Historical
The Orb
I am a prince embarking on a long journey home from battle. It is a cold, dark early morning and I am traveling north on a path through the forest. I am alone and cold and still have a long way to go. My muscles ache and my feet are sore, but I continue on the dark and lonely path.
By Sean Johnson2 years ago in Fiction
A Dream
My dreams started on the 22nd of October, the day after my grandfather's passing. Night after night I would have visions of a young nurse in a military field hospital. From the period attire, it is a World War II-era hospital. I can make out her features plain as day. She is strikingly beautiful.
By Sean Johnson2 years ago in Fiction
United We Stand
Oliver and Christina are best friends on their way to their favorite bar named Frankie’s for the election results. As Oliver drives they both glance at each other with sarcastic smiles. Oliver is a Democrat who holds very liberal ideals and Christina is a Republican who holds very conservative ideals, yet they are best friends.
By Joe Patterson2 years ago in Fiction
Amari's journey . Content Warning.
Roots Beneath the Surface Amari always loved the summer block party in his neighborhood. People came out in droves, filling the street with music, laughter, and the smell of barbecues. Kids raced up and down on bikes, grandmothers shared family recipes, and everyone felt like they belonged to one big family. Yet every year, a little part of him felt like he was performing for an invisible audience. His heart held the knowledge, too big and heavy for his eight-year-old body, that no matter how much everyone around him celebrated his presence here, the wider world would not always feel the same. Amari’s father had started giving him “the talk” when he was only five, and every year since then, he’d had another layer added, like bricks to a wall. “When you go outside, don’t run in public. People will think you’re running from something, even if you’re just having fun,” he’d say. “And never reach for anything in a store without asking first.” Amari’s father wasn’t bitter when he said it, only sad and serious, making Amari promise to remember these lessons. One Saturday, Amari’s mother took him to the mall for a back-to-school shopping trip. He was feeling a little braver, a little more grown-up. He had just turned nine the week before and had received his first real watch as a gift. As he passed a jewelry store, his eyes lingered on a watch display with fancy designs that looked even nicer than his own. The sleek metal bands and tiny dials looked like something from another world. Unable to resist, he reached out to touch the glass, pressing his fingers against it, marveling at the details. “Hey!” a voice snapped. Startled, Amari turned to see a store employee glaring at him. “What are you doing here?” she demanded. The hostility in her voice chilled him. He looked around, unsure of what he’d done wrong. Before he could answer, his mother appeared at his side, having seen the commotion from across the hall. “Is there a problem here?” she asked, her voice polite but firm. “I just wanted to make sure he wasn’t… getting any ideas,” the employee replied, her eyes still narrowed. Amari’s mother looked at him, then back at the woman. “He’s just a kid,” she said, a trace of sadness coloring her words. They walked away, but Amari could feel his mother’s grip on his hand tighten, like she was holding onto him with everything she had. The ride home was quiet, but that evening, Amari found his father outside, sitting on the porch. He joined him, and they sat together in silence until Amari finally asked, “Dad, why did she look at me like that? I wasn’t doing anything wrong.” His father sighed and placed a heavy arm around his shoulders. “Son, sometimes people look at you and see what they want to see, not who you really are. They don’t know your heart, but they think they do because of the color of your skin.” “But that’s not fair,” Amari whispered, tears prickling his eyes. He hated feeling small, feeling like his world was different just because of something he couldn’t change. “No, it’s not,” his father said. “And I wish I could say that it’ll get easier. But the world isn’t fair, and that’s why you have to be strong. Strong enough to know that you are more than anyone’s judgment, stronger than any assumption someone might make about you.” As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with orange and purple streaks, Amari felt a kind of strength he hadn’t before. His father’s words were heavy but real, like the bricks he’d been given each year. And he knew he would carry them, would build himself up with them, and in time, grow into someone his father would be proud of. The next summer at the block party, Amari joined the laughter, the games, and the joy with a new understanding. Yes, he would always live in a world where some people saw his skin before his soul. But in his own neighborhood, surrounded by the people who knew his heart, he could feel his true self radiate, a strength that ran deep, like roots beneath the surface, unseen but unbreakable.
By Javel samuels2 years ago in Fiction
Beloved President Black
In the warring nation of Harmonyland, there lived a kind and charismatic leader named President Black. Known for his jet-black hair and warm smile, he was beloved by his subjects for his unwavering dedication to their well-being. The path of leadership, however, was fraught with challenges, and President Black soon found himself navigating a labyrinth of obstacles that would test his mettle.
By Antoni De'Leon2 years ago in Fiction
Endings and Beginnings
There is a question that pervades even as times change and grow and regress. In every household, in every relation, the inevitably of separation cannot be ignored. The art of the goodbye is not one that can be mastered, but is all the more likely simply endured to the best of one’s ability. Therefore, the question remains: is it easier to leave or be left?
By Samantha Smith2 years ago in Fiction
The Prologue of epic Mahabharata. AI-Generated.
The Epic Mahabarata especially the andhra Mahabaratam is said to be always started with a powerful prologue "Uttanka Upakhyana" or Udhonkopakyanam. It is often said during the story telling of mahabaharta this story should be said first. The story Goes like this
By sai Charan2 years ago in Fiction
Babylon 2030
The year is 2030. A haze of smoke hovered over a city in flames. Beneath the rubble of the city hid a 24 year old young man named Alistair. He was surrounded by scattered pockets of fire, as well as lifeless corpses belonging to men, women and even children. In the distance he could hear gunfire and bombs detonating.
By Joe Patterson2 years ago in Fiction
The Last Stand. Content Warning.
1. I fell down on the concrete, unable to withstand the excruciating pain on my left hand. Crimson blood was dripping from just below the elbow, giving my fingers a warm, soaking sensation. Just a few moments ago, a bullet went straight through my wrist, shattering the bones. My left hand is probably done for; sniper's bullet is not so forgiving.
By Obscure Levin2 years ago in Fiction
