Fantasy
Whispers of the Hidden Past
Clara Bennett was the walking definition of “average high school student”—not a queen bee, not a total outcast, but wobbling somewhere in that weird middle lane. She tiptoed her way through Ridgewood High, half-glued to her grades, half-terrified of accidentally bumping into someone popular. Honestly? The highlight of her week was splitting fries with friends at that run-down café after class. But deep down, she wanted more. Not just “new nail polish” more, but the kind of “risk your neck, change your story” more.
By Cotheeka Srijonabout a year ago in Fiction
The Echoes of Time
Martin Wells’ study looked like a bomb went off. Stacks of old physics journals and coffee-stained blueprints tumbled around him, all bathed in the sort of weak lamplight that makes everything feel faintly haunted. He sat there, jittery as hell, about to flip on his time machine. Imagine that: a lifetime tinkering with equations, chasing the wildest idea—then suddenly you’re sittin’ right on the edge of it. Just another Tuesday? Not even close.
By Cotheeka Srijonabout a year ago in Fiction
"Dream Count."
Dream Count Every wish has a cost, and she’s keeping score. The stars whispered numbers in her sleep. Eris woke with them stitched behind her eyelids—1,845. They glowed faintly even as she blinked against the dark. In her hand, the Dream Count ledger pulsed, its spine warm as breath, its pages shifting softly like restless sighs. Each number in it told a story, a dream bought with hope, and bartered against time. And every one of them came with a cost.
By FAIZAN AFRIDIabout a year ago in Fiction
The Quest for Eldoria
Right smack in the thickest tangle of the Wildwood—seriously, the kind of place where the trees don’t just stand, they stare you down—there was this wolf, Kael. Dude rocked a coat blacker than a taxicab in midnight Manhattan, and those eyes? All amber and mysterious, picking up the weirdest glints from the strangest shadows. Most wolves stick with their squad, all cuddled up, chasing rabbits, whatever. Not Kael. Nah, legends chased him harder than he chased dinner. One legend—the shiniest, juiciest one—kept gnawing at his head: Eldoria. The lost city of gold. Basically, mythic bling hidden under some mountain, if you believe the bar talk.
By Cotheeka Srijonabout a year ago in Fiction
The Portal’s Edge Subtitle
Dang, the whole afternoon started off like any other—just four kids, bored outta their minds in the sticky summer heat. Maya, Eric, Lola, and Javier, all with nothing but flashlights, a couple granola bars shoved into deep pockets, plus the usual group bravado you get after years of sneaking around together. So, someone (probably Maya, because duh) goes, “Hey, wanna hit up the quarry?” Of course, they’re all in. No one says no to Maya, especially when her eyes get that spark, you know? Anyway, they’re crashing through knee-high weeds and kicking old stones, swapping dumb jokes, feeling invincible and basically immortal. No clue how wild things are about to get.
By Cotheeka Srijonabout a year ago in Fiction
The Thirsty Crow
Once upon a time, in a small village surrounded by green fields and dense forests, there lived a clever little crow. His feathers were glossy black, and his eyes shone like tiny beads. He was known throughout the village for his wit and intelligence. While other birds would often act foolishly or get into trouble, this crow always managed to find a way out of tricky situations. One particularly hot summer afternoon, the sun blazed mercilessly in the sky. The air shimmered with heat, and not a single cloud floated above to offer shade. All the ponds, rivers, and wells in the village had either dried up or were reduced to muddy puddles. It was a difficult time for every living creature in the area. Birds sat panting on the branches of leafless trees, and animals hid in their burrows and caves to escape the unbearable heat. The little crow had been flying around for hours in search of water. His throat was parched, his wings felt heavy, and his beak was dry. He desperately needed a drink, but wherever he went, he could find no water. He flew over the fields, hovered near the village wells, and searched around the edges of the forest, but all in vain. Tired and exhausted, the crow finally landed on the branch of a tall, old tree at the edge of the village. He sat there for a while, catching his breath and wiping his beak against the rough bark. Just then, his sharp eyes caught sight of something glinting in the sunlight below. Curious, he flew down to investigate. To his great joy, he discovered an old earthen pot lying near a small hut. The pot looked weathered and cracked, but when the crow peered inside, he saw a small amount of water collected at the bottom. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to quench his thirst. The crow eagerly tried to reach the water with his beak, but the neck of the pot was too narrow, and the water was too low. He tried tilting the pot, but it was too heavy for him to move. He even tried dipping a stick inside, hoping it would bring some water up, but the stick was too thick to fit. For a moment, the crow felt frustrated and hopeless. He was so close to water, yet he could not reach it. But being clever and quick-thinking, he didn’t give up. Instead, he looked around carefully to see if there was something nearby he could use. Suddenly, an idea struck him. He noticed that the ground around the hut was covered with small pebbles and stones. The crow recalled something he had seen before: when stones are dropped into water, the water level rises. Maybe, just maybe, he could use this trick to bring the water within his reach. Without wasting any time, the crow picked up a small stone in his beak and dropped it into the pot. Plop! The stone sank to the bottom, and the water rose slightly. Encouraged by this, the crow quickly picked up another pebble and dropped it in. Plop! Again, the water rose a little higher. The crow worked tirelessly, flying back and forth, picking up pebble after pebble, and dropping them into the pot. With each stone he added, the water level rose a little more. Though it was hard work, and the sun beat down on him relentlessly, the thought of finally quenching his thirst kept him going. After many trips and much effort, the water level finally reached the brim of the pot. The crow could now easily reach it with his beak. With great relief, he dipped his beak into the cool water and drank deeply. The water tasted sweeter than anything he had ever known. His dry throat felt soothed, and the coolness revived his tired body. Feeling satisfied and proud of his cleverness, the crow looked up at the bright blue sky and let out a loud, happy caw. He had not only quenched his thirst but had also proved once again that intelligence and determination can overcome even the toughest obstacles. The crow then flapped his wings and took to the sky, feeling refreshed and joyful. As he soared above the village, he noticed other birds still struggling in the heat. Remembering his own struggle, he decided to share his newfound trick with them. He flew to the tallest tree and called out to the other birds, telling them about the pot and how he had raised the water with pebbles. The birds, grateful for the crow’s wisdom and generosity, followed his advice and soon found relief too. From that day on, the crow became a symbol of cleverness and resourcefulness in the village. The villagers would often tell their children the story of the thirsty crow, teaching them that with a little bit of thought and perseverance, any problem can be solved.
By Muhammad Naeemabout a year ago in Fiction
