Excerpt

The Whispering Canopy
The glass conservatory at the center of the obsidian city was the only place where things grew by accident. In a society that engineered every aspect of life from the exact density of the synthetic clouds to the emotional baselines of its citizens the conservatory was considered a chaotic relic of an undisciplined past. Maeve was the curator, a woman whose hands were permanently stained with soil that had never seen a laboratory filter.
By Kamal ali4 months ago in Fiction
The Clockwork Heart
The heavy scent of damp earth and rotting cedar always hung thickest at the edge of the hollow. For generations, the villagers of Oakhaven had spoken of the shifting woods in hushed tones, warning their children never to venture past the row of ancient, carved stones that marked the boundary of the known world. They believed the trees shifted when no one was looking, rewriting the geography of the forest to trap the unwary.
By Kamal ali4 months ago in Fiction
The Day Our Office Went Silent: A QuickBooks Error Nobody Expected
For years, our accounting team rarely thought about the software running behind the scenes. It was just there. Every invoice, payroll report, customer payment, and financial statement lived inside QuickBooks Desktop. Like electricity or running water, we only noticed it when something stopped working.
By Kiya Verma14 months ago in Fiction
Crimson Stains
The corpses. Three sets of eyes that were once full of light now lifeless in the vast land of dark. Yet Cielo could still see them, hear them, feel them reaching out to him. Speaking to him.
By Sorcas Bleks4 months ago in Fiction
Sunday. Honorable Mention in You Had to Be There.
I have grown to love Sunday more than any other day of the week. Don't get me wrong, Sunday can usher in the "scaries" with such a force, it knocks you down so hard, you forget to make your lunch for Monday. However, this particular Sunday was one of those charming and nonsensical days that makes you forget about the world at large. Instead, it shrinks to the size of a suburban street in an old neighbourhood.
By Aspen Marie 4 months ago in Fiction
The Clockmaker’s Silent Hour
In the heart of New Vienna, a city constructed entirely of brass pipes, roaring steam vents, and cobblestone streets that echoed with the constant clatter of iron-shod boots, lived Master Alistair. His workshop was a sanctuary of sound. Thousands of clocks lined the walls, their pendulums swinging in a chaotic, deafening symphony of ticks and tocks. Every hour, the room erupted into a cacophony of chimes, bells, and mechanical cuckoos. Alistair was famous for this noise; the citizens of New Vienna believed that loudness was synonymous with progress, and a clock that could be heard three blocks away was considered a masterpiece.
By Kamal ali4 months ago in Fiction
The Stranger on Bench Number Four
The giant digital departures board at Grand Central Station flashed a bright, unforgiving crimson red: Train 402 Delayed – 90 Minutes. Julian let out a heavy, frustrated sigh that was instantly swallowed by the ambient, chaotic noise of the terminal, his leather briefcase suddenly feeling twice as heavy in his grip. He had a client presentation first thing the next morning, and this delay was going to ruin his preparation schedule. Looking for a place to work, he dropped onto the nearest empty seat on wooden bench number four, aggressively pulling out his laptop to answer corporate emails, determined not to let this sudden pocket of wasted time impact his professional productivity.
By Kamal ali4 months ago in Fiction
No-Clip
Ink had a habit of walking through walls — not literally, but close enough. She cut through restricted hallways, ducked under caution tape, slipped through employees-only doors with a confidence that made security guards second-guess themselves.
By Parsley Rose 4 months ago in Fiction
The Girl Who Painted Wind
Maya lived in the Gray Valley, a place where the sky was permanently bruised by the smoke of a hundred concrete factories. The mountains surrounding the valley blocked out the horizon, and the ground was covered in a layer of fine, ash-colored dust. The people who lived there were practical, hardened workers. They woke up at dawn, marched to the factories, poured concrete into uniform molds, and returned home in the dark. To them, color was a luxury they couldn't afford, and imagination was a waste of time.
By Kamal ali4 months ago in Fiction
The Clockmaker’s Silent Hour
In the heart of New Vienna, a city constructed entirely of brass pipes, roaring steam vents, and cobblestone streets that echoed with the constant clatter of iron-shod boots, lived Master Alistair. His workshop was a sanctuary of sound. Thousands of clocks lined the walls, their pendulums swinging in a chaotic, deafening symphony of ticks and tocks. Every hour, the room erupted into a cacophony of chimes, bells, and mechanical cuckoos. Alistair was famous for this noise; the citizens of New Vienna believed that loudness was synonymous with progress, and a clock that could be heard three blocks away was considered a masterpiece.
By Kamal ali4 months ago in Fiction
Jill Manor: Part III . Top Story - June 2026.
True love does not fail to occupy space in one’s heart; it merely builds a cage in their mind. We only realize we are trapped when the keeper vanishes with freedom’s key and we are left with monsters in the shadows. Our memories keeping watch in spaces we swore someone else stood.
By K.H. Obergfoll4 months ago in Fiction
The Stone That Learned to Sing
High in the northern province of Xian, there lived an elderly master craftsman named Master Chen. He was a carver of jade, renowned throughout the empire. It was whispered that Chen didn't actually carve the stone; rather, he possessed the rare ability to listen to the rock and coax out the soul hidden inside it.
By Kamal ali4 months ago in Fiction