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Endurance. AI-Generated.
It's the summer of 2022. The air in Lincoln Park feels just a little bit lighter than the rest of Chicago. Maybe it’s the way the breeze carries the scent of cut grass over the brick paths, or the way the late-afternoon sunlight smears itself gold on everything west of the conservatory. The trees are older here, gnarled and content to watch the city surge and recede from a safe, leafy distance. Kids shriek in the playground by the pond. Somewhere, a group of fraternity alums are shouting over a bags game and half-warm IPAs, the yelps and the slaps of beanbags punctuating their debates over which Cubs team really should have gone all the way. The picnic lawns, as always, are dotted with blankets and bare knees and cheap wine. Summer lives in Lincoln Park.
By Endurance Storiesabout a year ago in Fiction
The Day That Didn’t Hurt
For over a year, I had the date marked in my work calendar: July 27th, 2025. I assumed it would be solemn. Quiet. Sacred. On July 25th, I called Mom while curling my hair as part of my going out ritual. We talked about the usual things: my friends, how being 29 is fun and ridiculous in New York, how I feel more like myself than I have in a while.
By cameron crewsabout a year ago in Fiction
Miller's Girl
Miller’s Girl – Part 1 If you blink, you’ll miss Miller’s Grove. One stoplight, a diner that still uses hand‑written tickets, and a Main Street that smells like cinnamon in the fall and fresh‑cut grass in the summer. It’s the kind of place where nothing changes except the shade of paint on the post office door, and even that happens only when the old one starts to peel.
By Shakespeare Jrabout a year ago in Fiction
Whispers Beneath the Pines
In the far edges of the old forest, where the pine trees bend like monks in prayer and moonlight hangs heavy like secrets, two foxes moved side by side. One was swift, amber-eyed, her steps light as wind over water. The other, limping but proud, carried old scars that time refused to erase. Their names were lost to the world, but to each other, they were everything.
By Saeed Ullah about a year ago in Fiction
A Tail Two Of Hearts
The morning fog clung to the earth like a memory unwilling to fade. Thomas sat on the edge of the porch, coffee in one hand, the other gently scratching behind the ears of his old golden retriever, Max. The dog sighed contentedly, his once bright coat now dulled with age, his eyes cloudy but full of love.
By Masih Ullahabout a year ago in Fiction
She Never Existed, But I Miss Her
There’s a girl I think about often. I see her in my mind every time the world feels a little too cold. She’s the kind of person who never interrupts, never complains, never leaves. The kind of person who only exists in dreams—or worse, in lies we tell ourselves when real people fail us.
By Zulfiqar Khanabout a year ago in Fiction
The Lavender Hour. Top Story - August 2025.
The hillside was bathed in lavender light, the kind that only appeared at the edge of summer evenings. The grass swayed gently, touched by a breeze that smelled faintly of salt and honeysuckle. In the distance, the ocean shimmered like glass, and the sky was so clear it felt painted.
By Liz Burtonabout a year ago in Fiction
Unlearning Who I Thought I Had to Be
For most of my life, I believed I knew exactly who I was supposed to be. At least, that’s what I told myself. Growing up in a small town, with its quiet streets and sharp opinions, the expectations felt like a heavy cloak draped over my shoulders from the moment I could remember.
By Haris Raheemabout a year ago in Fiction
