family
DAY ELEVEN: Eleven Pipers Piping
It began at dawn, which was unfair. Nothing good had ever arrived at dawn. Stephen was dreaming of silence—clean, merciful silence—when the first blast of bagpipes tore through the bungalow like an alarm clock that had taken a personal interest in his suffering. His heart jolted; he sat upright, certain the world had ended.
By Stephen Stanley10 months ago in Fiction
A Stranger Smiled at Me
Sometimes, the smallest gestures leave the deepest marks. I was walking down the same cracked sidewalk I had walked a thousand times before, my hands stuffed into my coat pockets, my thoughts hovering somewhere between yesterday’s regrets and tomorrow’s anxieties. The sky hung low, a heavy gray sheet pressing down on the city, and I imagined that the clouds were weighing down not just on the streets but on everyone who moved beneath them.
By Emranullah10 months ago in Fiction
✨ The Boy Who Remembered a Life He Never Lived
At first, it felt like any ordinary dream — blurry, soft, melting away the moment I opened my eyes. But something was different. Something stayed with me. The color of the sky. The smell of roses. The faint sound of a girl laughing. And the watch. Always the same watch. Always stuck at 2:17 AM. I didn’t know it then, but that dream was the beginning of everything — the confusion, the fear, the truth, and the thing that changed my life in ways I still struggle to understand. My name is Ayaan, and this is the story of the life I remembered… A life that didn’t belong to me. --- Chapter 1 — The Dream The blue house stood at the end of a narrow dirt road. A single tree leaned over its roof, its branches brushing the windows like fingers trying to get inside. The sun was setting, turning the house gold. Every time I stepped forward, I saw her — the girl. She looked about my age. Soft eyes. Hair tied in a messy braid. She always smiled at me like I had just returned home from a long journey. But the strange part? She said my name before I ever told her. “Ayaan… tum aa gaye.” Her voice felt familiar, yet impossible. I had never seen her in my life. Before I could say anything, everything changed — suddenly the sky turned dark, the air filled with smoke, and flames burst out of the windows. The heat hit my skin. I always tried to run toward her, but my feet wouldn’t move. And then I saw it — the watch on my wrist. The broken glass. The stopped hands. The time: 2:17 AM. Then I woke up — heart pounding, breath shaking, the smell of smoke still stuck in my throat. Every. Single. Time. --- Chapter 2 — Reality Cracks I ignored it for the first three days. Strange dreams weren’t exactly unusual for teenagers. That’s what I told myself. But ignoring it became impossible the morning I travelled with my parents to a town two hours away. We were visiting a relative I barely remembered. The moment we took a turn onto a quiet street, something inside me jolted. My chest tightened. My hands went cold. I whispered before I could stop myself: “Yahan se right jana…” My parents looked at me sharply. “How do you know?” my mother asked. I didn’t have an answer. But I knew — deep down, I had been here. I knew the corner store would have a big red sign. I knew the road would curve after fifty steps. I knew a blue house would appear at the end of the road. And I was right. The same house from my dreams stood there. Paint peeling. Windows cracked. Empty. No girl. No flowers. No fire. Just a dead, silent house. My legs shook so badly I had to hold onto the gate. My parents thought I felt sick, but inside, something terrifying was happening: I was remembering something I had never lived. --- Chapter 3 — The Girl Appears I tried to forget the house. I really tried. But then she appeared. The girl from my dream walked into my classroom as a new student. Same hair. Same eyes. Same smile. I felt the air punch out of my lungs. She introduced herself to the class: “My name is Hiba.” Hiba. The same name she whispered in my dreams. When she sat next to me, her eyes widened for a moment — like she recognized me too. “Have we met before?” she asked softly. I wanted to say no. I really did. But my voice betrayed me. “Maybe… in another life.” She blinked, confused. I prayed she would laugh it off. But then she said something that froze every muscle in my body: “You came back.” I gripped the table. “What did you say?” She shook her head quickly. “Nothing… I just thought you looked familiar.” But I knew she didn’t mean nothing. --- Chapter 4 — The Time That Wouldn’t Change That day, everything around me felt wrong. Too loud. Too bright. Too close. In class, the teacher asked us to open our books. I turned a page, and scribbled in small, shaky handwriting were the numbers: 2:17 AM I didn’t write it. During lunch, I accidentally brushed my hand against the metal table. For a moment, I felt heat — burning heat — like I had touched fire. But the worst happened that night. I woke up suddenly. The room was dark. My heart racing. I looked at my digital clock. 2:17 AM. Exactly. Not 2:16. Not 2:18. The same time the watch in my dreams was stuck on. I felt something in my chest — a pull. Like something was calling me. And I realized: The dreams were not dreams. They were memories. Of someone I used to be. Of a death I didn’t remember. Of a promise I didn’t keep. --- Chapter 5 — The Past Life I needed answers. So the next morning, before school, I went back to the blue house. The gate creaked open like it had been waiting for me. The whole house felt frozen in time, untouched since the day of the fire. Inside, the smell of ash still lingered. My heart led me to a small room — the one I always saw in my dreams. And there, on the floor, half buried under burnt wood, I found something that made my skin crawl. A watch. Its glass cracked. Its hands stopped. 2:17 AM. My fingers shook as I touched it. Suddenly, something exploded inside my mind — a flood of images, sounds, memories that didn’t belong to me. A younger version of me — not this body, not this life — running through the house. Calling a name: “Hiba! Bhaago!!” Flames everywhere. A falling beam. A promise: “I’ll come back for you.” Then darkness. I stumbled back, gasping. The truth hit me like a punch. I had lived before. I had died in this house. And Hiba… Hiba had died too. But if she died… Who was the girl in my school? --- Chapter 6 — The Second Chance That day, I confronted her during break. “Who are you?” I asked. She stared at me, eyes trembling. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “But ever since I came to this town, I’ve been having strange dreams. Dreams of a fire. Dreams of someone calling my name. Dreams of… you.” Her voice cracked. “I think I died once.” Our breaths froze. Some truths are too heavy, too frightening, too unbelievable. But we believed each other. Because the same memories haunted us. And then she told me something that made my skin turn to ice. “I keep seeing a date,” she said. “And a time. Tonight. 2:17 AM.” My stomach dropped. It wasn’t just a memory. It was a warning. The fire… was going to happen again. --- Chapter 7 — The Fire Returns We didn’t tell anyone. Who would believe us? Instead, we stayed together that night. Talking. Remembering. Trying to understand why fate had brought us back. But as the clock ticked closer to 2:17 AM, I felt the same pull in my chest — stronger, heavier. Something was coming. At exactly 2:16 AM, a loud explosion shook our building. Smoke filled the hallway. People screamed. Flames spread through the lower floors. History was repeating itself. The same fire. The same time. The same deaths. Unless we changed it. “Hiba, come on!” I grabbed her hand. This time, my feet moved. This time, I didn’t freeze. We ran down the hallway, dodging falling pieces of burning ceiling. Heat slapped our faces. Smoke clawed at our lungs. But we kept running. Just like last time. Just like before. Except now — we knew what was coming. We reached the ground floor when a beam collapsed between us, blocking the path. “Run!” she screamed. “I’m not leaving you again!” I shouted back. I climbed over the burning wood, grabbed her hand, and pulled her through a narrow gap just seconds before the entire ceiling crashed down behind us. We burst out of the building as flames roared into the night sky. The clock hit 2:17 AM. But this time… We were alive. --- Chapter 8 — A Life Returned The fire trucks came. The building was destroyed. But we survived. When the sun rose, both of us sat on the sidewalk, wrapped in blankets. Silent. Breathing. Existing. Finally, Hiba whispered: “Do you think this was our second chance?” I nodded slowly. “I think we were meant to fix what we couldn’t fix last time.” She looked at me — truly looked. “In our past life… we didn’t make it. But now we did.” We didn’t know why we got another chance. We didn’t know how we remembered a life we never lived. But we knew one thing: Pain repeats itself until you learn the lesson. And miracles come when you’re finally ready for them. That night taught me something I’ll never forget: Life is not just about living once. Sometimes, destiny brings you back to finish the story you left incomplete. And this time… We survived the ending. So we could rewrite the beginning. --- THE END
By Muhammad Kashif 10 months ago in Fiction
The Puzzle
She first noticed something was off in the final stretch of her third pregnancy. That morning, she woke as usual, stiff and overly tired, waddling to the bathroom as she already had multiple times throughout the night. But as she dropped down onto the toilet seat, she felt something shake loose inside of her, almost like shaking a box of puzzle pieces. Or somehow like a puzzle had been put together inside of the box, but by shaking it, the pieces began to break apart.
By A. Hamilton10 months ago in Fiction
Kitchen of Wynorrific. Top Story - November 2025. Content Warning.
Thanksgiving at the Greenfield household was always a mess. It’s something that I’ve dealt with since I was ten. Mom would be slaving away at the turkey and other things. While dad would be setting the table. Cleaning the living room and barking at me to take care of our large dogs.
By Raphael Fontenelle10 months ago in Fiction
Colorless. Content Warning.
It’s taller than I remember. Freshly painted, white, austere. All traces of the past erased. No sagging porch stairs, waiting to splinter tender feet. No colorful childish collages painted on interior walls. Everything stark white and too clean. The old cottage invisible in the bones of this immaculate beach house. No longer a fairyland full of old things… my grandmother’s garish gold and green Afghan that kept me warm on cold, damp nights. No dusty, sepia-toned photos of old family members. It’s all gone. Colorless. Some might call it clean and bright.
By Cathy Schieffelin10 months ago in Fiction
