family

Through the Crack in the Door. Content Warning.
As Hope made her way down the dark hallway, she could see the light coming through the crack of the nursery door. She just wanted to say goodnight one more time. As she rested her cheek against the cool wood of the doorframe, Hope listened to her mother’s voice in the sing-song hum that she used when she put her and her brother to bed. Hope looked through the narrow opening, feeling safe in her surroundings.
By Oula M.J. Michaels10 months ago in Fiction
The Weight of Memories. AI-Generated.
As I walked away from the house, the fading light of the sun cast long shadows across the neighborhood. I felt a sense of peace wash over me, as if the weight of memories I'd carried for so long had finally begun to lift. The conversation with Mrs. Jenkins had been a balm to my soul, and I was grateful for her kindness.
By Muhammad Kashif 10 months ago in Fiction
The Missing Brick
I saw through your eyes, in a dream. I saw something throw a new moon at the sun, and push it away from your world. Your planet was saved from consumption by a burgeoning sun, but thrown into a cold darkness.
By A. S. Lawrence10 months ago in Fiction
Her Hopes Up in Smoke. Runner-Up in Through the Keyhole Challenge.
We don’t have keyholes. We have warped sheets of plywood as doors. We’ve painted them to make them less utilitarian. A hook and eye fastens the door shut. But my parents’ door has suffered the loss of a few eyes over the years of slammed plywood on the heels of their fights.
By Leigh Victoria Phan, MS, MFA10 months ago in Fiction
Aubade. Runner-Up in Through the Keyhole Challenge.
We walked up to the bluff overlooking the river that day, hoping for closure. James had made a cross out of desiccated oak and carved your name on it with the dates. Someone brought flowers, a small bottle of Jameson (your favorite), and a pack of Camels to leave behind for you. We ignored the certainty that teenagers, arriving like clockwork just before sunset to party, would pilfer the alcohol and cigarettes. If you were there, you'd have gladly, freely offered it to them, anyway.
By Guia Nocon10 months ago in Fiction
Am I awakened now.... Content Warning.
Frozen, unable to step back and break away from the view Lera begins to feel this familiarity as if this very scene has played out once before. She begins to realize it was another moment of Deja vu happening after peering into the keyhole of her parents' bedroom. There the mother sat with a displeased sorrow filled expression while the father stood on the side of the bed fussing with disgust and anguish. In the center of the heavy emotional crossfire was a baby just lying there in stiffness as if it were a stillborn, but that just presumed to be her nature because her eyes were shifting from one side to the other. Maybe she was too frightened to even wiggle a finger, so she chose stillness to keep her safe, possibly even to become invincible. A sudden jolt shot through Lera's body causing her to lose balance and fall backwards hitting her head on a ledge. Few moments after she went into a deeper unconscious state.
By Azrie'l Johnson10 months ago in Fiction
An Old Game
It was happening again. His father, all silent, was standing in the crack of the doorway, not moving a muscle. And he, sitting caught on the bed, did not know what to say.
By Kendall Defoe 11 months ago in Fiction
The Night I Realized Love Wasn’t Meant To Save Me
I used to believe love was supposed to be the thing that rescued us. The thing that filled every empty space inside a person. The thing that fixed the parts of life that felt broken. I believed that love was the answer to loneliness, to fear, to the type of quiet sadness that sits in your chest like permanent weight. She is the reason I believed all of that. And she is also the reason I stopped believing it. We met in the most ordinary way. Not cinematic. Not magical. Just a normal day, in a normal Starbucks, in a normal city. She laughed at something the barista said, and something about her laugh felt like a room I already lived in before. Familiar, safe, warm, already known. And the way she looked back at me when she noticed I smiled at her laugh… felt like a moment written for me before I ever existed. We spent the next few months building a world inside the smallest routines. Long drives for no reason. Grocery store aisles that turned into inside jokes. Late night sitting in the car talking about everything—fears, dreams, future plans that felt unrealistic but somehow possible because we were imagining them together. It felt like we made life bigger than life. She wanted simple things—sunset beaches, road trips, a small home, a kitchen with white cabinets, Sunday pancakes, a dog. I wanted everything she wanted. I wanted everything because she wanted it. Her dreams felt like the GPS to my own future. For the first time in my life… I wasn’t scared to love someone. And that was new for me. But slowly… the warmth started shifting. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t toxic or violently ending. It was subtle. Small changes. Delays in texts. Less excitement in plans. Less eye contact. Less softness. Less effort. The energy between us became heavier than the feelings we used to float inside. I tried to fix everything. I tried harder. I tried to talk more, explain more, love more, do more. But the more I tried… the more it felt like she was already halfway gone. One night, she showed up at my place. Calm. Soft. Not angry. Not emotional. Just… resigned. She said she felt stuck in her own life. She said she was losing herself in us. She said she didn’t know who she was anymore. She said she wasn’t ready for the version of love I wanted. She said she still cared about me, but not in the way that love needs to survive long term. I begged without screaming. I begged with silence. I begged with the way my eyes tried so hard to tell her… choose me anyway. But she didn’t. She walked out with a slow final goodbye. And in one quiet moment… the future I built inside my mind collapsed like a building with no support beams left to hold it. That night was the first time I ever sat in the dark and felt like time stopped existing. My body felt like a house emptied overnight. My hands felt useless. My chest felt like someone pulled out the inside of my lungs and left nothing to breathe with. I thought that night would destroy me permanently. But it didn’t. It destroyed the version of me that thought love was supposed to be my rescue. It destroyed the version of me that believed another person was the medicine for every internal wound. It destroyed the version of me that thought I needed someone to choose me before I could choose myself. For months after, I slowly rebuilt my life piece by piece. I started lifting again. I started eating better. I started writing again. I focused on myself. I found new goals. I became more disciplined. I started building a future with my own story—not a story that depended on someone staying. And the strange thing is… she leaving didn’t ruin me. It freed me. I realized she wasn’t the lesson. The lesson was what happened to me after she left. Because that night I thought I lost everything… was actually the night I gained myself back. Healing didn’t show up with fireworks or some cinematic redemption arc. Healing arrived very quietly… like a whisper that slowly became a voice strong enough to stand on its own. Today… if someone asks me what love means to me now… I don’t say it’s the thing that saves you. Love isn’t meant to save you. Love is meant to grow with you. And the person who can’t grow with you… no matter how much you love them… is not the person who stays. Sometimes heartbreak isn’t a punishment. Sometimes heartbreak is the door to becoming the person you were supposed to become before you ever tried to be someone’s home. That night didn’t break me. It revealed me. And I finally learned— love is not supposed to be your rescue. You are supposed to rescue yourself first.
By Umar Farooq11 months ago in Fiction
The Princess's Sleeves
The end of summer always meant two things to Tamar: the season to pick pomegranates was being left behind and the week of celebrating her birthday was near. She'd requested yards of silk and linen for gifts this year, in hopes to make garments for the other women in the palace, yet she couldn't stop thinking of the "surprise" her father had promised. Today, she was determined to find where he'd hidden it, or at least get a hint.
By Jessica Flayser11 months ago in Fiction
“Umrao Jaan Ada: The Woman Who Turned Pain into Poetry”
Some stories don’t fade with time — they breathe through generations. Among the timeless voices of Urdu literature stands one unforgettable woman: Umrao Jaan Ada.
By hamad khan11 months ago in Fiction
Tommy the Tomato & Peter the Potato: A Friendship That Couldn’t Be Broken
The Oddest Pair in the Vegetable Market In a bustling little vegetable market, two very different vegetables shared a basket. Tommy the Tomato was bright red, shiny, and full of energy, while Peter the Potato was brown, plump, and calm, content to sit quietly in the corner.
By hamad khan11 months ago in Fiction
The Light of the Desert: The Story of Bilal ibn Rabah (RA)
Heavy with the sun, with its rays scorching the desert into an oven of light and heat, the sun stood over Mecca. In a small corner near the Kaaba, a man was lying on the ground chained to the burning sand, his back raw from the whip, his lips dry and cracked. Each inhalation was punctuated by pain but from his shaking lips was uttered a word that would not die.
By Nusuki11 months ago in Fiction