Mystery
The Oldest Oak. Top Story - March 2024.
"I don't like these woods," Dafydd muttered. They had a presence that unnerved him. It wasn't the darkness; it wasn't the smell of them nor was it the unidentifiable shufflings, rustlings and creakings. It was something more and his instinct was twitching spasmodically in response and transmitting its vibrations to his gut. The air felt thicker and more hesitant to part and whilst his movement was unhindered, he felt enclosed on all sides.
By Rachel Deeming3 years ago in Fiction
Mindless; Chapter 15
When I wake up, I'm lying on Eren. One of his arms is wrapped around me. I scan my surroundings with my eyes without moving. The rising sun paints the sky in pale reds and oranges. It's peaceful and quiet. I let my eyes slip shut once more, wanting to fully enjoy the quiet.
By Katarzyna Crevan3 years ago in Fiction
Lucy's Crazy Day Off
Lucy reviewed her to-do list in her head. Inside the house, she had to do the dishes, do the laundry, make her bed, etc. Outside the house, she needed to get groceries and drop off a package. Her at-home chores took little time to accomplish. Lucy lived alone and was a pretty clean person. Checking that she had everything she needed, including her shopping list, she picked up the package and exited the car. Lucy entered, placed the package and purse into the passenger seat, and started the engine. Three dings, and she looked down at the dash, sighing. The sensors in the tires said her rear left tire was low.
By S.N. Evans3 years ago in Fiction
The Weaver of Truths
A towing whispering and tricky construct town Elyria was. Lures of this kind of melodramatic fraud, as damaging as magic, were spreading everywhere around. Entrepreneurs piled up stuff that had nothing to do with realities, orators constructed speeches which were lying, and even a warm welcome was delivered with a somebody's secret assignment. And in this world truth is a thing which has been forgotten. It is like a ghost which was forgotten long ago and now left only as a refrain of a forgotten poem in the corners of libraries.
By Ishraq Ahmed Hashmi3 years ago in Fiction
The Night Everything Vanished
Sofia was a busy university student who never had time to tidy her wardrobe. Instead of neatly hanging her clothes, she'd often toss them around. Even though she had a lot of clothes, she always ended up wearing the same few outfits. She didn't realize her clothes were unhappy with her careless behaviour.
By Ameer Bibi3 years ago in Fiction
The Conspiracy Brains Here's How Theorists Differ From One Another
You don't have to search far in our hyperconnected society to find someone promoting conspiracy theories, from the classic Flat Earth movement to QAnon "truthers" and anti-vaccine fanatics. Friends and relatives are frequently shocked when someone slips into the dark world of conspiracies. After all, how can a once sensible person become convinced that dinosaurs don't exist? Psychology, though, may have a solution.
By Francis Dami3 years ago in Fiction
Trees Don't Lie. Content Warning.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX The old woman and her son had dreamed almost the same dream. Their dreams had disturbed them greatly, so they shared their individual encounters, their night visions, with care and trepidation to one another. Neither one really wanted to sound the thoughts that their brains were somehow trying to bury. Those thoughts demanded to be heard and seen, just the same though. There had to be some relief from the horror of what they had witnessed in that state of sleep consciousness. Maybe by exposing them they could take the heaviness off their shoulders?
By Shirley Belk3 years ago in Fiction
Black Jungle
Black Jungle I thought I had seen the worst thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Young as I may be, I’ve combed the tired beach of my home of a freshly lost battle, washing to shore for coin to eat off of. How appalling it was to watch a coach run in flames, the owner’s whereabouts unknown, locked to two exhausted horses, choosing a cliff to fix their unfortunate circumstances. Take today. I came across the heads of former comrades posted at the entrance to the fork side that I wished I had time to look closer at before trying to lose my pursuers. That I did, if not immediately on the reputation of the path of Noir Libertalia, the three that stayed on my horse’s ass dropped out in screams faster than I can swear I’m going. Trees creaked like they were discovering applause as I tried not to consider that some of those branches were bones. And I must admit that the severed foot that landed in my lap, boot slid away before the foot; the worst thing I’ve ever smelled, of course. No. The worst thing I’ve seen was a minute ago, which was my horse’s ass shitting itself, fading into the fog-laced trees without me. Lost in the coldest part of the night; what a night my thievery has led me into?!
By Willem Indigo3 years ago in Fiction
