Fan Fiction

Time Refugee
The world dissolved in a scream of tortured physics. One moment, Leo was in 1943, in a London buckling under the Blitz, the air thick with dust and the smell of cordite. The next, he was lying on a floor of cool, seamless light, the air silent and sterile. The experimental lab, the frantic last-ditch effort to save their best minds from the falling bombs, had worked. He had been their lead physicist. He was their first, and only, successful test.
By Habibullah11 months ago in Fiction
Rain That Never Ends
It had been raining for five years. Not a day, not an hour of silence from the sky. The people of Maravelle had long stopped waiting for the sun. The old roads were rivers now, and the hills were islands. Children learned to swim before they learned to walk. Markets floated on barrels and bamboo rafts, schools drifted in circles tethered to the remains of clock towers, and crops grew in hanging gardens on rooftops.
By Farooq Hashmi11 months ago in Fiction
The last message . Content Warning.
# The Last Message Maya's hands trembled as she opened the coffee shop door. Rain hammered against the windows, and the fluorescent lights hummed too loudly in the empty space. It was midnight—well past closing time—but the owner had called her personally. Someone had left something for her.
By Chinaza Mary11 months ago in Fiction
The Midnight Painter: A Haunting Fiction Story That Blurs the Line Between Art and Death
By Waqid Ali Introduction Art has the power to inspire, to heal, and to move the soul. But what if it also has the power to destroy?
By Waqid Ali 11 months ago in Fiction
December
It was December, and the cold was strong. Wahid often complained to me that I didn’t come to visit my friends. But today was Sunday, and I had decided to spend the whole day with Wahid. I had been in touch with him since the evening before. I planned to leave the house at ten in the morning and meet him at his shop.
By Syed Shahkar jalal 11 months ago in Fiction
Sanctuary
The rain had been falling for three days straight. Not the kind that dances on rooftops and sings lullabies, but the kind that soaks through bones — heavy, endless, punishing. The town below was drowning in mud and silence. Yet high on the hill, where the forest thickened into darkness, the old church stood untouched.
By Malaika Piolet11 months ago in Fiction
The Quiet Music,
🌙 “Night Light” Some people leave the light on because they’re scared of the dark. I leave mine on… just in case someone finally comes home.
By fairy girl11 months ago in Fiction
A Man Who Has Nothing
He woke up with nothing. No home. No money. Not even a name that people remembered. The city didn’t care. It never does.
By Waqas Ahmad11 months ago in Fiction
“The Bridge at Hollow Creek”
Rain came down in sheets, turning the cracked asphalt into a river of reflections. Leo pressed the accelerator harder, the old Toyota roaring through the downpour like an animal trying to outrun its own shadow. The world outside the windshield was a blur of water and light, smeared by trembling wipers that barely kept up.
By Zidane11 months ago in Fiction
The Clockmaker’s Dream. AI-Generated.
The Old Man and His Clocks In the quiet heart of a small mountain town, there lived an old clockmaker named Elias. His shop was tucked between a bakery and a bookstore, its wooden sign faded by years of rain and sun. Inside, hundreds of clocks filled the room — from tiny pocket watches to grand pendulum clocks that echoed with deep, rhythmic tones. Elias had spent his whole life repairing time, but he could never repair what time had taken from him — his wife, Anna. She had passed away twenty years ago, leaving behind a silence that even the ticking of a hundred clocks could not fill. Every morning, Elias wound his clocks, not for customers, but for memory. Each tick was a heartbeat from his past — the rhythm of the life he once knew. --- The Stranger Who Didn’t Belong One misty evening, as Elias closed his shop, the bell above the door jingled. A young man stepped inside — tall, calm, wearing a long gray coat. His eyes gleamed like silver, and he carried no watch. “I heard you can fix anything that measures time,” the man said softly. Elias nodded. “I can try.” The stranger placed a strange device on the counter. It wasn’t a clock — it looked like a sphere made of glass and brass, glowing faintly from within. “This one doesn’t keep time,” the man said. “It holds it.” Elias frowned. “Holds time? What do you mean?” The man smiled. “You’ll see. Just wind it once… backward.” Something in the man’s tone stirred Elias’s curiosity — and something deeper, an ache he couldn’t name. He took his screwdriver, adjusted the gears, and carefully turned the winding key in reverse. At once, the air shimmered. The sound of ticking grew louder, faster — until the room itself seemed to breathe. --- The Moment Reborn When Elias opened his eyes, he was no longer in his dusty workshop. The smell of fresh bread and lilacs filled the air. Outside, sunlight painted the cobblestones gold. And there she was. Anna — young again, standing at the door of the shop, smiling the same gentle smile that had once lit his world. “Elias,” she said, “you promised we’d walk to the river today.” He couldn’t speak. His heart beat like a runaway clock. “Anna… how—?” She laughed, unaware of his confusion. “You always forget time when you’re fixing clocks.” He reached out, his trembling hand touching hers. Warm. Real. Time itself had bent to his longing. For a single perfect day, Elias lived the life he had lost. They walked to the river, talked about dreams, and shared bread and tea on the old bridge. Every moment felt endless. Every breath was a miracle. But as the evening light faded, Elias noticed something strange. The sky flickered, like a candle burning out. Anna’s voice began to echo, distant and fragile. “Time,” whispered the wind, “can be borrowed… but never kept.” --- The Final Tick Elias awoke in his workshop again. The stranger was gone. On the counter lay the strange glass sphere — now cracked and still. Tears filled his eyes. For a moment, he thought it had all been a dream. But on his hand, he still felt the warmth of Anna’s touch. He looked around the shop. Every clock was silent — except one. The small golden pocket watch that Anna had once given him still ticked softly. Elias smiled. For the first time in years, he didn’t feel the pain of loss. He realized something profound — time doesn’t take away love. It only hides it until we remember. He wound the golden watch gently, whispering, “Thank you… for one more day.” Then he placed it on the counter beside the broken sphere and let the silence of the room fill with peace. --- Epilogue: The Timekeeper’s Legacy When the townspeople came the next morning, they found the old clockmaker sitting peacefully at his workbench, eyes closed, a faint smile on his face. Every clock in the shop began to tick at once — perfectly in sync — as if the universe itself had bowed in respect to its timekeeper. And if you pass that little town today, you might still hear the echo of those clocks, whispering through the wind: > “Time cannot destroy what love remembers.”
By Gohar Ali11 months ago in Fiction
“The Night I Saw Something No One Believed”:
The night it happened, the air felt wrong—too still, too heavy, as if the world itself was holding its breath. I remember standing by my window, staring out at the edge of the forest behind our old farmhouse. The moon hung low and pale, lighting up the fog that rolled across the fields like silent ghosts.
By Alpha Man11 months ago in Fiction
The Cry in the Water Part 8
It had been waiting for them. Quietly, patiently, waiting for them. In a moment of retrospect, Jayr realized that it had probably been there for the last few minutes or more after locating their foot falls or the sounds of their voices. The creature was intelligent, cunning and beyond subtle when it wanted to be. Only now that it had been revealed, did the creature allow the translucent nature of its scales to regain their original color. A dark black shade, polished surface like obsidian, covered the creature entirely. Only it yellow eyes, large great orbs with vertical slits like a cat, stood out against the inky blackness of its body, and these burned with intense focus.
By Alpha Man11 months ago in Fiction