Excerpt

The Call Came After Midnight
I was half-asleep when my phone rang. The screen lit up my dark bedroom, the name flashing across it like something out of a dream — or a nightmare.
By ETS_Storyabout a year ago in Fiction
“The Last Paper Crane”*
In a narrow lane where the sun barely touched the ground by midday, tucked between a tea stall and an old tailor’s shop, stood a small stationery store with peeling green paint and a wooden sign that read “Baba Jan’s Papers” in faded ink.
By meerjananabout a year ago in Fiction
The Weight of a Cold Feeling
Outside, the wind howled and moaned, temporarily distracting me from the burning anger I felt. Inside this dollhouse cabin, the only sound was the ticking metronome near the moose head
By sariahhhhabout a year ago in Fiction
The Hunt or the Lesson – The Tale of the Monkey, the Horse, and the Lion
It was a hot afternoon in Sierra Leone. The golden sunlight spread across the grassy plains, and the dry air carried the scent of dust. At the edge of the forest, a curious monkey named Maka sat high on a branch, scanning the open field below. Down there, a beautiful brown horse grazed peacefully. The horse belonged to the nearby village farmers, but it often wandered alone into the meadow. A playful thought sparked in Maka’s mind: “What if I ride that horse? I’ve seen humans do it… maybe I can see the world from up there!” Climbing down quietly, Maka crept toward the horse. With a sudden leap, he landed squarely on its back. The horse startled, snorted, and stepped back, but when it realized the small creature wasn’t a threat, it allowed the ride. Maka grinned wide. “Wow! I feel like the king of the jungle now!” But the true king of the jungle — Kano the lion — was at the far end of the grasslands that very moment. Hungry and restless after two days without a proper meal, his sharp eyes caught sight of the horse… and something extra sitting on top. To Kano, it didn’t matter — prey was prey. oving low through the tall grass, Kano approached like a shadow sliding across the earth. The horse’s ears twitched; it sensed danger. Suddenly, its eyes widened and, without warning, it bolted forward at full speed. Maka jolted, nearly losing his grip. Glancing back, his heart froze. The lion was charging after them, his golden mane flowing, eyes locked directly on Maka. “Run! Faster! Go, go, go!” Maka squealed, though the horse hardly needed encouragement. Hooves pounded the ground like war drums. Tufts of grass flew into the air, and a trail of dust swirled behind them. Kano’s heavy paws hit the earth with a deep, rhythmic thud. He was closing the distance. The air was thick with tension, every second stretching like an eternity. aka’s mind raced. “I started this as a game… but now it’s life or death.” Ahead, a small river glimmered under the sun. The horse slowed just a bit, unsure of the depth. The water was fast and murky. Behind them, Kano’s growl rumbled louder, closer. The horse stopped at the bank, stomping nervously. There was no time to think — the lion was nearly upon them. Maka made his choice. Leaping from the horse’s back, he grabbed a dangling vine from an overhanging tree branch and swung himself high into the foliage. The horse neighed loudly, then splashed into the river and scrambled across to the other side. Kano didn’t bother following the horse. His eyes were now fixed on the monkey clinging to the branch above. me down, little snack,” the lion growled, pacing beneath the tree. Maka held his breath, trying not to tremble. He knew lions couldn’t climb trees, but a hungry lion could wait — and wait he did. Hours passed. The sun dipped low, the shadows stretched long. Kano circled the tree, his tail flicking in frustration. As night fell, he finally gave up, slinking back into the darkness in search of an easier meal. Maka waited until he was certain the lion was gone before climbing down. His playful spirit was gone, replaced by a deep sense of humility.next morning, Maka spotted the brown horse grazing again near the edge of the meadow. He approached slowly. The horse noticed him and took a cautious step back. Maka lowered his head and said softly, “Yesterday, you saved my life… and I put yours in danger. I’m sorry.” The horse said nothing, but his calm, steady gaze seemed to speak: “Friendship means responsibility.” al: Life’s adventures and playful risks can be exciting, but dragging others into danger for your own thrill is selfish. A true friend protects you, and a true friendship is one you protect in return. This isn’t just a tale of the jungle — it’s a reminder for anyone who acts without thinking and puts others at risk. Fun, freedom, and daring choices have value, but responsibility and care for those around you matter more.
By Saeed Ullah about a year ago in Fiction
The Lion and the Monkey – A Sierra Leone Friendship
Sierra Leone’s mornings are like no other—mist clinging to the tops of the Loma Mountains, birds waking the forest with their calls, and the smell of rain still lingering from the night before. In the lowland plains, where grasslands meet dense rainforest, the wildlife stirs to life—elephants move like silent giants, antelopes browse among the trees, and somewhere deep within, the roar of a lion rolls through the damp air.
By Saeed Ullah about a year ago in Fiction
*The Bench by the Lake*
There was a lake on the edge of a quiet town, half-hidden behind sycamore trees and tangled ivy. It wasn’t on any tourist map, and no signs pointed to it. But those who found it—by accident or ache—often came back.
By meerjananabout a year ago in Fiction
The Masterful Lie We Tell Ourselves That Prevents Us From Reaching Our Potential
The Masterful Lie We Tell Ourselves That Prevents Us From Reaching Our Potential There’s a sentence we all whisper to ourselves at some point.
By Wings of Time about a year ago in Fiction
The Red Mage and the Thief
The Emberlight Covenant The city of Jeuno rose from the cliffs like a dream of white stone, its spires tipped in banners that swayed in the salt wind. Bridges as narrow as a dagger’s edge arched over the chasms between towers and the streets hummed with the life of a hundred nations. Traders hawking wares from desert caravans and smiths hammering sparks into fresh-forged steel; wandering minstrels singing in tongues from the farthest reaches of Vana’diel.
By Cadmaabout a year ago in Fiction
The Almost of Her. Winner in The Shape of the Thing Challenge.
Zelma’s hair is the color of honey when the light hits it just right. Not the raw kind, but golden and warm, the kind you find in glass jars on corner store shelves, glowing under cheap fluorescent bulbs. Her skin reminds you of the color of the sun, almost like the warmest day yet crisp day in Autumn. But her face semi broad nose, full lips, almond eyes with matching mono-lids whispers a different story. People never know what to make of her.
By Cadmaabout a year ago in Fiction
The Child and the Lion
The forest was old—its trees tall and thick, their branches weaving together like whispered secrets of time. Moss blanketed the earth, soft under bare feet, and the scent of pine, earth, and wildflowers filled the air. Birds chirped, wind hummed through the leaves, and somewhere in the distance, the low growl of a predator echoed faintly.
By Saeed Ullah about a year ago in Fiction
The Goat and the Lion
The Goat and the Lion – A Tale of Trust in the Heart of the Wild In the valley of Taramara, where tall pines brushed the clouds and silence hung like mist over the earth, a tale bloomed—one that the forest creatures still whisper on windy nights. It is the story of a goat and a lion. Two souls, so different in strength, in purpose, and in destiny—yet bound by something neither claws nor horns could touch: trust.
By Saeed Ullah about a year ago in Fiction
The Last Roar
The Last Roar In the heart of an ancient jungle where time seemed carved into tree bark and whispered through leaves, two kings ruled in silence—the lion and the wolf. One was the traditional sovereign of the savannah, a creature of golden mane and commanding roar. The other, a shadow from the mountains—silver-eyed, silent, and ruthless. The lion, named Rahim, was revered by all. He walked with majesty and grace, and when he roared, the very trees bent as if in submission. But his pride had made him blind to whispers of change. There were murmurs in the wind, scents in the air, and a presence growing in the shadows—one that did not bow to tradition. That presence was Kael—the wolf from the cliffs. Scarred, silent, and exiled from his pack long ago, Kael had learned to survive by embracing the darkness. Where Rahim ruled with law, Kael thrived in chaos. And in chaos, he found strength. It was on a morning bathed in mist that their fates crossed. The jungle was silent that day. No birds sang, no leaves rustled. The clouds above grew heavy like drums preparing for war. Animals gathered in hidden corners—deer with widened eyes, snakes coiled in silence, and hyenas who whispered legends in the wind. Kael approached the center clearing, where Rahim often stood to claim the sun. The wolf's breath was shallow, his eyes locked forward. He had not come for diplomacy. He had come to end a reign. Rahim saw him, ears tilting forward, unafraid. "You do not belong here, wolf," he growled, his deep voice rumbling through the earth. Kael did not answer. He did not need to. The fight began with no ceremony—only a flash of fur and fang. Rahim lunged with strength, but Kael moved like wind through trees—precise, merciless, and quiet. The lion struck with claws meant to tear mountains, yet Kael danced through them, striking where the lion was weakest: pride, overconfidence, hesitation. Blood stained the earth—red on green. The sky darkened as thunder roared above them. The jungle held its breath. Kael bit deep into Rahim’s shoulder. The lion let out a roar—not of power, but pain. He stumbled back, eyes searching, confused. Never before had he bled like this. Never before had he faced an enemy who fought without fear, without rules, without honor. But Kael had no code. He had only purpose. With one final lunge, Kael drove Rahim to the ground. The lion’s chest heaved beneath the weight of the wolf. His golden eyes looked skyward, where the rain began to fall. A single drop landed on his nose—cold, clean, final. And then, silence. Kael stood atop the cliff now, the defeated lion below him. The storm wept over the jungle, and the animals who watched from shadows knew: the era of Rahim had ended. Not with a roar, but with a howl. Kael did not celebrate. He did not bask in victory. He had ended a king, but not to rule—only to reclaim balance. The wolf turned, descending back into the forest. He vanished between the trees like a ghost, his legacy echoing in every raindrop, every broken leaf, every breath the jungle took. From that day on, they said the jungle no longer had a king—it had a shadow. And in that shadow lived fear, respect, and an understanding: Even lions fall.
By Saeed Ullah about a year ago in Fiction