Fan Fiction
The Lantern Keeper
Sometimes, the brightest light is carried by the one who walks through the darkest path. The town of Windmere was like any other—a quiet place where everyone knew your name, and secrets didn’t last long. But there was one secret that lived in plain sight.
By Digital Home Library by Masud Ranaabout a year ago in Fiction
The Island That Forgot Time
My name is Torren, and I sail for scraps. The sea was my judge until the storm threw me onto this island. No name on my charts, just black glass shores under a sky of frozen silver. My watch stopped at 3:14, its hands stuck like a held breath. I waited for tides to shift, for gulls to cry, for anything to move. Nothing did. The air felt thick, as if time had quit and left me behind.
By Muhammad Asifabout a year ago in Fiction
The Day the Sky Forgot How to Rain
There are moments in life that slip by unnoticed subtle, quiet changes that shape us in ways we may not understand until much later. Sometimes, the world seems to stop in a way that’s not loud or dramatic but soft and imperceptible, like a sky that forgets how to rain. These moments are often the backdrop to our deepest experiences of love, loss, and transformation.
By Fahad Khanabout a year ago in Fiction
Blue Lock S1
The first season of Blue Lock is not your usual sports anime. It merges the excitement of competitiveness with psychological warfare, turning Japan’s goal of World Cup triumph into a survival-of-the-fittest fight. This series, which is based on the popular manga by Muneyuki Kaneshiro and has illustrations by Yusuke Nomura, rewrites the conventional underdog narrative by emphasizing the ascent of the ultimate striker rather than teamwork.
By Mushfiqur Rahmanabout a year ago in Fiction
The Fragile Thread
The fluorescent lights buzzed like angry wasps in the ER as the stretcher crashed through the doors. The patient, a man in his fifties, was gray as ash, his chest still. Cardiac arrest. No pulse. “Code blue!” I barked, my voice cutting through the chaos.Ryan, my assistant surgeon, was at my side, his hands steady despite the sweat beading on his brow. Sayema, the nurse, darted in, her eyes sharp, already prepping the crash cart. The patient’s wife sobbed in the corner, her wails a haunting backdrop to the ticking clock. Every second was a thief, stealing his life.“Start compressions,” I ordered. Ryan leaned over, his palms slamming into the man’s sternum with rhythmic force. Crack. A rib gave way under the pressure, a sickening sound that made my stomach lurch. I ignored it, focusing on the monitor’s flatline, that merciless green streak mocking us.“Sayema, push epi!” I called. She jammed the syringe into the IV, her hands trembling but precise. The drug surged in, a desperate plea to the heart. Nothing. The monitor stayed flat, the beep a funeral dirge.“Switch!” I took over compressions, my arms burning as I drove my weight into his chest. Another crack—more ribs. Blood seeped from his mouth, staining his lips crimson. I didn’t stop. Couldn’t. His wife’s screams clawed at my ears, each one a knife. “Please, save him!” she begged.“Bag him, Ryan!” I grunted. Ryan grabbed the Ambu bag, forcing air into lungs that refused to rise. Sayema shocked the paddles, her voice steady: “Clear!” The body jolted, a puppet on strings, but the monitor didn’t flinch. Flat. Still flat.Time bled away—five minutes, ten. My shoulders screamed, sweat stung my eyes. Doubt crept in, cold and heavy. Was this it? Another life lost under my hands? No. I shoved the thought down. “Again!” I roared. Sayema hit the paddles. Zap. The room held its breath.A blip. Then another. The monitor flickered—a weak, stuttering rhythm. Sinus tachycardia. “We’ve got him!” Ryan gasped, his voice raw. I kept compressions, gentler now, coaxing the heart to remember its job. Sayema pushed more meds, her hands a blur. Slowly, the pulse steadied, a fragile thread we’d yanked back from the void.The wife collapsed, sobbing thanks. We stepped back, panting, blood and sweat on our gloves. The man’s chest rose, fell—alive. But those cracks, that blood, lingered in my mind. Saving him cost something, left scars we couldn’t see. As we wheeled him to ICU, I wondered if we’d truly won or just delayed the inevitable.In the ICU, the man—Mr. Carter, his chart said—lay under a tangle of tubes and wires. His wife, still trembling, clutched his hand, whispering prayers. I checked his vitals: stable, for now. But the broken ribs, the trauma… recovery would be brutal. I stepped out, peeling off my gloves, the weight of the night settling into my bones.Ryan slumped against the wall, his face pale. “That was too close,” he muttered. Sayema nodded, her eyes distant. “He’s alive. That’s what matters,” she said, but her voice lacked conviction. We all knew the truth: survival wasn’t the same as living.Later, I sat in the break room, staring at a cold cup of coffee. The adrenaline had faded, leaving a hollow ache. I’d saved lives before, but this one felt different. The blood, the cracks, the wife’s screams—they clung to me like shadows. I thought of my own family, my daughter’s laugh, my husband’s quiet support. What if it had been them on that table?The next morning, Mr. Carter was awake, groggy but coherent. His wife’s tear-streaked smile was a small victory. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice breaking. I nodded, but the words felt heavy. He’d live, yes, but the road ahead was long—physically, emotionally. As I left his room, I glanced back at the fragile thread we’d fought for. It held, for now. But in this job, I knew how easily it could snap.
By Md Nafiz Iqbalabout a year ago in Fiction
A Night Under the Stars
A Night Under the Stars In the quiet moments before sleep, when the world feels peaceful and still, love has a way of finding its way into your heart. For Ava and Liam, that quiet night was filled with the warmth of their shared dreams, the kind that could only be whispered in the darkness of a quiet room, where the stars above seemed to echo the promises they had made to each other.
By Arshad Aliabout a year ago in Fiction
The Whispering Tree By: Research Scientist
There was a tree in the heart of a forgotten village. It wasn’t the tallest tree, nor the greenest. Its branches twisted like thoughts of someone who had lived a thousand lives, and its bark held scars that looked like ancient letters no one could read anymore. The villagers called it “The Whispering Tree.”
By abdul samadabout a year ago in Fiction
