Fantasy

A Child’s Glimpse into Fear
In the hazy, sun-drenched memories of 1987, I was only five years old when I first learned that my father was a man people feared. At that tender age, fear was an abstract concept, something confined to the flickering images on a television screen or the dramatic gasps of actors in movies. I thought fear was something external, a fleeting emotion that made you flinch or caused others to scream. I did not yet understand that fear could be a constant companion, sitting silently beside you in the passenger seat of a car, wearing the face of the person you loved most.
By Mark Lim about a month ago in Fiction
Seven Years: When a Dream Becomes Obsession
Seven years can turn a dream into an obsession. It begins gently, almost invisibly, a quiet hope, a spark of something you want to build, achieve, or become. At first, it feels like pure purpose: you wake earlier, work harder, see the world through the lens of what lies ahead. But as months stretch into years, something shifts. The dream stops being something you carry; it starts carrying you. What once lit you from within begins to consume you from without. And somewhere in that span of seven seasons, seven winters, seven cycles of hope and disappointment, the line blurs between what you want and what you cannot live without.
By Mark Lim about a month ago in Fiction
1999: The Edge of the Future We Now Inhabit
There is a particular stillness that settles over memory of 1999. It was not perfect far from it, but it was whole. It was the final chapter of a century that had seen profound upheaval, and the threshold to one that would rewrite nearly every rule of how we connect, work, and understand ourselves. To look back now is not just to recall a year; it is to recognise the last moment before the pace of change shifted from a walk to a sprint, before the internet became invisible, before every answer was instant and every distraction permanent. 1999 was the hinge: the past still solid beneath our feet, the future shimmering just out of reach, and us standing in between, wondering which way to turn.
By Mark Lim about a month ago in Fiction
Glass and the Gutter
The screen was a lie. That was the first thing Elias learned, though he didn’t have the words for it until he was thirty. On television, violence had choreography. It had music. It had consequences that were neatly wrapped up in forty-five minutes, followed by commercials for detergent and car insurance. The victims on screen always looked back at you; they demanded your witness. They were safe because they were fictional, and their suffering was contained within the bezel of a cathode-ray tube or the sleek edge of an LCD panel.
By Mark Lim about a month ago in Fiction
Off Season Cupid
"You should have found your two targets when you were supposed to. Like the others." A small fat round cherub named Fletch sat next to another named Pip who rolled his eyes in disapproval.
By Jasmine Aguilarabout a month ago in Fiction
Christmas in July
My father is a mighty man, and mighty men have mighty friends. My dad had lots of mighty little friends. I remember, when I was only five, staring at his friends and thinking, “This friend is really tall with big hands, but this friend is very small with little hands.” His tiny friends came over every day without a single day off. His big friends, however, would only come two days a week. My father would open the door, greet them, and lead them out to the shop. Some days, when I wanted my father to take me to the park, the little friends would work on their own all day in the shop.
By Hailey Mabout a month ago in Fiction
Hippity-Hoppity-Boom
I don’t know what I expected to happen this morning when I got out of bed, but it sure wasn’t what happened. Let me clarify that. It was Independence Day. I was prepared for the normal parades, fireworks, and celebrating. The way the day would unfold was a complete shock to me, though. Really, any day is a surprise for any of us.
By Mother Combsabout a month ago in Fiction
The Blizzard
“Happy New Year, Pennsylvania! That was Gordon Lightfoot and the Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. And speaking of storms. Hoo-wee, we’ve got a doozy incoming folks. Better get those front stoops cleared off from last night squall because this next one is going to make that one look like an October dusting.”
By Mary K Brackettabout a month ago in Fiction
The Cost of Responsibility
You want to know the most complicated moral decision I ever made? Is this for an assignment? No? And people tell me that teenagers will never show an interest in your life! Maybe I just have the best daughter. It’s a long story. So much happened the summer I turned twenty-seven. I died, defended a corporation to protect the people they were hurting, and it snowed in the middle of July. I’m getting ahead of myself.
By Aubrey Rebeccaabout a month ago in Fiction
Potatoes, Carrots, Onion, Garlic, Dill
The icy cold wind nipped at his nose, and some of the exposed fingertips of his worn-out right glove, while his left hand stayed cozy nestled in the warmth of his mother's grip as they crossed the street to the market.
By jl woodabout a month ago in Fiction
I walked here in the snow. Honorable Mention in Out of Season Challenge.
A snowstorm in July. Would you believe me if I said that was what brought me to your house? To your quaint little cabin tucked away in the woods.
By Raine Nealabout a month ago in Fiction
Time Flying
Faye hobbled down the busy highway, brushing stray strands of light blonde hair out of her blue eyes. To her chest she clutched an old, leatherbound book that she had just bought from the local book store. The clerk had frowned when she brought it to the counter and told her he didn't know the price because he didn't remember stocking it. In a moment of generosity he had only charged her one dollar. If he had known anything at all about the book he would have burned it.
By Andrea L Smithabout a month ago in Fiction