years, always prepared, always certain of what needed to be done, but this time felt different in a way he could not shake. It was not the case itself, not the complexity or the attention it had gathered, but the simple fact that he already knew how it would end and what it would cost him. Long before the trial reached its final moments, the truth had already been revealed to him in a way that did not require evidence or argument. It came in a quiet exchange, a moment that should have stayed hidden but instead followed him into every thought, every decision, every word he spoke afterward.
By Muhammad Abbas khan6 months ago in Fiction
The Last Light of Eryndor
The Last Light of Eryndor The town of Eryndor had always been wrapped in a quiet kind of sorrow, as though the wind itself carried whispers of forgotten grief. Nestled between gray mountains and a restless sea, it was a place where hope arrived sparingly and left too soon. Yet, for Elian, it was the only home he had ever known—and the only place he believed love could still survive. Elian lived with his younger sister, Liora, in a small, weather-beaten cottage at the edge of town. Their parents had died years before, taken by a fever that swept through Eryndor without mercy. Since then, Elian had become everything to Liora: brother, protector, and provider. He worked long hours at the docks, hauling crates and repairing fishing nets, his hands roughened by salt and labor. But no matter how tired he was, he always returned home with a smile for Liora. Liora, despite her fragile health, had a spirit that seemed untouched by the gloom surrounding them. She loved to paint, capturing fragments of beauty the world had long forgotten—golden sunsets, blooming flowers, and bright blue skies that never truly existed in Eryndor. Elian often wondered how she could imagine such colors when all they had ever known were shades of gray. “Because I believe they exist somewhere,” she once told him, her voice soft but certain. “And if they exist, then maybe we can find them.” Those words stayed with Elian, echoing in his mind during the long, lonely nights at the docks. He began to dream of a life beyond Eryndor, a place where Liora could breathe freely and paint the world as it truly was. And so, he made a promise—to himself and to her—that one day, they would leave. But promises, like dreams, are fragile things. One winter, the sea turned violent. Storms battered the coastline for weeks, destroying boats and cutting off trade routes. Food became scarce, and illness spread quickly among the townspeople. It was during this time that Liora fell sick. At first, it was just a cough. Then came the fever. Elian did everything he could. He brought her herbs from the hills, begged the town’s healer for medicine, and even sold his father’s old tools to afford what little help he could find. But nothing seemed to work. Each day, Liora grew weaker, her vibrant spirit dimming like a fading flame. “Don’t worry,” she whispered one evening, her hand trembling in his. “I’ll be okay.” But Elian could see the truth in her eyes. And it terrified him. Desperate, he sought out a rumor that had lingered in Eryndor for generations—a tale of a hidden sanctuary deep within the mountains, where a rare flower bloomed. It was said that this flower possessed healing properties strong enough to cure any illness. Most dismissed it as a myth, a story told to comfort the hopeless. But Elian had nothing left to lose. He left the next morning, before dawn, leaving Liora in the care of a neighbor. The journey into the mountains was treacherous. Snow covered the paths, and the cold bit into his skin like knives. Yet, he pressed on, driven by the image of Liora’s smile. Days passed. Elian’s food ran out, and his strength began to falter. But just as hope seemed to slip away, he found it—a small clearing hidden among jagged rocks, illuminated by a faint, golden light. At its center grew a single flower. It was unlike anything he had ever seen. Its petals shimmered with a soft glow, and its scent carried a warmth that seemed to chase away the cold. Elian fell to his knees, overwhelmed by a mixture of relief and disbelief. “I found you,” he whispered. With trembling hands, he carefully plucked the flower and wrapped it in cloth. For a moment, he allowed himself to believe that everything would be alright—that he would return to Eryndor, cure Liora, and finally take her away from the place that had given them so much pain. But fate is often cruel to those who dare to hope. As Elian began his descent, a sudden storm swept through the mountains. The wind howled, and the snow fell in blinding sheets. He struggled to find his way, each step more difficult than the last. The path disappeared beneath the snow, and the world became a white void. He clutched the flower tightly, refusing to let go. Hours passed, though it felt like an eternity. Exhaustion weighed heavily on him, and his vision blurred. He stumbled, falling to his knees again and again. Still, he pressed forward. “I have to make it,” he muttered. “For Liora.” But the storm did not care for his determination. In a final, desperate attempt to move forward, Elian slipped. The ground beneath him gave way, and he tumbled down a steep incline, his body crashing against rocks hidden beneath the snow. When he finally came to a stop, pain surged through him, sharp and unrelenting. He tried to stand, but his legs refused to obey. For a moment, he lay there, staring up at the storm-filled sky. The flower was still in his hand, its glow faint but steady. A bitter laugh escaped his lips. “So close…” His thoughts turned to Liora. He imagined her waiting for him, her fragile body curled beneath worn blankets, her eyes filled with quiet hope. The image broke something inside him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the wind. The cold crept in slowly, numbing his body. His grip on the flower weakened, and it slipped from his hand, landing softly in the snow beside him. Its glow flickered, then steadied once more. As darkness closed in, Elian found himself remembering the colors Liora used to paint—the vibrant hues he had never truly seen. For the first time, he wondered if she had been right all along. Perhaps those colors did exist, just beyond his reach. Perhaps she would find them. Back in Eryndor, Liora waited. Days passed, and Elian did not return. Her condition worsened, the fever consuming what little strength she had left. Yet, she refused to give up hope. “He promised,” she murmured to herself. On the seventh day, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Liora’s breathing grew shallow. The neighbor who cared for her sat quietly by her side, unable to offer anything but silent comfort. “Do you think… he found it?” Liora asked weakly. The neighbor hesitated, then nodded. “I’m sure he did.” A faint smile touched Liora’s lips. “Then… that’s enough.” Her eyes drifted closed, and for a moment, the room seemed to grow still. The faint light of dusk cast soft shadows on the walls, and in that quiet, fragile space, Liora took her final breath. Far away, high in the mountains, the storm began to fade. The clouds parted, revealing a sky painted in shades of gold and crimson—the kind of colors Liora had always imagined. Beside Elian’s lifeless body, the flower continued to glow, its light untouched by the tragedy that had unfolded. In the end, the cure existed. But it had come too late.
By Eva guns 6 months ago in Fiction
Above From Below Part 7
Rick held his hand up, his fingers clenched into a fist, warning Andrea to hold. They were along side the building, working their way toward the back door to the complex, and Rick heard a noise. The technician they'd watched smoke two other cigarettes in an hour was at it again. Rick leaned back, and told Andrea about "Smokey the Bear," and cautioned her to wait. But, as they were on a clock, Andrea had other ideas.
By Jason Morton7 months ago in Fiction
Pirates and Mermaids
One day a mermaid saw a group of pirates scuba diving. She was interested and swam up to ask them what they were up to. They told the mermaid about how there was treasure under the surface. They held up some they had found and then the mermaid swam down to help them. She told them about how she enjoyed watching their sword fights and wanted to learn from them. They made a deal that if the mermaids swam down to find treasures for them that were long lost and could not be found even with scuba diving, that they would teach them sword fighting and share the treasure.
By Seashell Harpspring 7 months ago in Fiction
Midnight Bus
The bus doors opened with a long metallic sigh, even though no one had pressed the stop button. For a moment, I stood on the empty sidewalk wondering if I had imagined it. The streetlights flickered softly above me, and the road stretched into darkness like an unanswered question. I had been waiting for nearly thirty minutes, and the city around me had already fallen asleep.
By Vocal Member 7 months ago in Fiction
You Make Your bed
Matthew is sleeping is his bed when he is suddenly awakened by a rock being thrown at his bedroom window. “What the heck is that?” He said to himself as he was rousted from his sleep. “Matthew! Matthew! Get up fool!” A voice called down to him from the other side of his bedroom window. Matthew climbed out of his messy bed and went to the bedroom window to investigate.
By Joe Patterson7 months ago in Fiction
The Lower Shelf
The Lower Shelf by luccian.layth An old bookstore on a street he won't remember the name of. Ghaith pulls a book from the bottom shelf, wipes the dust with his finger without meaning to. A woman stands nearby reading upright, as though standing is part of the act.
By LUCCIAN LAYTH7 months ago in Fiction
The Library Card
Step Inside Any Story You've Ever Read THE CARD THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING 🃏 Twelve-year-old Zara Okafor found the library card tucked inside a returned copy of "A Wrinkle in Time" at the Greenville Public Library where she spent every afternoon after school because her mother worked double shifts at the hospital and the library was the only safe place within walking distance of her school, and Zara who had read every book in the young adult section twice and who had moved on to the adult fiction shelves with the precocious hunger of a child whose real life was too small for her imagination, picked up the card assuming it had been left by the previous borrower and intending to turn it in at the front desk, but when she looked at the card she noticed it was different from the standard Greenville library cards which were plain white with a barcode, because this card was made of something that felt like metal but flexed like paper, and it was warm to the touch despite having been inside a closed book, and instead of a name and barcode it contained a single line of text in gold lettering that read "Present this card to enter any book you choose" 📖
By The Curious Writer7 months ago in Fiction
The Clock
What Would You Do If You Knew Exactly When? THE DEVICE NOBODY ASKED FOR 🕐 The Countdown Clock appeared in every home on Earth simultaneously at midnight on January first without explanation or warning, a small digital display that materialized on the wall of every bedroom in every house and apartment and shelter and prison cell on the planet showing a number counting backward in real-time, and it took humanity approximately three hours to understand what the numbers represented because the first people whose clocks reached zero died instantly and peacefully at the exact moment their display hit 00:00:00:00, and the worldwide panic that followed as eight billion people simultaneously confronted personalized death countdowns that could not be removed, covered, or destroyed because any attempt to damage or obscure a clock resulted in it immediately reappearing on the nearest wall, was the most destabilizing event in human history, more disruptive than any war or pandemic because it gave every person on Earth the one piece of information that human psychology is least equipped to handle: the exact moment of their death 💀
By The Curious Writer7 months ago in Fiction
Others Amongst Us
For years, they were able to hide in plain sight. That time was over. Now they were forced into hiding underground—hiding in tunnels that had been abandoned long before their children were born.
By David E. Perry7 months ago in Fiction