Love
Deafening Silence. Content Warning.
Tremors ravage my hands and arms, and my knees bounce up and down like I have springs in my sneakers. Figures in scrubs race back and forth along the corridor, their faces drawn, pale, severe. The smell of bleach is all around me; suffocating, nauseating. A noxious, perfumey scent lies on top of it (gardenias, I think), trying to mask the odor, but it only feeds the pounding ache growing behind my right eye. There's another smell beneath it all - much more potent - that twists my guts up in painful knots. I can't quite place what it is, but it reminds me how much I despise hospitals.
By Natalie Gray3 years ago in Fiction
No Words Left
Staring into the fire, I give up pretending I’m reading and close the book in my lap. I set it on the coffee table and run my hands over my face. He is three hours late. Flopping backward on the couch, I slide like a dead fish to the floor, causing my legs to coil oddly beneath me. My boot treads catch on the bear skin rug. Running my hands through the fur, I pretend it's his hair and sharply pull. A few strands stick to my clammy fingers. It doesn’t ease my mood.
By Sarah DuPerron3 years ago in Fiction
Paper Planes and Love. Top Story - October 2023.
Ann perched on the window seat, fingers trailing the cold glass as her gaze fixated on the snow's gentle descent in the moonlight. The soft, dim light from the moon outside merged with that from the fireplace inside, lending the room an intimate ambiance. The falling snow hushed the world, a tranquil beauty amid life's chaos. She longed to bridge the emotional gap between them.
By Rudolph Lingens3 years ago in Fiction
Silent Shivers
The evening hues painted the sky with husky purples and inky blacks in a cozy apartment on the seventh floor. The room was dimly lit, with only the glow from an old television illuminating the faces of a mother and daughter seated together on a plush couch. The faint hum of the city traffic filtered through the closed windows, blending with the ominous music emanating from the TV.
By Lylonie Bennett3 years ago in Fiction
Resting His Eyes
I hate hospitals. Much like the police, if you have to be around one there’s a good chance something went wrong with your day. The muffled sound of forced quiet, the sharp pang of antiseptic to the nose, the incessant beeping of monitors and machines and nurse station call buttons. The drone of chatter among the staff that skids to a halt once you walk into their vicinity.
By Clinton A. Harris3 years ago in Fiction
Dear Natasha. Content Warning.
I found this letter in a box in our attic. Make of it what you will. Dear Natasha, My zestful one, It has been almost a year since I last set my browns on your beautiful pools of green and I still feel as pained to my very core as I did the day you walked out of my life. I know we had many ups and downs, but I still cannot connect the dots to really truly understand what actually went wrong. Was I a perfect man? No, I would never make such a ridiculous claim. If anything, I am always the first to point out my flaws, to a fault. The first time we met, if my memory serves me well, I introduced myself as the least successful person I knew. It made you laugh and I feel drew you to me. We did kiss at the end of that first date. So, I guess score me. The point is - I am an imperfect individual. But so, my dearest, darling, Tasha, are you. Remember the fight we had when you "accidentally" sold my most prized possession from my childhood, without so much of a mention to me. I still miss that Spice Girls Calender. It was signed, sealed and would have meant we had a wonderful honeymoon, not that we ever got to that stage anyway.
By Paul Stewart3 years ago in Fiction
Unspoken Reality. Content Warning.
As Martin stood over Diane, looking deep into her eyes, he remembered back all those months ago to the first time they met. It was a charity gala that his company was invited to attend and as she was the chief of police, she was there to represent the department. Martin had always had a problem with these events, because he felt most attendees missed the point and were only in it to advantage their career and reputation. That was why he was initially reluctant to approach Diane. If it were not for her flowing golden-coloured locks that caught the light of the hall the event took place in as she mingled with the guests, he might not have bothered.
By Paul Stewart3 years ago in Fiction
Snowdrop Season. Top Story - February 2024.
In England the month of February would be Snowdrop season. February in Athens usually means something different; only a few weeks ago Grace and Alex were lounging in the sunshine outside a café in Kolonaki Square, teasing, touching, laughing together. They touched each other all the time as if they each wanted to be assured of the other’s presence. At night after they made love, they showered together and he lay across the end of her bed, holding her talcumed foot in his hand. His hands were square-fingered and palmed with pink wide nails. He told her stories of greek Gods and heroes, she smoothed his floppy black hair out of his surprisingly blue eyes, the colour of a wild Hampshire sea. They were uniquely comfortable together.
By Stephanie Ginger3 years ago in Fiction
Threads of Love
It was the autumn of my life when I first met her. We were two souls separated by thousands of miles, living in different worlds but brought together by a digital thread. The internet had become our meeting point, a realm where distances were measured in pixels and love transcended time zones. Our long-distance relationship was a journey filled with challenges, but it was also a testament to the power of connection.
By Safwa Elouizi3 years ago in Fiction
