Historical
The Princess' Guest Relations
Threatening wet weather conditions pulled everything off the turf swamping the shore oval’s holiday activities. Despite the deplorable dismal dilemma, Princess Gladys, a Garden Stateswoman, woke up a winner claiming finding a gold stamp attached to a special invitation envelope placed secretly by anonymous source. Claiming out of the money status her sidekick Taprixie, who usually writes for the Betmakers, the monarch madame's favorite bookie, presented Pat’s chrome compass, which always showed the proper direction when entertaining fast track activities.
By Marc OBrien4 months ago in Fiction
Blood Between Brotherhoods
The ending of Assassin’s Creed: Forsaken isn’t just about Assassins and Templars anymore. By the end of the story, it becomes something much more painful — a story about a father and son who were never truly able to understand each other until it was too late. Haytham Kenway had spent most of his life believing he was fighting for order. Ever since he was a child, his world had been shaped by violence, betrayal, and manipulation. After losing his father and being raised by the wrong people, he grew into a man who trusted control more than freedom. To him, chaos destroyed lives. Order protected them. Connor, however, believed the opposite. Connor saw what the Templars had done to innocent people, especially to his own village and his people. He believed freedom mattered more than control, even if the world was imperfect. And because of that, father and son slowly became enemies standing on opposite sides of the same war. But deep down, neither of them truly hated the other. Throughout the story, there are moments where Haytham tries to connect with Connor. He fights beside him at times, saves his life once, and even tries to explain that the world is not divided into simple heroes and villains. Connor listens, but he cannot forget the pain caused by the Templars. As the war reaches its end, the final confrontation happens at Fort George. Haytham stands in Connor’s way while Charles Lee escapes. Their fight feels less like two enemies battling and more like two broken people forced into a tragedy neither wanted. Haytham knows Connor has become strong. Connor knows his father is not completely evil. Yet both believe they are right. The fight ends with Connor stabbing Haytham using the Hidden Blade. For a moment, everything becomes quiet. Haytham’s final words carry anger, regret, and sadness all at once. It feels like a father realizing he lost his son long before this battle ever began. After Haytham dies, Connor finds and reads his father’s journal — the very journal that tells the story of Forsaken. And for the first time, Connor truly understands him. He learns about Haytham’s childhood. About the murder of Edward Kenway. About the manipulation by Reginald Birch. About the years of pain and loneliness that shaped the man he became. Connor finally realizes his father was never simply a monster. He was a damaged man trying to create a better world in the only way he knew how. That realization hurts Connor deeply because now understanding comes too late. The man he wanted answers from is already gone. Later, Connor hunts down Charles Lee, the last major enemy left. But even that moment feels empty. There is no satisfaction in revenge anymore. Connor kills him quietly, almost without emotion, as if he already knows revenge cannot repair what has been lost. Then comes the most heartbreaking part of the ending. Connor returns to his village hoping to see his people safe again… only to discover the village abandoned. The new American government forced the natives away from their land despite all the promises of freedom made during the Revolution. Connor watches people being sold as slaves in the streets and finally understands a painful truth: The world did not become better just because the war ended. Freedom existed for some people, but suffering still remained for many others. In the final moments, Connor buries Haytham’s amulet and reflects on everything he lost — his mother, his people, and finally his father. He realizes the world is far more complicated than he once believed. And that is what makes Forsaken unforgettable. It is not really a story about winning. It is a story about loss, misunderstanding, and the tragedy of two people who loved each other but could never stand on the same side.
By M Uzair Khan (UK)4 months ago in Fiction
Wanna Be Yours- Chapter 7
Around noon the household servants gathered and watched as Lady Luzcrezia and her daughter Lady Lucina got thrown into a carriage. Royal knights escort them to a prison where they will be monitored. Some erupt in cheers, others quietly wipe away their tears. Soon as that’s over with Milan clasps her hands together.
By Hazel Rivers4 months ago in Fiction
Ethereal Whisper. AI-Generated.
--- CHAPTER 1 --- Chapter 1: The Melody of Loneliness The silence was a palpable entity, wrapping around me like a shroud. I'd grown accustomed to it, this perpetual hush that had become my constant companion. It was as if the world had forgotten I existed, and I'd retreated into myself, content to dwell in the shadows.
By Alpha Cortex5 months ago in Fiction
The Crashed Train in the Jungle.
The Crashed Train in the Jungle We were five friends chasing an old rumor during our trip through Central Java. Me (Adi), my cousin Budi, Lina, Reza, and Sara. The story was about a passenger train that derailed and disappeared into the jungle in the 1980s. Locals said it was still there, overgrown and untouched. It sounded like the perfect adventure for our last night before heading back to the city. We hired a local guide who took us deep into the jungle for four hours until he suddenly refused to go further. “That place is not for visitors,” he said, then turned back alone. We laughed at his superstition and kept walking. Then we found it. The train was lying on its side like a dying metal snake, half swallowed by thick vines and trees. The carriages were covered in moss, but the windows were strangely clean. Some doors were still closed. The number on the side read “KA 472” — a train that officially vanished in 1987. “Wow… this is insane,” Reza whispered. The sun was already setting. Instead of turning back, we decided to explore quickly and camp nearby. Big mistake. We entered the first carriage through a broken window. Inside, everything was eerily preserved. Seats were upright. Luggage still sat in the racks. A newspaper dated 1987 lay on a table. The air smelled of old dust and something sweet, like rotting flowers. That’s when we first heard the breathing. Soft, wet breathing coming from multiple directions at once. We told ourselves it was just the jungle wind. But then we saw the first creature. It was sitting in seat 14C, wearing the remains of a faded blue train uniform. Its body was twisted — spine bent at an unnatural angle, arms too long, fingers stretched like they had been pulled. Its head was turned 180 degrees, facing backward. The skin was pale gray and stretched tight. No eyes. Just smooth skin. But it knew we were there. It slowly turned its head toward us with a wet cracking sound. Its mouth opened slightly, showing small, crowded teeth. Then it whispered in perfect Indonesian: “Ticket… please.” We ran to the next carriage. The further we went, the worse it became. Every carriage had more of them. Twisted passengers still sitting in their original seats. Some had broken necks. Some had limbs folded in impossible positions. They all looked like they had been rearranged after the crash — bones reset wrong, bodies forced back into sitting positions. Lina started crying when one of them reached out and gently touched her hair. Its fingers left a wet black smear on her cheek. “You smell like my daughter,” it whispered with a voice that sounded like multiple people speaking at once. We tried to leave, but the jungle had changed. The path we came from was gone. Vines had grown across it in minutes. We were trapped. Night fell fast. The creatures began moving. They didn’t run or chase aggressively. They moved slowly, patiently, crawling over seats and along the ceiling like broken spiders. Their joints made constant soft popping sounds. They seemed to enjoy our fear. The more we panicked, the more active they became. Reza was the first. At around 1 a.m., while we were hiding in the dining car, one creature pressed its face against his. It stayed there for a long time, breathing into his mouth. Reza started shaking violently. When the creature pulled away, Reza’s eyes were completely white. He looked at us with a sad smile and said, “The train is leaving soon. We have to stay in our seats.” Then he walked straight to an empty seat and sat down. His neck snapped backward with a loud crack as he settled in. He never moved again. We couldn’t even scream anymore. Sara lasted until the third night. She kept saying she could hear her mother calling her from another carriage. One of the creatures had learned her mother’s voice perfectly. It kept whispering “Sara… come home” from the darkness. Eventually she broke. She walked toward the voice crying. We heard her scream once, then nothing. When we found her body later, she was sitting neatly in a seat, hands folded on her lap, with a peaceful expression. Her spine was bent exactly like the others. Budi tried to burn the train. He poured our remaining kerosene on the floor of one carriage. The creatures watched him silently from the shadows. When he lit it, the fire burned for only a few seconds before dying out completely, as if the train itself refused to burn. One creature then slowly crawled down from the ceiling and placed its long fingers around Budi’s head. It pressed until we heard his skull crack. He died whispering apologies to his mother. Now only Lina and I remain. We have been here for six nights. The creatures no longer hide. They sit around us, watching. Sometimes they copy our voices and have conversations with each other, pretending to be us. They argue about whose turn it is to die next. Lina is getting weaker. She hasn’t spoken in two days. One of the creatures has been sitting next to her for hours, gently stroking her hair and whispering childhood memories only she would know. Her eyes are starting to turn white. I am typing this on my phone with 6% battery, hidden in the toilet of the last carriage. They know I’m here. I can hear them outside the door, breathing patiently. The train feels different now. Sometimes I feel it moving slightly, as if trying to continue its journey. The creatures seem excited. They keep bringing me food — fruit and rice that appears fresh every morning. They want me strong enough to last longer. If you ever hear about a crashed train in the jungle, do not look for it. The passengers never completed their journey. And they are still collecting tickets. Lina just screamed my name from the next carriage. But it wasn’t her voice. It was mine. They have learned me now. The door is opening.
By Esmat Zafari5 months ago in Fiction
Wanna Be Yours- Chapter 6
Milan took over her aunt’s chambers. Blankets and furniture were rearranged to her liking. By now the moon has risen. She stood at her balcony, gazing at the stars in the sky. She smiled sadly, “How long could I have had this view for?” There was no response. Not even from her mind. She sighed, turning around, her back leaning against the railings. There was a withering plant hanging from the rooftop. She gently raised her hand, her finger brushing against its tip. It suddenly sprang to life. It hangs low like a long vine. Running down the stoned walls till met the floor. One moment she was gazing at the grass. Next, a horse comes into view. She blinked. As the horse and the man riding on it came into view.
By Hazel Rivers5 months ago in Fiction
In Another Life- Chapter 3
It had been days since Count Marzen Stellae’s passing. Lissana hadn’t left her family's home until his funeral. Today she sat in the front. His father sat on her left and her mother on her right. She stared mindlessly at his casket. They had just put it under ground. A priest reading a blessing over his grave.
By Hazel Rivers5 months ago in Fiction
The Gods behind the Bar
The scales always sway back into balance. He slammed back a beer as the jukebox in the corner of this well-out-of-the-way hole in the wall cranked out some Judas Priest. Another dusty beer and a shot of Jack appeared without a word, as if by magic. They called him Theo in these parts, which was as good a name as any. He’d been on the run so long that it didn’t matter anymore.
By Matthew J. Fromm5 months ago in Fiction
Kanawa and the Living Forest
Kanawa silently drew the sacred horn knife as his child whimpered on his knee. Midday light beamed through the forest, a harbinger of the coming darkness. Blood trickled out of the harsh wound from the invader’s weapons upon the caribou's hindquarters, staining the undergrowth below. As the innocent blood soaked into the soil, Kanawa felt the desperate summoning begin–his last gambit to stem the tide rising on their shores.
By Matthew J. Fromm5 months ago in Fiction
