Adventure
The Quiet Below
Niko dreamed of the cliff first, like always. — the same sheer drop of stone beneath his boots, the same clean horizon, the same measured wind brushing past him in steady intervals. He stood at the edge, hands in his pockets, looking down at the ocean far below.
By Syl De'Vil15 days ago in Fiction
Beneath the Wake
Bane dreamed of the ocean often, though his version was never gentle. It came to him in jagged pieces — cliffs carved by storms, waves that struck like fists, a horizon that never stayed still. The water was darker in his dreams, almost metallic, reflecting nothing but the faint shimmer of his own eyes.
By Syl De'Vil15 days ago in Fiction
Into the Void
Sara dreamed of the ocean the way she remembered it as a kid — cold, gray, endless, the kind of water that didn’t sparkle so much as brood. In the dream, she stood at the shoreline with her boots sinking slowly into wet sand, the tide tugging at her laces like it wanted her to step closer.
By Syl De'Vil15 days ago in Fiction
"You Are Here...?"
"The roar of the twin V-twin engines isn’t just something you hear; it is a violent, rhythmic thumping vibrating directly inside your ribcage. Your fingers are white-knuckled, cramping as you clutch the cold metal frame of the choppers. Your boots are wedged precariously between two massive Harley-Davidsons flying down a deserted desert highway in a terrifyingly tight formation under a surreal full moon.
By Vicky 'A' Blevins Reavis16 days ago in Fiction
No Seat Belt
Imagine you are 6 years old and going to Woodfield Mall with your parents. You leave the apartment with them, climb into the sports car, and crawl over the seat to the console between the two bucket seats. Your mom gets in on the right side of the car, and your dad gets behind the wheel of the orange sports car. You sit between them , happy to go for a ride in your daddy’s fast car.
By Andrea Corwin 16 days ago in Fiction
Stitch: The lore of Sara Foxgrave.
Sara didn’t even know why she went out there that morning. She told herself it was just curiosity, just wanting to see how far the construction crew had gotten on the new house, but really it was because she hadn’t come back here since she returned. Not once. The old willow tree still hunched over the hill like it was guarding Lake Downing, its branches rattling in the cold wind, whispering the same secrets they used to whisper when she and Birdi climbed it and pretended they were queens of the whole damn world. The lake hadn’t changed at all. But she had. It felt smaller now, or maybe she did.
By Syl De'Vil18 days ago in Fiction
" Dead Air...? ". AI-Generated.
The Frequency of Flesh The dashboard clock of Big Moma 109 blinked midnight, casting a sickly green glow over Duke’s knuckles as he gripped the steering wheel. Outside, the Texas blacktop was swallowed by a torrential downpour, the headlights barely cutting through the sheets of rain.
By Vicky 'A' Blevins Reavis18 days ago in Fiction
