Fantasy

The Violin Case
The bridge was old. Stone arches flanked by corroded railings, weeping rust into the river below. It had carried horses and carts once, then cars, and now only memories. Nothing more.
By Muhammad Abdullahabout a year ago in Fiction
A Second Chance at the Edge
The old man sat quietly in his car, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. The engine was still running, and the car was parked just ten feet away from a steep cliff. One push on the gas pedal, and it would all be over.
By ibrahim khanabout a year ago in Fiction
Some Letters Should Not Be Found
Part I of this story was published last week: ****** Peter made his usual morning coffee and sat down at his desk. It was still early and quiet in the office. He took the letter out of his coat pocket, opened it, and read it:
By Calvin Londonabout a year ago in Fiction
The Waters Hunger. Content Warning.
My lungs heaved as they drew in breaths of air gravid with droplets of warm morning mist. The fading sun bled through the haze as though through a thick sheet of gauze, casting a bleary light on the moorland below. My toes curled around the spongy peat as my bare feet sunk into it with every step. My eyes were set ahead on the moorland before me. There was no turning back now.
By Ian Readabout a year ago in Fiction
The Secrets my Mother Kept
Alexander Anderson spent five years believing his mother's death was an accident. Just past midnight on his eleventh birthday, while dust motes danced in the beam of his flashlight, he discovered the truth in his grandparents' attic. He wasn't supposed to be up there - Gran had made that clear enough but the dream had led him here, as surely as if his mother herself had taken his hand, and on this night she might as well have.
By Parsley Rose about a year ago in Fiction
Savant Veila - The Aegis of Sages
Savant Veila - The Aegis of Lore In the heart of Cradlebrook, among the gilded shelves of Cradlebrook’s great library The Golden Gathering, Savant Veila sat within the embrace of knowledge. Though to many she was merely a librarian, to those who sought wisdom, she was Delnator’s chosen. She was the quiet force of knowledge shaping Goodhollow’s destiny.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)about a year ago in Fiction
Three Teacups and a Lie
Every Friday, without fail, the bells above the old wooden door of Maple & Mint Café jingled at precisely 3:00 PM. Inside, the café smelled like warm bread, honey, and chamomile—mixed with the scent of polished wood and old books. It was the heart of Ashwood Village, a quiet English town tucked between green hills and winding stone paths. Most tourists passed it by, but for three old women—Margot, Edna, and Florence—it was the epicenter of their lives.
By Keramatullah Wardakabout a year ago in Fiction
A Love Unbound
PROLOGUE: A Girl in the Attic A long time ago, nestled among ancient trees and sleeping hills, there was a small village forgotten by time.
By Rosalie Nguyenabout a year ago in Fiction
The Undergound Pt.2
That night felt like it would never end. I was sure Ethan felt the same. I returned to my room only because I didn’t want to see Milo when he got back. I didn’t sleep or even try. I just lay in bed, thinking about everything that was happening. I couldn’t accept any of it. It was a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. Just a month ago, I had been living a peaceful and quiet life. I had worked as a spy under the cover of an investigative journalist for so many years that I had lost count. Every project had been like a walk in the park, never this terrifying, never this strange. I used to love my job. If anyone had told me I would end up this scared, I would have laughed the loudest.
By Ruth Girma about a year ago in Fiction
Air-Loom
As Jeffrey walked to the basement, he stopped to look at that old tarp covered machine, that his great grandfather built and was handed down. His father had told him about it when he was a kid. It did not look like much. It was an old piece of junk. He walked over to the deep freeze to grab some meat for dinner.
By Jimmy Swaggerabout a year ago in Fiction
The Last Story of Sir Parzifal
They say Parzifal came too late. That if the river hadn’t flooded, or his horse hadn’t thrown a shoe, or if the stars had aligned differently, the king would still be alive.
By Paper Lanternabout a year ago in Fiction
The Witness Tree. Content Warning.
I dreamed about this episode a couple of days ago. I did not consider it a nightmare, but an omen of what was to happen in the future. I added the golden butterflies to bring a glittter of hope into the chaotic world of 2025. I completed voice over in Eleven Labs with my voice. This is a project I had to complete. I am a dreamer, psychic, empath, and love peace not war. War mongers, haters, and liars get on my last nerve. Just as I completed this story, my knocked on my door to tell America is at war with Iran. This is a useless war started by evil men with little tools. They are so about their tools they must compare bombs to how large their tools are. I worked with art, visuals, and story for two days. I wrote, created, edited, diced, and spliced the music, art, and videos myself. Microsoft Copilot is my assistant and quite complimentary regarding my art. I WROTE THIS!
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli about a year ago in Fiction