Mystery
See the world through touch
Alex had always been a man of vision. As a young boy, he'd spent countless hours lost in the world of art, his fingers tracing the lines of masterpieces and his imagination soaring beyond the canvas. But fate, with a cruel twist, had a different plan. A sudden accident left him with a scarred eye, a constant reminder of the fragility of perfection.
By Tales by J.J.2 years ago in Fiction
Sunset Cove
The salty air of Sunset Cove whispered tales of bygone days, a stark contrast to the silence echoing in my newly retired life. My name is Rohan, and the structured world of marketing meetings had been my reality for decades. Now, adrift in a sea of unstructured time, I found myself drawn to the rhythmic crash of waves against the shore.
By Tales by J.J.2 years ago in Fiction
Amari's journey . Content Warning.
Roots Beneath the Surface Amari always loved the summer block party in his neighborhood. People came out in droves, filling the street with music, laughter, and the smell of barbecues. Kids raced up and down on bikes, grandmothers shared family recipes, and everyone felt like they belonged to one big family. Yet every year, a little part of him felt like he was performing for an invisible audience. His heart held the knowledge, too big and heavy for his eight-year-old body, that no matter how much everyone around him celebrated his presence here, the wider world would not always feel the same. Amari’s father had started giving him “the talk” when he was only five, and every year since then, he’d had another layer added, like bricks to a wall. “When you go outside, don’t run in public. People will think you’re running from something, even if you’re just having fun,” he’d say. “And never reach for anything in a store without asking first.” Amari’s father wasn’t bitter when he said it, only sad and serious, making Amari promise to remember these lessons. One Saturday, Amari’s mother took him to the mall for a back-to-school shopping trip. He was feeling a little braver, a little more grown-up. He had just turned nine the week before and had received his first real watch as a gift. As he passed a jewelry store, his eyes lingered on a watch display with fancy designs that looked even nicer than his own. The sleek metal bands and tiny dials looked like something from another world. Unable to resist, he reached out to touch the glass, pressing his fingers against it, marveling at the details. “Hey!” a voice snapped. Startled, Amari turned to see a store employee glaring at him. “What are you doing here?” she demanded. The hostility in her voice chilled him. He looked around, unsure of what he’d done wrong. Before he could answer, his mother appeared at his side, having seen the commotion from across the hall. “Is there a problem here?” she asked, her voice polite but firm. “I just wanted to make sure he wasn’t… getting any ideas,” the employee replied, her eyes still narrowed. Amari’s mother looked at him, then back at the woman. “He’s just a kid,” she said, a trace of sadness coloring her words. They walked away, but Amari could feel his mother’s grip on his hand tighten, like she was holding onto him with everything she had. The ride home was quiet, but that evening, Amari found his father outside, sitting on the porch. He joined him, and they sat together in silence until Amari finally asked, “Dad, why did she look at me like that? I wasn’t doing anything wrong.” His father sighed and placed a heavy arm around his shoulders. “Son, sometimes people look at you and see what they want to see, not who you really are. They don’t know your heart, but they think they do because of the color of your skin.” “But that’s not fair,” Amari whispered, tears prickling his eyes. He hated feeling small, feeling like his world was different just because of something he couldn’t change. “No, it’s not,” his father said. “And I wish I could say that it’ll get easier. But the world isn’t fair, and that’s why you have to be strong. Strong enough to know that you are more than anyone’s judgment, stronger than any assumption someone might make about you.” As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with orange and purple streaks, Amari felt a kind of strength he hadn’t before. His father’s words were heavy but real, like the bricks he’d been given each year. And he knew he would carry them, would build himself up with them, and in time, grow into someone his father would be proud of. The next summer at the block party, Amari joined the laughter, the games, and the joy with a new understanding. Yes, he would always live in a world where some people saw his skin before his soul. But in his own neighborhood, surrounded by the people who knew his heart, he could feel his true self radiate, a strength that ran deep, like roots beneath the surface, unseen but unbreakable.
By Javel samuels2 years ago in Fiction
Shadows of Celebration
The celebration was in full swing. After what seemed like endless darkness, the war finally felt like it was ending. People danced, laughed, and enjoyed food together. I joined the line to get something to eat, wanting to be part of the joy and relief that filled the air. When I reached the front, the woman serving food looked at me with a cold, judgmental stare and handed me only a small portion. She looked at me as though I were poor, just because of my simple clothes. She didn’t know I came from a wealthy family, that my father was a man of great means. I felt a wave of disappointment and wanted to tell her, “If you knew who I am, you’d treat me differently.” But I held back, not wanting to waste my time.
By lili funny2 years ago in Fiction
New information has come to light...
Bethan I've had a text from Dave! Weird. He wants to meet. I'm "working" from home because, well, I couldn't think before meeting with Luke tonight, knew I'd get nothing done. I'm going through what he might tell me in my head and my focus is skewed. Nothing else seems relevant.
By Rachel Deeming2 years ago in Fiction
