Microfiction
In Love With a Stranger on the Train
It started on a Tuesday—ordinary, gray, unremarkable. The kind of morning when the sky forgets to rise with conviction and people shrink into their coats, blending into the city’s shuffle. Mia boarded the 7:45 a.m. commuter train from Willow Creek to downtown like she did every day, earbuds in, coffee in hand, mind already halfway through her to-do list.
By Haris Raheemabout a year ago in Fiction
Rain Fell, and So Did I
The sky was a heavy, bruised gray when I stepped outside that afternoon. I hadn’t noticed the weather report—probably because I didn’t want to. Sometimes, ignorance feels like protection. But as the first cold drops began to fall, I knew I was caught unprepared. The rain had come sudden and relentless, as if the heavens themselves were weeping for reasons I could only guess at.
By Haris Raheemabout a year ago in Fiction
The Shape of Love in the Dark
The world went dark for Lila one winter morning when her vision vanished without warning. It had begun with blurred shapes, flashes of light, and migraines. Doctors called it a rare degenerative condition—fast, irreversible, incurable. By the time the snow had melted, Lila lived in permanent night.
By Haris Raheemabout a year ago in Fiction
The Chocolate Soldier . Content Warning. AI-Generated.
Pennsylvania, 1943 They called it Operation Sugar Rush and Private Joe Kowalski carried its secret in his duffel bag: 12 pounds of dark chocolate bars stamped For Military Use Only. Joe wasn’t supposed to open them. But as his troop train rattled toward New York Harbor, a sobbing girl in a patched dress changed everything. She’d lost her doll. Joe slipped her a chocolate squar. Shh, kid. This is magic rations.Her smile cracked his resolve.
By Tariq Pathan about a year ago in Fiction
The Last Golden Egg
Once upon a time in a small, peaceful village nestled between green hills and flowing rivers, there lived a poor farmer named Karim. He owned a tiny mud house, a worn-out plow, and five skinny hens that hardly laid eggs. Life was hard, but Karim was kind-hearted and never complained. One morning, while feeding his hens, Karim noticed something strange. One of the hens—a quiet little one with golden-brown feathers—had laid an egg that shimmered like sunlight. He picked it up and gasped. “This... this looks like gold!” He ran to the village jeweler who examined the egg carefully. “Karim,” the jeweler whispered, wide-eyed, “this is no ordinary egg. It’s solid gold!” Karim could hardly believe his luck. He sold the egg and used the money to repair his house, buy warm clothes, and stock his kitchen with food for the winter. The next morning, the same hen laid another golden egg. Then another. And another. Karim named her Noori — “the shining one.” The Rise of the Rich Farmer Within a month, Karim became the wealthiest man in the village. He bought more land, built a big farmhouse, and hired helpers. But with wealth came pride — and something worse: greed. He started to isolate himself, avoiding the neighbors who once helped him. He stopped sharing food with the poor. Even his old friends began to whisper, “Karim has changed.” But Noori the hen remained the same — gentle, quiet, and always laying one golden egg every morning. A Dangerous Thought One evening, as Karim sat in his candlelit drawing room, staring at a row of gleaming golden eggs, a dark idea slithered into his mind. “If Noori lays one golden egg every day,” he thought, “then surely, her belly must be full of gold. What if I took it all at once? I’d never have to wait again.” The thought grew like a weed. He tried to resist it, but greed whispered louder each night. Finally, unable to hold back, Karim made a plan. The next morning, instead of feeding Noori, he picked her up, took her behind the house, and ended her life. He opened her gently, expecting to find piles of golden treasure. But there was nothing — no gold, no special organs — only the fragile, ordinary remains of a hen. Karim dropped to his knees. His heart sank. He had killed the very creature that had lifted him from poverty — for nothing. He buried Noori behind his house, his hands shaking. The Fall The next few days were filled with silence. No more golden eggs. The helpers left. The money dried up. He sold his land, then his furniture, and finally moved back into the same old mud house where he had started. But this time, he was not poor — he was broken. The villagers whispered, “He was given a miracle… and he destroyed it with his own hands.” Ashamed and alone, Karim spent his days sitting near Noori’s grave. Every evening, he placed a small bowl of grain and fresh water there, whispering, “I’m sorry, Noori. I didn’t deserve your gift.” The Unexpected Visitor One rainy night, many months later, Karim heard a soft cluck outside his window. He rushed out and saw a little hen standing in the rain. She looked almost exactly like Noori. Shocked, he picked her up, dried her gently, and gave her a place to rest. “I won't ask anything from you,” he said to her. “You’re safe here.” The next morning, Karim went to the coop to feed her. He found a single, small, white egg — perfectly ordinary. And yet, he smiled. He knew now that some things were worth more than gold — kindness, patience, and the chance to start again. Years Later… Karim never became rich again. But he became something better — respected. He taught children in the village about honesty and gratitude. He gave away eggs and helped neighbors fix their roofs and plant their gardens. When children asked about the golden egg story, he would say: “Yes, it's true. But the real magic wasn’t the gold. It was the chance to learn that waiting is better than rushing… and that love should never be traded for greed.” The village changed too. People began to share more. They looked after their animals with extra care, and they often said, “Don’t forget what happened to Karim and the hen with the golden egg.” --- Moral of the Story: Greed can destroy the very blessings we receive. True wealth lies not in gold, but in gratitude, patience, and the courage to learn from our mistakes.
By Muhammad Bilalabout a year ago in Fiction
The Letter I Was Never Meant to Read
By Nadeem Shah I found the letter by accident. Tucked inside the back of my mother’s worn-out recipe book, behind a page smudged with gravy stains and faint ink scribbles about nutmeg, was an envelope that didn’t belong. It was brittle, yellowed with age, and sealed with a faded wax stamp I didn’t recognize.
By Nadeem Shah about a year ago in Fiction
The Night at the School Library
I usually do not get called to substitute for this school library too often for they have a list that they rotate substitutes. Usually, I worked two or three nights a month at this location. The duties are about the same as for the public and college libraries for I still reshelve some books back on the shelves, but for the most part I am basically just running the vacuum over the carpet and dusting the furniture and shelves. As I was in the far back corner, I heard that all familiar phrase just like my other nights.
By Mark Grahamabout a year ago in Fiction
