Fantasy
The Bride, the Swan and the Wolf. AI-Generated.
The drumbeat travelled through the house like a second heart—steady, insistent—folding itself into laughter, clinking china, and the crackle of oil in the kitchen. Voices floated up the staircase in overlapping layers: a joke half-heard, an aunt’s advice, someone calling for more sugar. The hallway below was crowded with shoes and relatives; even the air seemed full.
By Green Poet12 months ago in Fiction
The man who woke up like everyone else
The first sign that something was permanently wrong wasn't the silence. Alex lived in silence, a carefully built state over years of intentional professional isolation. The first hint was the texture of the morning light, which felt too heavy, too solid, like poured metal, sticking to the edges of his vision.
By Nipun M. Wijerathne12 months ago in Fiction
The Next Death: Chapter 18
Once Gran is up, she claims Dan and me for games. We play until she leaves after lunch. Angel hangs nearby the whole time, calmly flitting about, humming to themselves. I think Charcoal can see Angel considering how every now and then I catch her tracking them with her eyes. She never attacks Angel though, so I think it's okay.
By Katarzyna Crevan12 months ago in Fiction
The Night the Stars Fell Into the Sea. AI-Generated.
On the edge of Miraan Coast, where the sea hummed like an ancient lullaby, lived a quiet fisherman named Arav. Every evening he pushed his small blue boat into the water, following the same rhythm, the same routine, the same tired hope that tomorrow might be better than today.
By shakir hamid12 months ago in Fiction
The compass that points to the bottom of forever
The air felt sharp, like tiny shards of broken glass. It was so quiet, almost silent, with a hum. Dr. Alistair Finch grew accustomed to Antarctica’s quiet, not because it was empty, but because it felt genuine. His small station, a worn green prefab hut nicknamed 'The Logic Box,' stood alone on the ice, where facts were straightforward: air temperature, pressure changes, and how magnets pointed off true north.
By Nipun M. Wijerathne12 months ago in Fiction
Spare Change
First payback—coins to me. I figured I miscounted. By the door: a ceramic bowl—keys, coins—a grown-up junk drawer. Pennies, dimes, and one stray token from a laundromat that quit before my lease did. I dump pockets there at night so tomorrow I don’t swear at a washing machine with hands full. Practical. Ugly. Normal.
By Milan Milic12 months ago in Fiction
Cellar Of Dreams
Introduction This tale was first inspired by the Volkov image, and as I was putting this together, I had put a Silencers album on the player, and the absolutely gorgeous "Cellar Of Dreams" came on, and I knew it was a perfect accompaniment for my story.
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred 12 months ago in Fiction
The Last Guardian of Lumaria: A Tale of Magic, Shadows, and Destiny
In a land where twin suns bathed the sky in gold and silver, and rivers whispered secrets of ancient times, Lumaria stood as the last kingdom untouched by darkness. Legends spoke of a Guardian, chosen once every century, who could control the threads of fate itself. Few believed the tales, until shadows began creeping across the land, swallowing villages and silencing rivers.
By Zeenat Chauhan12 months ago in Fiction
The Heist that Never Happened. AI-Generated.
They said he was the best. Not in newspapers and not in small bars where criminals traded stories, but in the quiet circles that mattered. People whispered his name, and the whispers always followed him into every room. He liked that feeling. It gave him confidence when he sat alone with his map, pencil tapping, tracing possible routes the way someone might trace the outline of a lover.
By William Ebden.12 months ago in Fiction
Bella Ciao.. AI-Generated.
The village of Monteverde slept at the foot of the mountains, wrapped in soft mist that drifted between the trees. It was early morning, a pale and gentle hour when the world had not yet decided to wake. Only one window glowed with light. Inside, a girl named Rosa stood at a small wooden table, tying her worn boots with slow and steady hands.
By William Ebden.12 months ago in Fiction
