Fantasy

The Mirror That Spoke
When I moved into the old house on Willow Street, I wasn’t looking for a mystery. I just wanted peace — somewhere quiet enough to forget the city, the noise, and my ex-fiancé’s shadow that still lingered in my apartment walls.
By Malaika Pioletabout a year ago in Fiction
The Walking Dude
Author’s preface: Though I like to give Stephen King a hard time, see here for a good example, generally speaking I am a fan. I happen to think the Dark Tower could have been the greatest horror/fantasy series of all time if not for the disastrous Susan Delgado and the most cliched Deus Ex Machina ending of all time. Yes, I get it, time is a circle, everything happens over and over. That was clever series ending the first few times someone thought of it, but after ten thousand other examples it just looks lazy. Sort of like, I couldn’t think of anything better so here you go. Almost makes me wish he would have gone the George Martin route and just not ended it. The Stand is another one of my favorites and though it is far from perfect either, as a microbiologist of course I was gonna be favorably disposed to the main plot device and even after so many books, movies, and tv shows, have done the super virus thing to death, King’s version of a slowly falling to pieces world still resonates with me as one of the best, if not the best description of what such a thing would actually feel like to live or die through. This story is a sort of tribute to one of the main characters from that book and other Stephen King stories, the mysterious walking dude. I don’t find him a particularly compelling bad guy, wearing jeans and a jean jacket is about the least scary thing one can do, unless one is trying to frighten the fashion police. Walking is also one of the least intimidating or evil modes of transport, other than perhaps taking ubers everywhere, but I do find him interesting for other reasons. I have also wondered what it would be like to meet him, or a slightly altered version of him in my own world.
By Everyday Junglistabout a year ago in Fiction
Sunset Grace: A Parisian Balcony Encounter
It was the soft, golden hour in Paris, that fleeting, sacred interlude the French call l'heure dorée. The day, with its clamor and commerce, was exhaling a final, contented sigh, and the city, in turn, breathed back a soft, ethereal light. The wind, a gentle accomplice in this twilight conspiracy, drifted from the Seine, carrying with it the faint, complex perfume of river water, rain-washed stone, and the distant promise of evening blossoms. It brushed against my face, a cool, silken touch, as I leaned back on the modest wrought-iron terrace of my rented apartment in the 7th arrondissement.
By Stefano D'angelloabout a year ago in Fiction
The Devil's In The Feedback
-They say every story begins somewhere. This one began on a night too lazy for saints but loud enough for the devil to show up.
By The Omnichromiterabout a year ago in Fiction
Etha and May . AI-Generated.
Etha and May are as different as night and day. To speak technically, we can say that one of them wore red and the other soft yellow colors. Both are obstinate, stubborn, motherly Black women. Etha is in control of the upstairs of the charming three story house in the Brookdale section of East 55th street of Brooklyn, NY. May rented the flat halfway between the ground and the middle of the house.
By Dipnarayan bhagat about a year ago in Fiction
The Shadow at the Door
Sometimes, the past doesn’t knock to enter — it knocks to remind you it never left. Rain hammered against the small apartment window as Khan stared at the clock.
By Bismillah Achakzaiabout a year ago in Fiction
The Last Voice Message from Her
I hadn’t touched her phone in months. It sat there on the nightstand, battery dead, like something sacred and forbidden. Sometimes I looked at it the way one looks at an artifact — a time capsule holding everything I couldn’t bear to face.
By Nyku Blonduabout a year ago in Fiction
Dancing With The Dead
Ta-tum, ta-tum, rat-a-tat-tat, ta-tum; I will never forget the sound, that particular sound on a certain October morning. It was one week following the Autumn Equinox. Just another neighborhood drumming moment- normal in my community, but on this day, the beat to dancing feet synchronized something most surreal, forever altering my vision of the deceased.
By Marilyn Gloverabout a year ago in Fiction
The Library That Only Opened at Midnight
**The Strange Rumor** In the small, sleepy town of Ravensbrook, everyone went to bed early — except for **Elara**, a 19-year-old girl who loved stories more than sleep. She had read every book in the town library, but still, something inside her always whispered, *“There’s more.”*
By Kashif Wazirabout a year ago in Fiction
The girl with the Red Dress
Butterflies in her stomach as though it would be her last, seasons of joy and happiness as though there was no darkness in this place of goodness.
By Cryptic Edwardsabout a year ago in Fiction
🌸 Fairy Girl, the Fairy of Fearless Light 🌸
In the heart of the Whispering Woods, where the trees hummed gentle lullabies and the flowers glowed softly under the moonlight, lived a tiny fairy with shimmering wings. Her name was Fairy Girl, and unlike the other fairies who fluttered quietly between petals and stayed hidden beneath the safe canopy, Fairy Girl sparkled with something different — a fearless light that shone from deep within.
By fairy girlabout a year ago in Fiction
Korean Drama Fan?
It was 2022, a year that found me unexpectedly unemployed, with time stretching out before me and the creeping stress of uncertainty starting to set in. I was desperate for something to keep my mind engaged, motivated, and, most importantly, stress-free. That's when a dear friend recommended I dive into the vibrant world of Korean dramas. Little did I know, I was about to fall head over heels into a new obsession!
By Nabi-Bellaabout a year ago in Fiction