Love
Never. Content Warning.
The Prompt Convey a deep conversation between two individuals without uttering a single word aloud. Never The radio was playing but it was on so low that they couldn't hear the song that was playing. Maybe it was worth listening to, maybe not. Then it finished and the DJ said a few words over the intro to the next song.
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred 3 years ago in Fiction
Whispers in the Moonlit Room
The space was cloaked in a deep, satiny blackness, with only a chip of moonlight sneaking through a check in the heavy drapes. The air was still, carrying the unclear fragrance of old forestland and forgotten reminiscences. Two numbers enthralled this close room, seated at contrary bounds of a long, mahogany table. Their eyes were locked, eyes like lodestones drawing them together, yet not a single word absconded their lips.
By Sanaf Ahmed3 years ago in Fiction
Cinderella and the Dark Phase
Cinderella, the beloved fairy tale, has captivated audiences for years. For decades, its captivating theme of transformation and true love has been a mainstay of children's literature and film entertainment. But, beneath the gloss and glamour of glass shoes and fairy godmothers, Cinderella has a darker side that often goes unseen. In this essay, we will look into the dark phases that Cinderella goes through on her way to a happily ever after, as well as the hidden elements of the popular story.
By Tejal singh3 years ago in Fiction
The Softest Hands
It started with an argument. Not your ordinary, run of the mill argument either. No. The shouting, see who can yell the loudest kind. The kind where who is right and who is wrong no longer matters. When things get nasty. When you each stop trying to prove your point and simply decide how best to hurt each other.
By Kenny Penn3 years ago in Fiction
Silent Treatment
He moved quietly and peacefully, as a tired soul awakened from the past. As he sat listening to the secretary give her sales pitch. He listened to my clicking of the keyboard, the tapping of my pen. His silence seemed as though he were trying to hear what I was thinking, in this long drawn out silence.
By Kristen G she/her 3 years ago in Fiction
Through Unseen Eyes
Once upon a time, in a quaint little village nestled between rolling hills, there lived a woman named Eliza. She was known throughout the village for her ethereal beauty, her grace, and her vibrant spirit. However, Eliza had a secret that no one knew but her. She was blind. Eliza had lost her sight as a young child due to a mysterious illness. Her family, afraid of the stigma associated with blindness, had kept her hidden away from the world. But as she grew older, Eliza yearned to experience life beyond the confines of her home. And so, one fateful day, she decided to venture into the village, guided only by the whispers of the wind and the warmth of the sun. As she navigated the cobblestone streets with a graceful determination, she bumped into a stranger. His name was Daniel, a talented musician known for his soulful melodies that touched the hearts of everyone who heard them. At first, their encounter was awkward, but it soon blossomed into a unique connection. Daniel was drawn to Eliza's enchanting presence and her ability to perceive the world in ways he could never imagine. He began visiting her, playing his hauntingly beautiful tunes on a battered old guitar, filling her world with melodies that danced in her imagination like vivid colors. Their friendship deepened into a love that transcended the physical world. Eliza, with her keen sense of touch and acute hearing, could "see" the world in ways that Daniel couldn't. She described the beauty of nature, the vibrancy of the changing seasons, and the emotions of people around them. In return, Daniel painted her a world with words, crafting stories of enchantment and wonder. But their love faced a challenge. The villagers were baffled by their bond. They couldn't understand how a blind woman and a musician could share such an intense connection. Gossip and rumors spread like wildfire, and soon, Eliza and Daniel found themselves isolated, misunderstood, and torn apart. In the depths of their despair, they hatched a plan. Eliza, using her uncanny ability to hear the subtlest of sounds, would play the guitar alongside Daniel, her fingers finding the notes by touch alone. They would perform together at the village's annual festival, hoping to convey the depth of their love through their music. The day of the festival arrived, and a hushed excitement rippled through the crowd. As Eliza and Daniel took the stage, the world held its breath. With each note, they wove a tapestry of emotions that spoke of love, longing, and the beauty of their unique connection. The crowd was spellbound, tears glistening in their eyes as they finally understood the depths of their love. Their performance ended with thunderous applause, and the villagers' perception of love changed forever. Eliza and Daniel's love story became a legend, a testament to the power of love that transcended the physical world. In the end, Eliza and Daniel taught their village that love is not bound by appearances but by the depth of connection and understanding between two souls. They continued to share their music, their stories, and their love, proving that in the darkness of blindness, they had found a light that shone brighter than any eyes could see.
By Brian Njogu3 years ago in Fiction
The Beauty Of Love
In the quiet, dimly lit corner of a bustling cafe, Emily sat alone, deeply lost in the world of her book. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air, mixing with the soft melodies playing from the corner speakers. She sipped her latte absentmindedly, her hazel eyes scanning the pages of her novel. It was just another ordinary evening, or so she thought it might turn out to be.
By Tonte Fredericks3 years ago in Fiction
The Closest Stranger
Predictably, on time, the key is in the lock of the front door. The small click of the light switch turning on. The splash from the release of the shower handle being turned. Then his labored gate, from years of work. He stands just a little less straight than I remember. Looking at an old picture on the wall and then glancing my reflection in the window is the only way I notice how much we have transformed. I don't feel much older, just sitting here. I notice at times challenges, but never chalk them up to old age. As he enters the room I glance up. Predictably he takes the remote and changes the channel to the Lakers channel. Kobe is speaking. Kobe. With his death, its seems a death of my young adulthood died. A generation gone, an era. An overwhelming sadness. It's too soon to watch for me. The loss seems fresh and bigger than I wish to confront tonight, but I don't say anything. He must have sensed this without me saying a word. I feel him look my way before taking the remote and flipping on a movie. I marvel at how we have settled into a routine. I'd say, "Like some old married couple", but we aren't like that, we are that. I look in his direction, wondering if he is thinking the same thing. He has his shirt off, reclining back on a few pillows acting as a mound to support his ailing back. On the side table he has his water and a cup of juice. He takes a palm full of peanuts he cups a d brings to his mouth. occasionally he grabs the back scratcher or the hand held massager. "I hope that guy wins." We are watching a pumpkin carving show. "Oh yeah, he's really good. It's so stressful. Sometimes I wish they had more time." "Yeah, they are all so good." He catches me studying him and gives an awkward double look. I see him glance at my side table. At my glass of water, then to the basket of clothes I'm folding. I'm always folding. Then to my book I have resting on the corner next to my water. The book I always hope to read before being too tired. Then back at me, before trying to get back into his show. He has the same look I just had. I catch him glance at the photo of us on the wall and then back to me. Could he be having the same epiphany as me. The face isn't one of disappointment, it's more one of 'how did we get here, get like this.' To me he is the closest stranger I ever let in. I wonder if I'm the same to him. We are not strangers, but these day's we know less about eachother in a way. We work so closely together, we stop asking, stop being curious about eachother. Such is the way of life I suppose. We are comfortable. It's not sad, other than possibly a sad truth, but I know less about him these days. I wouldn't say I care less. I think I just learned to reserve it for the big stuff, the stuff I can. Maybe thats adulthood. It creeps up without you really being aware until the change has happened. I notice him struggling with the massager to reach a spot on his back. With out needing to ask I grab it, to help him. I hear his sigh of relief. He saunters downstairs. I hear him switch on the gaming system. Still a kid at heart. Loves a challenge and a game. I play at times, but I decide not to join him tonight. After 40 minutes he comes up. He looks at me in bed with my book and phone. I look at him. We catch eachothers gaze and in that moment we are suspended from ourselves and this place. Our dog whines, not pleased at being left out. We both go to kiss her and end up bumping heads. We look at eachother, both half smiling, rubbing our head, laughing. Great minds think a like, I think. His expression of ironic disbelief and apology with a little annoyance reveals the same thought to sum it up. We both lay back in bed tired. My hand rests next me. He moves his on top of mine. I care for you too, I think. The closest stranger I ever let in. Sent from my Galaxy
By simplicity3 years ago in Fiction
When I look into your eyes
Asher is still in a coma. I don't know if whatever is in Black Hills, South Dakota will wake him up. It has been three days. I can't wait anymore. Ash’s husband, Hudson, is distraught. But Bhavna promises to watch over him with the kids. Including Hudson and Asher’s daughter, Shadow.
By Melissa Ingoldsby3 years ago in Fiction
