Psychological
The Stroke of Midnight 10
Again, I looked around the room and yes, no masks, but did notice on the art book now there was a lock on it but no key. In leaving that room I wondered i they were really all gone so I searched each room and not a sign of any masks. The doorbell rang for it startled me. I answered and what did I hear. You guessed it "Trick or treat!" I did have a bowl of candy set out I doled it out to whomever came by and luckily no child had on a mask of any kind either.
By Mark Graham2 months ago in Fiction
The Stroke of Midnight 9
There we were me and 'Queen Mask' just like those old cowboy westerns standing facing each other ready to draw. The art book was open and "Queen Mask' approaching slowly. Oh, masks of the sky hear me now for the book is open so let all your friends come join you so Mote it be. The room seemed to grow thick for masks and going towards the book just like a whirlwind. As events began to settle, I took a deep breath. I looked around and everything was quiet but not like before. There were no masks anywhere. Praise be.
By Mark Graham2 months ago in Fiction
London aquarium, part 2.
Catch up on part 1: “Who are you?” - Sophie asked, looking at her reflection in the mirror. She didn’t recognise the woman in front of her any longer. Physically she was more or less the same, except the circles under her eyes looked more noticeable than usual. But her energy felt alien - who was this person, capable of lying not only to herself, but also to others? She was always better than that, genuine and truthful. “What has this city done to your heart?” - she looked into her reflection’s eyes. The girl in the mirror was staring back, not even blinking. There was sadness in her eyes, and Sophie felt a hint of compassion, self-compassion to be precise. She blinked and a tear rolled down her cheek, leaving a subtle black mascara trail behind it. Sophie looked down at her hands, and realised that she doesn’t remember when she last painted her nails, one of the most colourful things about her look. She was blessed with natural beauty, which had already attracted a considerable amount of attention, so she was never big on make up, not even on the nights out. A bit of mascara and a lip gloss was all that was needed - something that frequently annoyed her girlfriends, who needed hours to get ready. Her nails however, told a different story. Since it was always easy to look at her hands, Sophie had decided a long time ago that they shall be her canvas for the colour therapy of all sorts. And now all these colours were suddenly gone, mirroring her internal state all too well.
By Eva Smitte2 months ago in Fiction
I Began Leaving a Chair Facing the Forest
I put the chair at the edge of the clearing because there was nowhere else to put it. That was what I told people. It was an old kitchen chair, oak, heavy enough that the wind couldn't move it. I placed it twenty yards behind the house where the grass ended and the timber began, facing north into the trees.
By Jesse L Shelley2 months ago in Fiction
The Girl in Car Seven. Top Story - September 2026.
It is a normal day, unfortunately. The platform is crowded with weary souls walking fast, hoping to find marginally less full cars farther down. The regional train is deep within the poorly maintained station. The yellow paint on the metal at the edge of the platform is patchy from so many tired souls walking over its surface. The train’s crew members stand in stiff blue shirts and black pants, each an echo of the next a few cars away.
By Leigh Victoria Phan, MS, MFA2 months ago in Fiction
Good Neighbours
The carollers come at midnight on June 25. Like every year, the whole town had gone silent, waiting for the familiar thud of heavy boots on pavement. They appeared where they always did, on the Fern Street hill. They marched through town in their signature formation: three rows of three, all clad in black cloaks and heavy hoods.
By Steph Marie2 months ago in Fiction
spring has sprung (in a flowerbed of lonely, empty stems)
It’s the first day of spring here in Wellingville, but for Merryrose, it’s just another day. The morning breeze tickles her nose as she steps outside with her nose up high, her sleek, small purse slung over her slender shoulder. Her heels strike against the concrete like hammers against stone, as if she’s trying to break the pavement underneath her weight.
By angela hepworth2 months ago in Fiction
The Others We Were
The microwave chimed back to life through the hollow quiet of the house, its saccharine little tune carrying a familiarity that no longer belonged there. This time it had been six days. The blackouts had matured over the years—first lasting hours, then stretching longer until they became some unacceptably normal thing. Now the tune felt oddly misplaced, too intact for everything around it. Power had become something temporary enough to mourn while it was still on.
By Sara Elise MacDougall 2 months ago in Fiction
Epiphany. Top Story - September 2026.
The first snow was late. It fell on the fire-watchers at the Hasbaughs’ annual Epiphany tree burning. Melting flakes hissed on the Christmas trees flaming in the stone-edged pit beside the house at the top of the lawn. Neighbors had strapped the season's desiccated totems to the tops of their cars. And brought them for a final salute to another Christmas past.
By Pitt Griffin2 months ago in Fiction
Christmas In July
David scratched his temple, lips pursed, before taking another sip of cold coffee. From the nearby window, he heard the first harbingers of Spring chirp away and knew if he opened said window, he’d catch a waft of petrichor mixed with the Russian Sage he planted three years back. It was undoubtedly the start of Spring and yet here he was, staring into the eyes of the little ghost dog Halloween decoration sitting on the mantle. The thing was undoubtedly adorable, as Halloween decorations went, with its pointy ears and little trick-or-treat bucket, but he thought it was packed up with the rest of the decorations, because, as he firmly established, it was Spring. He hadn’t lost it yet. He remembered her ordering it; a memento mori of their first pup. In the moment, it seemed a little fucked up, but that decoration made sure he never forgot little Artemis.
By Matthew J. Fromm2 months ago in Fiction
Mimic
It was the start of summer, and Adam finally had his son for the weekends. He'd felt that latent competition that maybe all newly divorced parents had, wanting to give Matthew a better time with him than he'd had with Sarah (maybe, just maybe in spite of her.) On Saturday morning, they'd gone to the beach. They'd played multiple board games. They’d gone out for ice cream twice. And each night, he'd tucked Matthew in and they'd gone through the pattern he'd sorely missed (‘Love you, buddy.’ ‘Muchly?’ ‘Muchly Muchly.’)
By Raistlin Allen2 months ago in Fiction
