Historical
The Secret
My name is Walter and today, January 1, 1980, is my 104th birthday. This makes me the oldest living resident of Rye, New Hampshire. Of course, Rye only has a population of 5,400, so in the grand scheme of things, it’s not a big deal. What makes this day a big deal is I am about to tell a secret that I have been safeguarding for 94 years. The person I’ve chosen to share this secret with is 10 years old, the same age I was when it was told to me.
Mark GagnonPublished about 9 hours ago in FictionFires of Friendship
The rapport between Okewu and myself, his lodger for the past six months, had long been hanging by a thread. Tensions escalated steadily, like a pot left on a simmer, until one fateful Tuesday afternoon when the pressure reached its boiling point.
Okewu EmmanuelPublished about 12 hours ago in Fiction
Pervitin
Canicatti, Sicily | July 6th, 1943 Nadine sipped her steaming hot, black coffee from a white ceramic cup, while Elmar used the edge of his knife to break down their hefty bags of meth and opium into twelve, three-inch lines on top of the glass table in the center of the hotel room. They had become dangerously addicted to mixing the two drugs, but the high was a rare euphoria that was impossible not to chase once experiencing it.
Kale BenderPublished a day ago in Fiction
Ella's beautiful journey
Once upon a time, in a small village nestled between rolling hills and lush forests, there lived a young dreamer named Ella. Ella possessed a boundless imagination that transported her far beyond the confines of her quaint surroundings. Her heart brimmed with stories yet to be told, and her eyes sparkled with curiosity about the world beyond the horizon.
Nithya shreePublished 2 days ago in Fiction
Eternal in the Sand
‘Why do you want to become an archeologist?’ was the question I got from friends and family most often, and I asked the same of my fellow students, and later colleagues. Most of them said they loved history, and that they wanted to uncover secrets of the past. And that was where our aspirations differed: I wanted to unlock immortality.
Kenneth Donovan IIPublished 2 days ago in Fiction
At Silver’s Edge
Silver. Sand. Fire. The cloudless sky reined above them and the sun’s rays ricocheted off the chrome pumps of the Chevron station.
Kate KastelbergPublished 2 days ago in FictionBraided Chain
Port of Seattle, WA, September 1912, Footsteps clamored on the wooden panels as I waited. The sun was setting over the harbor cascading orange and gold light across the faces of silhouettes who strolled the boardwalk. Local men and women dressed in their finest attire catching the last of the summer night air that now had a chill as wind gusts came in over the sea.
C. H. RichardPublished 2 days ago in Fiction
An Unsentimental Christmas Celebration
In a world steeped in the sentimental glow of twinkling lights, warm embraces, and the ever-present jingle of holiday tunes, there exists a space for those who dare to celebrate Christmas with a touch of realism—an Unsentimental Christmas Celebration. Amid the festive frenzy, where sentimentality often reigns supreme, this alternative approach beckons with a promise of simplicity, practicality, and an unfiltered view of the holiday season.
Ali Raza (Story Bard)Published 3 days ago in FictionEchoes of the Forgotten Trail
In the heart of Africa, where the sun paints the sky in hues of orange and red as it bids farewell each evening, there lies a land scarred by the echoes of a war long forgotten by the world. A war that unfolded in the shadows of dense jungles, traversed through desolate landscapes, and etched its mark on the souls of those who witnessed its relentless brutality. This is the story of a small group of individuals, an unlikely alliance of veterans, scientists, and pacifists, who sought redemption amidst the ruins of a war-ravaged land.
Okewu EmmanuelPublished 3 days ago in Fiction
"Wellspring of Dreams"
In the bustling city of Lucknow, where the aroma of kebabs and the melody of classical music filled the air, the Wellas, a trio known for their unconventional methods of making money, found themselves at a crossroads. With dreams and premonitions having brought them success in the past, they now faced the challenge of financing their grand plan to take over the city and run for elections.
Mubashira KachhotPublished 3 days ago in FictionCrypteia
The air wrapped around our face as we descended through the darkness. The call of freedom, to it we harken our pace. To save ourselves from the final destruction. Of ourselves from their constructed narrative of destruction.
Atomic HistorianPublished 3 days ago in Fiction
The Good People
Chapter 1 “Ocama, Yuiza, ocama…” Inamoca presses me to listen. I hear the sounds of the rainforest all around me, but we are listening for the noise of the Yu’ Guami’ke’na, the white devils, the ari.’ They are invaders on our island. I am Yuiza, Warrior Princess. I once greeted them with a warm, hospitable Taíno welcome, yet they only brought death and destruction to my people.
Margaret JimenezPublished 3 days ago in Fiction
