Fan Fiction
The Shadow of Lost Time
Opening Scene: Salma stood at the heart of the city like a ghost from a forgotten era. Her navy-blue dress, embroidered with tiny roses, and her small hat pinned with a pearl brooch clashed starkly against the glass skyscrapers that reflected the blurred stream of horseless carriages they called “cars.” The stench of gasoline mingled with her only perfume—rosewater—churning her stomach.
By Ahmed Abdeenabout a year ago in Fiction
Little Red Riding Hood
Once upon a time, in a quiet village at the edge of a big forest, there lived a sweet girl named Lily. She was kind, cheerful, and helpful to everyone. But what made her most special was the red hooded cloak her grandmother had sewn for her. She wore it so often that people began to call her Little Red Riding Hood, and the name stuck.
By Jeno Treshan about a year ago in Fiction
A Drop’s Tale
High above the world, in the hush of a silver-lined cloud, a tiny drop was born. She shimmered softly, round and perfect, nestled among thousands of others just like her. But she wasn’t like the others—not exactly. While most drops dreamt only of falling, of the rush and splash of reaching the Earth, this little drop listened. She listened to the wind whispering through the sky, to the thunder rumbling like an old giant, and most of all, to the heart of the rain.
By Daniel Henryabout a year ago in Fiction
The Last Letter
The monsoon rain lashed against the tin roof of the small stone house that stood at the edge of Shinkad village, nestled in the green folds of Charbagh’s mountains. The summer wind carried the scent of soaked earth and pine, and somewhere beyond the orchard wall, the distant call of a koel echoed — sharp, haunting, like a voice from another time.
By Akhtar Ali about a year ago in Fiction
The Fragrance of Old Days
The tree in the backyard is still there, where we used to play for hours as children. That tree was special because there was a small swing under it, and we always believed that if we closed our eyes while swinging, we would soar into the sky. It was under that tree that we created some of the most beautiful memories, memories that are still deeply cherished in my heart. My friends Ali and Maryam were always with me. Our world was limited to that small neighborhood, and nothing else seemed as important. Yet, in that world, we found everything we needed to be happy. There was something unique about us: we put so much love into everything we did, as if that little world was created just for the three of us. Ali always had a passion for kite flying, and he would often take me to the roof so we could fly kites together. While flying kites, we learned so many things: how to understand the flow of the wind and how to control the kite. Those moments are some of the most beautiful moments of my life. Maryam was always my partner when we would draw lines on the ground and play that it was our kingdom, and we were the king and queen of it. Sometimes, we would play hide-and-seek, and Maryam would always get upset when she stayed hidden and we couldn’t find her. I would always manage to find her, and she would be happy for me. It was a time when the world was simple, and we found happiness in little things. We never thought that time would pass so quickly. I remember one day when we all built a small “camp” together. We used branches from the trees to create a small structure and then went inside to make tea. It wasn’t made on a kitchen stove but rather on a small stove made from a piece of string that we had crafted ourselves. Those moments were so joyful that even today, I can still recall the fragrance of them. Our games were always special. Ali loved kite flying and had become an expert at controlling the kites. Maryam was fond of poetry and telling stories. She would always tell stories, and I would get lost in them. Our lives were so simple and joyful that we never felt the need for anything else. We were always together, and that was what made our friendship so special. I remember one day when we made a bright kite with colorful strings that flew high above our roof. That day was so special that we decided to call it the best day of our lives. We flew the kite as high as it could go, and with it, our hearts soared too. Time passed, and then one day came when we all went our separate ways. Maryam’s family moved to another city due to her mother’s job transfer. Ali also decided to move to another city with his parents. I, who had always been with them, suddenly felt alone. That tree, that swing, those small games—everything was left behind as we moved on to new chapters of our lives. But those moments, those memories, never faded. Today, whenever I feel anxious or my heart feels heavy, I close my eyes and retreat to those days of my childhood, reliving those memories. The tree is still there, but my friends and I are no longer around it. Yet, those memories live on. The fragrance of those days will forever remain in my heart. The fragrance that came from the tree’s branches, the fragrance from the strings of the kite, the fragrance that came from Maryam’s smile—those childhood days will never die because those memories will always stay alive in my heart. Time’s fast pace has separated us, but those moments will never change. At every stage of my life, whenever I need peace, I will sit beneath the tree of my childhood and reconnect with those memories that will forever be a part of me.
By Ten Brothers wri8ersabout a year ago in Fiction
Third Floor, Room 304
Title “Third Floor, Room 304” SubTitle Waking is Just the Deepest Dream I wake up at 3:04 a.m. every night. No matter when I sleep, no matter what I do. 3:04—on the dot. I used to think it was insomnia. Then I thought it was a haunting. Now I think it’s a message.
By Mystic Narratorabout a year ago in Fiction
The Whispering Key
Tʜᴇ Wʜɪsᴘᴇʀɪɴɢ Kᴇʏ In a small coastal town, where the waves gently kissed the shore and the wind always carried the salty scent of the sea, there stood an old mansion that no one dared to enter. It had been abandoned for as long as anyone could remember. The mansion, known as Hawthorne House, was a relic of the past, its walls crumbling and its windows darkened by years of neglect. Yet, despite its state of decay, there was something about the place that kept people’s curiosity alive. Whispers of strange occurrences and mysterious happenings filled the town’s folklore, but no one had ever dared to uncover the truth.
By Mystic Narratorabout a year ago in Fiction
Can You See Me Now?
Being invisible is my superpower. I don’t mean that I’m a superhero who is out slaughtering villains, cape flapping in the wind as I zoom over the New York skyline. The truth is, instead, that I am a “woman of a certain age” who has suddenly morphed into invisibility.
By Muhammad Hameedul Haqabout a year ago in Fiction
