Mystery
The Button
It appeared on Eleanor’s kitchen table at 7:03 a.m.—a smooth, red button on a steel base, gleaming like it had been buffed by a god. No note, no box, just there. Her morning coffee turned bitter with the unease of it. She didn’t touch it. Not the first day. On the second day, she circled it like prey. Pressing it might mean disaster—or salvation. Her thoughts spiraled: Was this fate? Judgment? A prank from a higher plane? By day four, the button’s presence infected everything. She lost her job. Friends stopped calling. The world grew distant, unfocused. All that mattered was the choice. “Push me,” the silence begged. On day seven, she did. There was no flash. No sound. Just a blink—like the world skipped a frame. Nothing changed. Until everything did. --- It started small: she knew things before they happened. A teacup fell before her cat touched it. The mailman tripped and she gasped before he stumbled. Then it escalated. She began shifting. She'd walk through a door in Brooklyn and end up in Prague. Time buckled. She watched herself reading in her apartment while standing across the street in the rain. And voices. Whispers in mirrors. Her reflection smiled when she didn’t. Terrified, Eleanor tried to destroy the button. Smashed it with a hammer, burned it in her fireplace. It remained pristine. Unbreakable. Watching. She sought help. Scientists, shamans, priests—no one could explain the anomaly or stop the shifts. Everyone who tried vanished. It was a curse, she decided. She’d meddled with a force too vast, too alien. But then—clarity. A voice inside her skull, not hers, but familiar. “You're not Eleanor.” --- Memories she’d never lived began unfurling: A council of architects in a white dimension. Discussions of probability strands. The experiment: Earth-32. A simulated life coded into a shell named “Eleanor.” She wasn’t real. She was the test. And the button? The control mechanism. A trigger for awakening. A contingency. She tore through documents in the simulation’s government archives. Found a facility in Nevada matching coordinates hidden in her dreams. Inside: more buttons. Hundreds. Thousands. Each labeled with names: Marcus, Priya, Lu Chen, Eleanor. Hers glowed red. The others? Dim. She stood before a console marked: “RESET.” And a file opened on the screen: "Simulation #928. Subject achieved partial awakening. Reality integrity compromised. Initiate memory wipe or full reboot." There were only two options. Her finger hovered—then slammed the red “RESET” button again. --- Everything vanished. Except a kitchen table. A smooth, red button. And a woman sipping coffee. Unaware. Until 7:03 a.m.
By Reshal Manzoor 2 years ago in Fiction
Hourglass
He didn’t know whether to stay in or go out. Outside did not look good, it was like a dark rain, but he couldn’t be bothered to go to the window. He had a cup of tea and the television was on, full of infotainment and infoverts, which was enough to keep his braid occupied.
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred 2 years ago in Fiction
The Snow Weavers. Runner-Up in 500 Word Shockwave Challenge. Top Story - April 2025.
It was summer when the snow fell. I was only 8. I'd never seen snow before, except in videos and online. But from my bedroom window, I saw a white dusting. No, heavier than a dusting... A blanket, like linen laid across the yard and into the fields beyond the fence.
By Addison Alder2 years ago in Fiction
The Pull of The Glowing Red
From her bedroom window, the night sky, a watercolor painted by nature, dazzled her eyes as Rena drifted off to sleep She awoke, from her point of view, almost immediately in a strange yet familiar place. As a cloud drifted towards her, shrouding her in its cotton-candy, white majesty, she noted the moon was closer than it was before she closed her heavy eyelids.
By Paul Stewart2 years ago in Fiction
Lake of Blood: A Warrior’s Final Reckoning
The world above had long since forgotten the deep, uncharted caverns that lay beneath. A place where light dared not tread, and where the echoes of the past whispered like ghosts among the jagged stones. It was a realm where no living soul ventured, for fear of what might emerge from the shadows. Yet, in the darkest reaches of the earth, a figure stirred.
By Abdul Wahab2 years ago in Fiction
The Reflection Knows: A Mirror's Truth Can Shatter Reality
The Reflection Knows: A Mirror's Truth Can Shatter Reality The old mirror hums along with a diminished, persistent bass. I'm going to inherit it from my grandmother, who always warns me that it's too deep. '' I'll laugh, of course:). The story of the old woman.
By Sazia Afreen Sumi2 years ago in Fiction
Where Promises Wait
Mira sat on the same weathered bench under the orange tree in the town square at precisely 4:30 PM every day. She melted into the rhythm of the place, part mystery, part scenery, wrapped in a fraying gray shawl and her cane resting next to her like an old friend.
By The Waiting Tree2 years ago in Fiction
