Mystery
Another night at the Children's library
Got called in to work another night shift at the Children's library. I really do not mind for that place is really just fun to be in with all the colors and pictures on the walls, as well as the little tables and chairs. These can be hard to clean up depending on what the staff has the kids doing. As usual the first duty is as like in adult family libraries reshelving the books is the first to be done. As I was once again, going up and down the stacks there was that whisper again of "Read the book. Read the book." At times I am actually expecting to hear the whispers now.
By Mark Grahamabout a year ago in Fiction
The Girl in 2D. AI-Generated.
I. Arrival on Floor 2D That Wednesday afternoon shouldâve been routine. I was new to the office buildingâjust another intern with a passcard and too much anxiety. The elevator was slow, creaking as it rose, and when it stopped between the second and third floor, the doors opened to something unexpected.
By Fareed khanabout a year ago in Fiction
''In My Mind, A New World''
In my mind, a new world bloomsânot with noise and chaos, but with a quiet kind of magic. The kind that lives between thoughts, beneath dreams, and behind every closed eye. This world doesnât follow the rules of the one we wake to each morning. Gravity isnât a law, time isnât a tyrant, and no one has to hide the strange parts of themselves. In my world, strangeness is celebrated. It's the currency of connection. There are cities carved from crystal and rainclouds that float like zeppelins. The skies change color with emotion. If you're sad, the sun softens its light and bathes the world in lavender. If you're angry, the clouds hum with storm-energyânot destructive, but cleansing, like a thunderstorm for the soul. The people here? They're not people, not exactly. Some have wings like ravens, some wear vines instead of clothes. Others are made of flame but never burn. They speak in poems, in pulses of color, or in music only your heart understands. No one lies here. They donât need to. Vulnerability is strength, not weakness. You donât armor yourself with sarcasm or politeness. You say what you feel, and the world listens gently. Pain is met with presence. Joy is shared like bread. Thereâs no money in this worldânot in the way we know it. You trade memories, laughter, stories. If someone paints a mural in the town center, you thank them with a song or a secret. Everyone gives. Everyone receives. Balance is natural here, not something we legislate. Animals speakânot with words, but with knowing. A fox might guide you through your fears. A whale might sing you to sleep. Even the trees have voices, whispering ancient lullabies to anyone who dares to sit still long enough to listen. Technology exists here, but not to dominate. It harmonizes. There are floating lanterns that follow you through dark woods. There are mirrors that show you your best self when youâve forgotten who you are. There are staircases that only appear when youâre truly ready to rise. You donât age the same way here. Your body reflects your spirit, not your years. If your heart is young, you dance like someone just gave you legs. If youâve lived deeply, your eyes glow with galaxies. In my mind, the concept of âotherâ doesnât exist. Love flows freelyânot labeled or boxed. You can love many, or one, or none at all, and still be whole. Identity is fluid. You can change your name with the seasons. You can be moonlit today and wildfire tomorrow. No one asks for explanations. They just witness you. And when grief arrives, as it always must, it is not shamed or hidden. There are temples where you can sit with it. Waters that carry it gently away when you're ready. Youâre never told to "move on." Youâre asked only to move with itâuntil it becomes part of your song. This world is not perfect. There is still struggle. But here, struggle doesnât mean suffering alone. Community is not something you buildâitâs something you remember. In my mind, a new world grows like moss on ancient stone. Quiet. Persistent. Alive. And maybe, just maybe, this world doesnât have to stay only in my mind. Maybe it can leak into the spaces between this worldâthe real one. Maybe we start with a conversation that feels more like a connection. A look that lingers a little longer. A moment where someone says, âI see you,â and means it. Maybe we build it not with bulldozers and budgets, but with bravery. With imagination. With the audacity to believe that kindness can be more than a gestureâit can be a revolution. Maybe your world looks different than mine. Thatâs okay. Thereâs room for all of them. Thatâs the beauty of a mind that dreams new realities. Every vision is a seed. And every seed is a possible beginning. So tell me: In your mind⊠What does your new world look like?
By Israr khanabout a year ago in Fiction
The Unparalleled Divine Doctor: Chapter 12 In Jiangzhou, he is the God
Several security guards quickly surrounded Ye Qiu, rolled up their sleeves, and seemed ready to take action at any time. Bai Bing said anxiously: "Vice President Guo, Ye Qiu is from our surgery department, can you give me some face?"
By Huaxun Literatureabout a year ago in Fiction
