Excerpt
The Clock
What Would You Do If You Knew Exactly When? THE DEVICE NOBODY ASKED FOR đ 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 đ
By The Curious Writer6 months ago in Fiction
The Café
Every Customer Gets One Visit and One Question Answered THE DOOR BETWEEN WORLDS đȘ The cafĂ© appears on different streets in different cities on different nights, never in the same location twice, and the people who find it are always people who are about to face the most significant decision of their lives though they do not always know this when they walk through the door drawn by the warm light and the smell of coffee that is better than any coffee they have ever experienced and by something else, something they cannot name but that feels like recognition, like the cafĂ© has been waiting specifically for them even though they have never seen it before and will never see it again because the cafĂ© grants each person only one visit and during that visit they are served a meal that tastes exactly like the most meaningful meal of their life, the meal that represents their deepest happiness, and they are allowed to ask one question that will be answered truthfully by the proprietor, a woman of indeterminate age who seems to know everything about everyone who walks through her door đ
By The Curious Writer6 months ago in Fiction
A Badge in the Smoke !
Dear Diary,đ Bye Bye David!Those were the last words Lena wrote before sliding the diary across the counter to the officials. Sheâd pressed the pen hard on that final line, then shut the book as if closing a door.Sheâd met David in the Hyatt Regency lobby during his medical conference. She was wiping the marble floor, eyes down, feeling the familiar ache of being alone in a place full of travelers. Heâd asked for directions to the elevator, lingered, asked her name. Over the next three days they met in quiet corners â near the potted palms, at the service elevator â talking in low voices. He was polite, careful, always checking his watch. She felt seen, and also like she was living in the space between his words.When he left, he promised to write. They did, for a while, but the letters thinned out. Then ICE came to the hotel. Lena â whose real name was Christina Perraira â was taken across the border to Mexico. Rumors followed her: sheâd escaped, sheâd been taken by a cartel, a gang leader had offered her protection in exchange for favors, and sheâd ended up in a trafficking case. No one could say which was true.Years passed. Christina lived under a new name, Ms. Alt, raising a child on her own. She never sent David an address. She kept the diary as proof that she had told him not to come.She never said the rule out loud, but everyone around her acted as if they knew it: *if you care for someone, you donât chase them once theyâve asked you to stay away.* The hotel staff never gave David her forwarding information. The official who took her diary didnât forward it. Even her sister, when David called from abroad, simply said, âShe asked not to be found.â No one explained the rule; they just honored it.David never came.*Twenty-three years later, a different envelope arrived at Christinaâs door.* Inside was not a letter, but a photocopy of Davidâs conference badge from 2003. On the back, in his handwriting: âLena: if you ever read this, know I never stopped looking. I didnât come because I wasnât free to.âBelow that, a second line in a different pen: âMy wife died two winters ago.âChristina stared at the badge. No return address, no signature. Just the badge, the two lines, and the faint imprint of a hotel key card tucked beneath it.She never said the rule out loud, but everyone who knew Lenaâlater Christina, later Ms. Altâacted as if they understood it: *if you care for someone, you donât chase them once theyâve asked you to stay away.* The hotel staff never gave David her forwarding information. The official who took her diary didnât forward it. Even her sister, when David called from abroad, simply said, âShe asked not to be found.â No one explained it; they just honored it.Christina settled in a small town across the border, working as a caregiver at St. Clareâs senior home. Her final abode was a modest room above the kitchen, with a window that looked onto the courtyard and a thin mattress sheâd learned to make quickly between shifts. She kept Lenaâs diary tucked under the mattress, the last page still reading âđ bye bye David!âOne rainy Thursday a new resident was admitted for terminal care: David. The name caught her breath, but she didnât say anything. His file listed no family, only a contact number that went to voicemail. She was assigned to his floor.He was frail, his voice softer than she remembered, and he wore the same habit of checking his watch even though time meant little now. She bathed him, brought him tea, sat with him when the pain spiked. He never asked her name; she never offered it.On his third night, he slipped a folded paper into her palm while she adjusted his blanket. It was a photocopy of his old conference badge from 2003. On the back, in his handwriting: _âLena â if you ever read this, know I never stopped looking. I didnât come because I wasnât free to.âBelow that, in a different pen: âMy wife died two winters ago.âShe recognized the handwriting instantly. The paper also had a hotel key card tucked inside.She stayed with him. He opened his eyes, looked at her face, and whispered, âLena?â She nodded, tears slipping down. He reached for her hand; she held it.A few hours later, a kettle sheâd left on the small kitchenette boiled dry, the coil overheated, and a small fire started. The smoke alarm wailed. Staff rushed in, got David out, but Christina went back for the diary under her mattress. The room filled with smoke before she could get out.They died the same nightâDavid in the hallway on a gurney, Christina in her room above the kitchen. The diary was found charred at the edges, the final page still legible.The staff filed the incident, placed the diary in the homeâs lost-and-found, and followed the rule without ever naming it: they didnât try to trace who David had been to Lena/Christina. © conceptual right , March 30th, 2026 âïžBy Madhu Goteti P.S: A rose is a rose is a rose like a rule is a rule is a rule!
By Madhu Goteti 7 months ago in Fiction
âVery Dark Timesâ OF USA
Ray Dalio Warns: The United States May Be Heading Into âVery Dark Timesâ Billionaire investor Ray Dalio has issued a stark warning: the United States may be heading into âvery dark times.â His concerns are not based on short-term politics but on long-term historical patterns that have shaped the rise and fall of global superpowers.
By Wings of Time 7 months ago in Fiction
Oleksandr und Mavrin
In those accursed days when the sky itself seemed to have turned Russian and was spitting iron on the black earth of Donbas, Oleksandr marched with the rest of his platoon like a man already half-dead. The war had eaten everything gentle in him. Only the memory of Andriy still burned--Andriy with his quick laugh, his crooked front tooth, the way he used to press his cold nose into Oleksandr's neck at night and whisper, "We'll live through this, Sashko. We'll go to Lviv and open a stupid little café and forget all this blood."
By ANTICHRIST SUPERSTAR7 months ago in Fiction
True Story
âTrue story,â is how she starts every story before launching into the most implausible tale. Last night, she claimed the moon was stalking her, said she caught it, shrank it to marble size. I chuckled until she reached into her pocket and pulled out the luminous orb.
By Tina D. Lopez7 months ago in Fiction
The Twin in the Closet
Ever since the accident, life has been a little strange. Mom barely leaves her room, and Dad barely ever comes home from work. I guess it's normal for everyone to handle their grief in different ways. The problem is, I can't tell them that no one needs to grieve. Six months ago, it was my twin's and my 17th birthday, and we were on our way home from a party, and our car crashed into a tree.
By Brooke Moran7 months ago in Fiction
The Fae King. Top Story - March 2026.
It began with a girl. Black-haired and sweet and gone too soon. It is the way of mortals to die, of course. Most pass within a few decades, unless they can be tempted away to fairyland and persuaded to stay there. Even then, mortals live only as long as they can go without visits to friends or family that allow time and the weight of years to catch up to them.
By Natasja Rose7 months ago in Fiction
