Microfiction
Supernatural Mysteries Unraveled in Willowbrook
Once upon a time, in the quaint town of Willowbrook, there were rumors of strange occurrences. Lights flickered without cause, eerie whispers echoed through empty streets at night, and shadows seemed to dance in the moonlight. But amidst the mystery, a group of teenagers—Emma, Alex, Maya, and Liam—decided to unravel the secrets lurking in their town.
By James Fareke2 years ago in Fiction
Erasure
This will be my last entry, I'm sure of it. I can barely feel the keys under my fingertips. If I look this way, my fingers look solid enough and the keys look ghostly, like they aren't fully of this dimension. Or they are hardly real at all. If I look this way, the keys look normal and it's me that looks translucent and hardly-there. It's the latter that's true. I'm certain of it. It started with Facebook. Those little blue thumbs. Then Insta, and the hearts. Then tiktok, and twitter, and threads and and and... I'd post a picture where I looked good, or thin, or sexy, or.... And wait for those responses, emojis, comments.. I'd say what I think or how I felt, leaning heavily on the affirmation. I felt seen. I felt real. You can't go sexy too often, though. There's a limit, and then people turn away. A hospital shot, or alluding to some other crisis works as long as it's only occasionally. Cute pets is a good staple. Little did I know that this would become an addiction, and I'd need a greater hit to feel the same effect. Or that, over time, I'd need a pretty big hit even to reach '"normal". That the come-down was leaving me feeling less connected and less seen than ever, and I was spending longer down there in that trough. I know now: this is a feature, not a bug, of all those sites and apps I was using. My friends, if they are friends, haven't said anything. Out of politeness, probably. But they don't see me. Can't see me. When we are out together, you know, in person, I feel invisible. Their eyes skitter over me, see through me, or avoid me completely. There's a reason for that. Deep in the pit of addiction now, when those likes fall short. Because I posted less often, or my thoughts clash with the hive mind. When the algorithm squeezes me... I'm not seen. Not real. I fade. I don't just want views and engagement. I need them. Really need them. I need you to see me. Please. Otherwise this will be my final entry. Even now, my fingers are passing through the keys half the time. + + + + + + + + + + + + Word count, excluding note: 366 Submitted on 4th June at 22.30
By L.C. Schäfer2 years ago in Fiction
Embracing Isolation: A Way to Self-Disclosure and Development. Content Warning.
In the rushing about of present day life, isolation is frequently misconstrued and dreaded. The section above embodies a significant acknowledgment about isolation and its ground-breaking power. It proposes that individuals are not genuinely terrified of being distant from everyone else but instead of being with themselves, confronting their deepest contemplations and fears. This reflection opens a passage to investigating the instructive worth of isolation and how it very well may be outfit for self-improvement and self-disclosure.
By MD.KAMRUL HOSEN2 years ago in Fiction
The Politician. Content Warning.
He was relaxing in his deckchair when he felt the cold steel on his chest. He had been dreaming about a nubile young woman. It was less about who she was and more about the fact that she desired him, Bruno Jackson, retired MP. He had felt stirrings in the old boy as he dozed but was relieved that in this moment of vulnerability, he was barely tumescent. There were some positives to getting old or at least, where certain situations required it.
By Rachel Deeming2 years ago in Fiction
157 — It All Adds Up: (94% + 6%) ÷ 100% = Me
THE DATA: 94% of people self-report being above average.6% of people self-report they are below average, but are above average in self-reporting. The 94% of people self-reporting to be above average are actually below average in self-reporting.
By Gerard DiLeo2 years ago in Fiction
The Echoes of Whispers . AI-Generated.
The Echoes of Whispers The Dream Every night, Daniel finds himself in the same place: a desolate forest shrouded in mist, the moon's pallid light filtering through the twisted branches of ancient trees. The air is thick, almost tangible, with an eerie stillness that seems to muffle even his own breath. As he treads carefully over the damp, moss-covered ground, the sound of his footsteps is absorbed by the oppressive silence. The forest is a labyrinth, its pathways shifting subtly each time he visits, but always leading him to the same destination.
By Anthony Chinedu2 years ago in Fiction
The Last Transmission
Maggie Harper remained at the edge of the broken down dock, the bone chilling breeze from Lake Prevalent gnawing through her fleece coat. She pulled the collar higher around her neck, her eyes fixed on the dim, uneven waters. This spot, the once-clamoring port town of Iron Safe house, had been deserted for quite a long time after the steel plant shut down, and presently it was a phantom town. Maggie had grown up here, however she never figured she would return — particularly not under these conditions.
By Nurul Afsar2 years ago in Fiction
