Fantasy

a late night confession
I sat listening to a recording of Vivaldi’s Seasons with Joshua Bell playing the lead violin when an owl outside my window interrupted my revery by hooting nature's midnight chimes. I had intended to write during the magic hours following the last stroke of twelve, but utterly transported by Joshua’s arpeggio’s during his performance of Winter, I wisely chose to not disturb the warmth stirring in my breast by attempting to capture my feelings with anything so pedestrian as mere words.
By John Coxabout a year ago in Fiction
Shadows on the Edge of Tomorrow
By Nadeem Shah The rain had a way of softening the city’s edges. Buildings that normally looked sharp and unforgiving now blurred into a watercolor of gray and silver. Streetlights bled into the puddles, their glow stretching out in ripples with every raindrop that fell.
By Nadeem Shah about a year ago in Fiction
Shadows on the Edge of Tomorrow
By Nadeem Shah The rain had a way of softening the city’s edges. Buildings that normally looked sharp and unforgiving now blurred into a watercolor of gray and silver. Streetlights bled into the puddles, their glow stretching out in ripples with every raindrop that fell.
By Nadeem Shah about a year ago in Fiction
The Last Letter She Never Sent
By Nadeem Shah The envelope had yellowed with time, the edges curling slightly as if it had been holding its breath for years. It sat at the bottom of the box, beneath a stack of old photographs and forgotten receipts, as though it had been waiting—patient, quiet—for someone to finally notice it.
By Nadeem Shah about a year ago in Fiction
Behind the Locked Door
Author: Nadeem Shah The door had been there my whole life. At the end of the upstairs hallway, just past the faded family photographs and the creaky floorboard, it stood — tall, heavy, and always locked.
By Nadeem Shah about a year ago in Fiction
The Mirror Hotel
The Mirror Hotel was born from Aurelian’s need—not desire. It waited like a predator for the moment he fractured, when something inside him shifted just enough to let light pierce the dark. It lived in the liminal spaces of his grief, where reality blurred with dream—a place both familiar and unsettling, shaped by the memories he couldn’t bear to hold.
By Neshzivne Dadirriabout a year ago in Fiction
The Clock of Seasons
Elara had never been drawn to Lorian’s old shops, but something about the narrow, cobblestone street called to her that evening. The air smelled of rain, and the setting sun painted everything in gold. She pushed open the creaking door of a shop she had passed a hundred times and froze.
By Henry_ Fagottabout a year ago in Fiction
God Among the Codes
Religion was never something I consciously chose. I was born in a country where Catholicism was the default. My parents were Catholic, I attended a Catholic school, and at home God was spoken of almost automatically—like grace before meals or old family traditions. It was simply part of the air I breathed.
By Pedro Miguelabout a year ago in Fiction
The Last Field
In a quiet village cradled between gentle hills and a winding river, there lived an old farmer named Karim. His back was bent from years of tending the earth, his hands rough and cracked like the dry soil after summer. But his eyes—deep and calm—still held a quiet fire.
By meerjananabout a year ago in Fiction
The Temple of Rock Lake
Battered. Ragged. Barely standing. Griffin of Valleyfell stared up from his stump at what he imagined was once a proud, powerful beacon of hope to his right. The dense, soupy fog his people had nicknamed 'SoulSap' seemed to dance around it, rather than consume it.
By Adam Clostabout a year ago in Fiction
Lost in Time: The Train That Stops Nowhere
The Day I Boarded the Train It happened on a foggy Tuesday evening. I remember the way the mist curled around the platform, swallowing the edges of the station until it felt like I was standing inside a dream.
By Habib kingabout a year ago in Fiction
Blood Moon
Conquering nations had always been a favorite pastime of Kisaburo. Defeating Isscaam, the northernmost nation of the tundra, had been no different. The igloo was crowded. Being a larger person than the average tundra dweller, Kisaburo always found them to be cramped. He stepped between two people and his eyes landed on a third. That made four inside, counting himself. Someone was missing.
By B. M. Valdezabout a year ago in Fiction