Fantasy
The Camel and the Fox
A tale of mischief and clever revenge Once upon a time, in a desert near a green village, lived a camel and a fox. They were not the same kind of animals, but somehow, they became friends. They often went out together in search of food and fun.
By Imran Khanabout a year ago in Fiction
Light After Darkness
In a quiet village where electricity was scarce and shadows ruled the nights, lived a twelve-year-old orphan girl named Nayab. After losing both of her parents in a tragic accident, she was taken in by her aunt. However, instead of love and care, she was treated like a servant in the house. From dawn to dusk, she carried water, washed dishes, and cleaned the yard. Yet, hidden deep in her heart was a dream she never let die—she wanted to study, to learn, and to become someone who could change her life.
By Muhammad Jawadabout a year ago in Fiction
Where the Road Forgets
The road stretched endlessly ahead, crumbling at the edges like the pages of a forgotten book. Dust spiraled up with every step he took, though the wind had long gone still. The sky above held no sun, only a pale light that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. He didn’t know how long he had been walking—only that he must keep walking.
By Muhammad Abbas about a year ago in Fiction
Where the colors met
The town of Aurelia was a grayscale place. Not metaphorically—literally. Everything in Aurelia, from the cobblestones to the sky, existed in muted shades of gray. The trees had leaves, but they were ash-toned. The roses grew, but bloomed in smoky charcoal. Even the people's clothing and skin seemed touched by some strange filter, washed out and dim.
By Sarwar Zebabout a year ago in Fiction
When Dreams Remember
Elira had always felt the quiet pull of something just out of reach. It began in dreams—glimpses of a place she had never seen. A field of golden grass beneath a violet sky. The haunting sound of a melody carried on the wind. A boy with storm-grey eyes who looked at her as if she were the only thing that mattered. At first, they were fleeting. But soon, the dreams returned night after night, growing more vivid. The boy’s voice called her a name she didn’t recognize. And every morning, she woke with a deep ache in her chest, like mourning something she’d never had. When her grandmother passed away, Elira returned to the creaking old house where she'd spent her early childhood. The attic hadn’t changed. Dust lay thick on every surface, the air heavy with time. She didn’t know what she was looking for—only that the dreams had begun again the day her grandmother died. While digging through a trunk of faded letters and brittle photographs, her fingers brushed something cold. A silver locket, smooth and ornate, etched with unfamiliar symbols. She held it up to the dusty light, and as soon as it touched her skin, something pulsed inside her—like a heartbeat that wasn’t hers. The attic vanished. She stood in the golden field. The sky rippled like silk, violet clouds drifting above. Wind tugged at her hair, whispering her forgotten name. And there, just ahead, stood the boy. Kaelen. “You’ve returned,” he said softly, his voice trembling like a secret too long held. “But… you don’t remember me.” “I don’t know you,” Elira whispered, but her voice betrayed her. Part of her did. His eyes—grey like storms—did not accuse. They only mourned. “You were mine. And I was yours. Before the world broke us apart.” Each night after that, Elira returned to the dream. And Kaelen waited. He never begged her to remember. Instead, he told her stories—of a world torn by war, of a people called the Valeans, and of a Keeper who had sealed away her memories to protect dangerous knowledge. “You were the Keeper,” he told her once. “You chose to forget… to save lives.” In the waking world, Elira sought answers. She brought the locket to the library, where she met Callen, a quiet archivist with a scholar’s eyes. “These symbols are Valean,” he said, brushing dust from a heavy tome. “A lost language. A lost people. Wiped out in the Cataclysm War over two hundred years ago.” “That’s impossible,” Elira said. “I’ve seen them. I’ve… been there.” Callen stared at her. “Sometimes the past doesn’t die. Sometimes it waits—carried in blood, in dreams.” They searched together, uncovering forgotten texts, crumbling maps, and whispers of the Valean Keeper who vanished with the knowledge to end the war. All signs pointed to one truth—Elira hadn’t imagined the dreams. She was remembering. One night, as the wind hummed in the field, Kaelen took her hand. “You asked me once who you were.” She nodded, heart pounding. “You were the Keeper of Truth. You held the secrets that could stop the war. But others tried to take them. So you hid them—even from yourself. You left me… to save everything.” Pain sliced through her. “I left you alone.” He shook his head, gently. “You saved us all. But the world is waking again. And this time, you don’t have to carry it alone.” Following a hidden map found in the ruins of an ancient temple, Elira and Callen traveled to a forgotten mountain. At its peak, half-buried in snow and stone, stood a sealed chamber, humming with ancient energy. The locket glowed in her hand. As she pressed it into the carved indentation in the door, stone groaned and shifted. Inside, murals lined the walls—images of Elira in her past life, standing beside Kaelen, leading others, protecting a silver-bound book. The pedestal stood in the center, humming with power. She touched the book. And memory returned. The war. The betrayal. The moment she chose to forget. The love she left behind. Kaelen’s voice begging her not to go. She turned to Callen, tears streaking her cheeks. “This knowledge… it could save us. Or it could destroy everything again.” Callen met her gaze. “That’s not a burden you should carry alone.” Her fingers tightened around the book. “Then I won’t. I remember now. And I won’t forget again.” Kaelen’s voice echoed within her, soft and sure: “You’re not alone.” Elira stepped out of the temple, silver book in hand, the wind lifting her hair like a banner. The Keeper had awakened. This time, she would fight. This time, she would remember. And this time, love would not be lost to time.
By Kaleem Ullahabout a year ago in Fiction
Viora's Dream
“Viora…” The soft-spoken whisper stirs her from her slumber. Not knowing who it was, she opens her eyes to question the party. A small gasp escapes her, not because they are not among her, but at the sight of immense trees. Trees that tower and reach to the sky, with branches that seem to stretch and intertwine into glows of orange, red, and yellow. Something once known intimately, vaguely remembered. As the beauty of this eternal autumn dances across her vision with the caressing breeze, she hears her voice gently say a single word.
By Michael Bradshawabout a year ago in Fiction
Jonas’ story
The day my mother, Jaceline, was taken from me and my brother, Jacob, all my misconceptions on how zombies and humans worked were turned on its head, as my second mother, Bhavna, would say. Bhavna is a zombie but she was in the hoarde that saved us humans from the Bloodletter raids all those months ago. I try to remember my history, as well as the history of the world, even as everyone and everything always seems like it’s falling apart. My mother taught me Bible study lessons, history that was even before the zombie and human war that lasted over fifty years. I always gathered my strength from learning about Moses when he parted the Red Sea in Exodus.
By Melissa Ingoldsbyabout a year ago in Fiction
