Fantasy
DREAM AUCTION
The Auction House The air shimmered with anticipation as Elara stepped through the gilded doors of the Dream Auction. The vaulted ceiling was painted with constellations that seemed to shift and swirl, each star winking like it held secrets of its own. Rows of velvet lined chairs stretched toward the stage, where Madame Lysandra, the auctioneer, presided over the evening’s offerings with a voice like silk and shadow.
By samuel ayodeji2 years ago in Fiction
The Rise and Fall of Mama V's Kitchen. AI-Generated.
Every morning, the aroma of sizzling onions and rich spices filled the air on a quiet street in Lagos, announcing the start of another busy day at Mama V’s Kitchen. The restaurant was more than just a place to eat—it was a lifeline for many. Traders, artisans, office workers, and students all flocked there, drawn by the irresistible allure of her food.
By SimplyWrite2 years ago in Fiction
The Weight of Silence
Part 1 of this is already posted. Read this amazing story by clicking on this link. --- Aarav woke up the next morning with a strange lightness in his chest, a feeling he hadn’t experienced in years. The memories of the night before lingered like the last notes of a fading song. Meera’s voice, her tears, her question—"Was it worth it?"—all replayed in his mind. The calm he had felt last night began to waver as the day wore on. The chaos was subtle now, like a faint hum beneath the surface. But it was there. It always was. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. Did she feel the same way he did? Had she found peace, or was she still wrestling with the shadows of their past? Questions buzzed in his mind like restless bees. He picked up his phone more than once, staring at her number, but his fingers refused to dial. By evening, he found himself at the café again. It was almost empty, save for a young couple at the far end, laughing over shared secrets. Aarav chose the same table where he and Meera had sat the night before. The chair opposite him was empty, but it felt like her presence still lingered. As he sipped his coffee, his thoughts drifted back to the night that had changed everything. He remembered the argument, sharp and cutting like glass. They had both said things they didn’t mean, but the damage had been done. It wasn’t the words that had broken them—it was the silence that followed. Neither of them had tried to bridge the distance. And in that void, they had lost each other. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice when someone sat across from him. "Aarav," Meera’s voice pulled him back to the present. He looked up, startled. There she was, the same quiet intensity in her eyes that had captivated him years ago. "Meera..." he managed, his voice uncertain. "I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon." "I wasn’t expecting to come back," she admitted, her gaze steady. "But I couldn’t stop thinking about our conversation. About you." Aarav felt his heart skip. "What about me?" Meera hesitated, her fingers tracing the edge of the table. "You said it took chaos to find your calm. I’ve been wondering if... if I’m still trapped in mine." Her vulnerability was like a mirror, reflecting the parts of himself he had tried so hard to bury. "Maybe you are," he said softly. "But chaos doesn’t last forever. It’s messy and painful, but it shapes you, Meera. It makes you stronger, even when you don’t feel it." She nodded, her expression contemplative. "Do you ever regret letting me go?" The question hung between them, heavy and unspoken for too long. Aarav took a deep breath. "Every day," he confessed. "But I’ve also learned that regret doesn’t change anything. We both needed to heal on our own. Maybe... maybe we had to lose each other to find ourselves." "And now?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached across the table, his hand hovering near hers. She didn’t pull away. "Now," he said finally, "I think we have a choice. We can either let the past keep defining us, or we can decide to write a new story." Meera’s lips curved into a faint smile, one filled with both pain and hope. "A new story sounds... terrifying." "Good stories always are," Aarav replied, his own smile matching hers. For the first time in years, the silence between them wasn’t heavy. It was filled with possibility. As they left the café together, walking side by side, neither of them knew where the path would lead. But for the first time, they were willing to find out—together. --- Continued...
By Witness Love2 years ago in Fiction
The Ruse
They leave you alone for a long time after you volunteer. There are sacred, mysterious reasons for this practice. I don’t care to know much about them. The quiet solitude—which I was sternly told to spend in prayer and sincere reflection upon my life, my transgressions, and the forgiveness the gods might grant me—gives you plenty of time to think.
By D. J. Reddall2 years ago in Fiction
Secret Life of Shadows. AI-Generated.
In a quiet little town surrounded by thick forests and tall mountains, there lived a curious boy named Sam. Sam had always been fascinated by shadows. He loved watching how they stretched and danced when the sun moved or how they flickered under the warm glow of streetlights. But Sam never thought shadows had lives of their own — not until one strange evening.
By Dipendra Sah 2 years ago in Fiction
Ghost People
The forest favors my kind. This has always been so, for we were born here—we are its children. The Tahtanah (Redwoods) have watched over us since before we were a people, when there was only our Lady. Long before the elders had names or the moons sang our song, when our Great Light had yet to find her dawn, it was then that the might of these great woods called to us. It nestled us away in its forgotten places among the mountains’ father and its great stones, the ones that stand even to this day. There we stayed. We were safe and forgotten as the world was swallowed in fire and storm in the Time Before. It was then that the Great Water brought Our Lady to this land. From those shores she sojourned with the wind, trotting the wilds’ expanse until her feet led her here. The Sun had set on her people. There was not left but sorrow and shadow in what came to follow. She was their last, but she would not be their end. She is to us Mëshuni (Mother), for once the last of her people, but now she has borne a people—my people, the people of Elhuuntah (that is, the People of Wolfskin).
By R. B. Booth2 years ago in Fiction
