Fantasy

The Uniform of the Person I Had Become
The uniform of the person I had become. It wasn’t a suit. It wasn’t a badge. It wasn’t the tactical vest or the high-visibility jacket of the heroes I used to believe in. It was far more subtle, and therefore, far more dangerous.
By Mark Lim 2 months ago in Fiction
Grim Reaping is not what it used to be!
"Grim Reaping is not what it used to be". Grumbled Fate. His fingers felt like they were getting Carpal tunnel syndrome from the constant and non-stop journaling. There was a definite pressure on the median nerve in the wrist, leading to pain, numbness, tingling, and weakness in his hand and fingers.
By Novel Allen2 months ago in Fiction
The Weight of the Tools
I stepped out of the car and opened the back door. From underneath the seat, I pulled out my gear. It wasn’t tactical gear. Not really. It was a mishmash of survival instincts and professional habits, packed in a hurry and forgotten in the dark. A heavy-duty flashlight with dead batteries. A roll of duct tape that had seen better days. A multi-tool with a blade that was still sharp enough to cut through lies. A notebook, its pages filled with scribbled coordinates, phone numbers, and half-formed plans that no longer mattered. And wrapped in an old t-shirt, the cold, hard weight of the external hard drive.
By Mark Lim 2 months ago in Fiction
The Unmapping
The car turned away from the main road, leaving behind the lights and noise of KL. The further I drove, the quieter everything became. The buildings disappeared, replaced by trees and shadows. The city that raised me vanished behind the darkness.
By Mark Lim 2 months ago in Fiction
The Edge of the World
I stopped near an isolated stretch of woods. The engine cut out, and the sudden absence of its hum was deafening. It wasn’t just silence; it was a vacuum. A physical pressure against my eardrums. For a moment, I sat there, hands still gripping the wheel at ten and two, waiting for the world to rush back in. But it didn’t. The only sound was the ticking of the cooling metal and the rhythmic drip-drip-drip of rain falling from the leaves onto the roof of the car.
By Mark Lim 2 months ago in Fiction
The Rearview Mirror
I looked into the rearview mirror. It was a small, rectangular frame of glass, smudged with fingerprints and dust, hanging from the windshield like a pendulum that had stopped swinging. In it, the world behind me was compressed, distorted, and shrinking. The headlights of the cars I had passed were distant stars, fading into the dark. The road itself was a ribbon of wet black, unraveling into nothingness.
By Mark Lim 2 months ago in Fiction
The Void in the Glass
Nothing. That was the word that echoed in the hollow space behind my eyes. Not empty . Not clear . Not alone . Just nothing .
By Mark Lim 2 months ago in Fiction
The Architecture of Tension
My jaw clenched. It was a reflex, ancient and automatic. A tightening of the masseter muscles that locked my teeth together with enough force to make them ache. It was the physical manifestation of a scream I refused to let out. It was the structural integrity of a lie holding firm against the weight of the truth.
By Mark Lim 2 months ago in Fiction
The Geometry of Absence
The road behind me was empty, stretching into darkness. It was a vast, swallowing void. A black ribbon unspooling into the night, erasing the tire tracks I had left only seconds before. It didn’t look like a path I had traveled; it looked like a mouth that had closed.
By Mark Lim 2 months ago in Fiction
The Echo in the Chassis
Then it came again. Thump. This time, it was softer. Less violent. But infinitely more terrifying. Because this time, I knew it wasn’t a branch.
By Mark Lim 2 months ago in Fiction
I Tried to Slide Down a Stairwell Handrail Like a Delivery Rider. The Trash Bin Caught Me.
The Handrail Is Not a Slide The stairwell smelled of disinfectant. A delivery rider came down from upstairs. He did not take the steps. He turned sideways, right hand steadying the insulated bag, left leg swinging over the handrail. His sole scraped the metal once, and then he was sliding. At the turn he touched down, steadied himself, and ran. The yellow bag bounced against his back. An order notification went off in his pocket; he pressed it silent.
By Jin2 months ago in Fiction
The Focus of the Storm
My eyes narrowed. It was a physical reaction, involuntary and sharp, like a camera lens adjusting to sudden light. The rain on the windshield blurred the world into a watercolor smear of gray and black, but my vision tunneled. The periphery disappeared. The trees, the sky, the distant glow of the city, I had left behind it all faded into irrelevant noise.
By Mark Lim 2 months ago in Fiction