Microfiction
The Frequency of Forgetting: A Mind-Bending Science Fiction Story About Memory Loss, Quantum Consciousness, and Human Connection
"When Memories Sing" My daughter forgot me on a Tuesday morning. I was making her favorite breakfast—blueberry pancakes shaped like hearts—when Maya looked up from her plate and asked, with perfect politeness, "Who are you?"
By Ian Mark Ganut2 years ago in Fiction
A Love Beyond Words
In the vibrant town of Sonargaon, known for its ancient heritage and serene rivers, lived Alisha, a young woman whose beauty was as captivating as the morning sun reflecting off a calm lake. But Alisha's allure was not confined to her physical appearance alone. Her kindness, intelligence, and infectious laughter made her the heart of the community.
By Mirhadi Tahsin2 years ago in Fiction
Trapped by Trust. Top Story - January 2025.
"Look, mam, We've got you! Relax, Cool down... Here, clean your wound!" The policeman quickly pulled her behind the dumpster, both of them hiding and trying to remain unseen from the enemy, hearts racing as they crouched low in the shadows for safety.
By Maryam Batool2 years ago in Fiction
The Blind Date
Inspo: two bookworms get paired up on a blind date. I always loved the smell of books. The enriched knowledge within, crusted with age and weather, and yet still withholding its delirious secrets. Pages upon pages of words transcending the mere world we call reality. Meanings within symbolism so deep I couldn’t be able to reach the bottle with my toes.
By Sapphire D.B Boa2 years ago in Fiction
Strangers
Like meteors, strangers seem so distant from our daily realities, yet their life-changing impacts on our lives are as inevitable as the coming of a new day. At every new beginning in life, someone who we’ve yet to meet awaits us to introduce us to a new phase of our destiny.
By VoiceOfAnOutlier2 years ago in Fiction
A Mother's Hope
The people took the baby away. She watched them with large dark eyes, her other baby fumbling for milk. She was a decent judge of character, and knew they were trying to help. She'd never have never let them take him if she thought they intended harm. Concern flooded her bones though. That was still her baby, and it felt weird and wrong to be apart from him. Not only that, but her other baby was struggling, too. They seemed not to see it. Kind, yes, but also not very clever, to miss something that, to her, seemed so obvious. She did her best to encourage the remaining baby to drink. Plenty of milk, that's what he needed. But the hours ticked by and he grew weaker, and colder. She tried to warm him, of course, never stopped in that effort in fact, but he was slipping away. Moving less, and less. Barely crying anymore. She knew he was weakening beyond her ability to help, and she felt a special kind of desperation, the sort with an edge so keen, maybe only a mother can feel it. Perhaps those people would return for him. Perhaps (Please.) Shivering herself, January's icy teeth were deep in every muscle and every joint. Her sweet babe was a deadweight, almost, when she picked him up. The little life was fading and flickering palpably. How far would she need to carry him? It didn't matter. Resolute, she set off in the direction those people had gone, with her other baby. Perhaps she would have been able to follow them if every sense had been muffled. As if there were some mystical guiding link between mother and infant. The umbilicus might as well still have throbbed and stretched, blue and taut and tingling between them. Hours she walked, until her feet bled and her body ached. She longed to rest, to eat and drink, but the situation really was dire now. If she stopped, he would die. He might die anyway. She limped on. It was a squat and ugly building on the side of the road. Hold on, little one, she thought. She thought it hard, trying to inject Hope into him through his skin by telepathy and sheer force of will. She ignored her burning, bleeding feet and picked up the pace, hurrying this last stretch on shaking legs. They saw her coming down the road towards them, and spotted the bundle she was carrying. Somebody came out to meet her, warm towels and blankets at the ready. They took her second baby from her at the moment her legs gave way. She lay on the unforgiving street, panting hard, flanks shivering with effort and cold.
By L.C. Schäfer2 years ago in Fiction
The Ghost in the Shadows
It's now late. The pulsating heartbeat of the city can be heard through the fissures in the pavement, pulsating against the walls of buildings that have witnessed more deaths than lives. Through the shroud of cigarette smoke that envelops me like a comfortable cloak, I am able to hear the buzz of neon lights flashing all around me. I inhale deeply, the smoke enveloping my lungs and escaping into the darkness, leaving behind a taste of remorse and experiences from the past.
By QuirkTales2 years ago in Fiction
The Boy on the Roof
The boy was lanky, with a mop of unkempt hair, and a slim, laughing face. It was a great joke to him, being up there on the roof. Kids gawping up at him and pointing, teachers serious, gasping or pleading... These things only made it funnier. His eyes shone. At this moment, he felt he could do anything. Like he was soaring. Cresting an invisible wave. That must be why his feet danced closer to the edge. He wasn't thinking of falling, the injury he might suffer, or even about the consequence they would give him. Iso, maybe. Or suspension. If he had thought about it, he'd have snorted. What an absolute farce. As if not coming to school was a punishment! A lie in in the mornings. More time gaming. Sounds sweet. Closer to the edge, closer. Allow a little wobble before he danced back to relative safety away from the edge. The way they drew in sharp breaths, let out small screams. Hands clamped over mouths, or else fluttering, pleading. The Head of English had a booming voice, a bristling auburn beard, and a strict manner. The younger kids were openly frightened of him. Surely he could persuade the boy down on to safer footing? The boy wore naked delight on his face, and drank in every gaze fixed on him, and it felt there were more every moment. Buoying him up, perhaps, on that wave of approval, or at least noticement. This was like being class clown, but squared. Even in the grey January chill, he felt toasty warm. He would like to bottle this feeling! He shook his hair out of his eyes and danced close to the edge again. His foot slipped on a wet leaf, and over he went. Glee was swapped for surprise at the turn of events. His arms windmilled, almost comic in their desperation to find purchase. It shouldn't have killed him, not at this height. It should have just broken his legs. But he did land awful funny. He's all splayed out at awkward angles, blood (and this might be the most concerning part) seeping out around his shaggy head. It took a moment for the screaming to start.
By L.C. Schäfer2 years ago in Fiction
