family
A Knock at the Door
The knock, when it came, was so soft that Elara almost mistook it for the wind nudging a branch against the eaves. She paused, her knitting needles freezing mid-stitch. The little cottage was silent, save for the crackle of the fire in the hearth. It was a deep, introspective silence she had cultivated for years, a buffer against the noise of a world that had moved on without her.
By Evanthia Giannou11 months ago in Fiction
Death's Doorstep. Content Warning.
Laughter filled Mark's ears, drowning out pained cries and begging prayers. The laughter was innocent and familiar, calming him, and forcing him to forget who was crying, and what they were crying for. He wiped tears off of his own face as he looked around, seeing his childhood bedroom. Superhero posters lined the walls and his bed was perfectly made under his flat blue blankets. Cartoons played on his TV and Lego blocks littered his carpeted floor. He hadn’t been home in years, and his mom told him that she’d repurposed his old room, so he didn't understand why it looked how it did when he was young. On his nightstand next to a photo of Mark's father holding him as a baby, sat a colorful spiderman watch. He’d lost that watch years ago. He went to pick it up when he heard a knock at the front door.
By Da’mon-Ahsy Eugene Thompson11 months ago in Fiction
Family Camcorder. Honorable Mention in The Forgotten Room Challenge.
The holiday season, to me, is like an etching–it gets its shape from all the things it’s missing just as much as all that it has. Scratched into my psyche are layers of past and present and here and gone until a picture emerges, looking something like Thanksgiving, or Christmas, but not exactly the kind they print on glossy cards or sell in glittering boxed sets.
By Emily Erickson11 months ago in Fiction
The Weight of Light
The first time Saira noticed the crack in her reflection, she was washing dishes at 2 AM, unable to sleep again. In the kitchen window’s dark mirror, where her temple should have been, there was a diamond-shaped opening — not a wound, but a window. Through it, a solitary streetlamp stood against midnight blue, its amber cone of light falling on empty pavement like a held breath.
By Prompted Beauty11 months ago in Fiction
The Bracken Will Wither
What happens when the looking eye notices you? That was a question Donald Finnegan asked himself as he was transfixed, bent over the door to the old cellar of the bar, where a saline-dripping, large iris looked from side to side before focusing on him. Salt crusted the handle as a thin layer of sea mist rose from under the door. As he knew full well the door led to nothing but an old, unused storeroom and then the thick back wall of the bar, he put it down to the whisky. He fell backwards, turned away, and ignored it. Daft bastard.
By Paul Stewart11 months ago in Fiction
The Halloween Table 4
Starting to think better to get more place settings on the table. Didn't think anyone would come but maybe one. The doorbell bonged once again, and I went to check. Yes, it is Francine and Monty. One I was expecting, but not with a guest but the more the merrier scarier. Come on into this unexpected party of five, I believe. We gathered in the dining room, and we set the table for four more. The buffet offered several favorites that all enjoyed and with that we sat and ate and shared a Halloween meal of friends and ghouls galore.
By Mark Graham11 months ago in Fiction
The Painter of Forgotten Faces. AI-Generated.
The town of Windmere was known for two things — its endless fog and its quiet secrets. On the edge of its cobblestone streets stood a small art studio, its windows always glowing softly at night. Inside lived a painter named Jonas Vale, a man both admired and feared for his peculiar gift.
By shakir hamid11 months ago in Fiction
Chemtrails. Top Story - October 2025.
I lay in the grass, blades tickling the back of my ears and the nape of my neck. The sky is streaked with cirrus clouds, wispy and waif-like. Something stands out among them, though—a little airplane. It travels softly through the sky. It is slow and without care. Though it seems to last forever—a tiny snail slugging its way across the open sidewalk—if you missed it passing by you might have never known it was there.
By Raine Neal12 months ago in Fiction
