Psychological
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
Bombing Nagasaki
You Are Here challenge: Prompt - Write a story entirely in second person that puts the reader somewhere they aren't supposed to be. Second person puts the reader inside the story. You don't watch someone else cross a line. You do. Write a story entirely in second person that puts "you" somewhere you aren't supposed to be. Maybe you've wandered into the wrong room, shown up where you weren't invited, crossed a boundary you didn't know was there, or found yourself in a situation you have no business being part of. Wherever you end up, make the second-person perspective matter. Use "you" to close the distance between the reader and the story, and make that feeling of being somewhere you shouldn't be impossible to shake.
By Denise E Lindquist2 months ago in Fiction
The Stroke of Midnight 8
Since I am getting my footing back after being sort of froze, I decided to walk around the room. The room became eerily quiet again, but I went around and studied the room. I noticed an old art book on pottery that was opened to a page on masks. I continued to walk around. Out the eeriness the sound of creaking began, and I began looking around for there was an old rocking chair that I forgot I put in this room rocking with a mask smiling at me. The rocking seemed to rock faster. Glancing at the book now.
By Mark Graham2 months ago in Fiction
Just a Taste Part 16. Content Warning.
Ch 16: Just a Taste Dylan December 21st, 2024- Woodside Motel- 7:22 AM The two of us ate in silence. An undercurrent of tension and uncertainty filled the air. My hands trembled as I finished the tasteless eggs and slightly overcooked toast.
By Rain Dayze2 months ago in Fiction
The Stroke of Midnight 7
There I was stuck somehow to the floor with masks Ying and Yang slowly approaching. I remembered reading something for my research and I wondered. Masks freeze where you are and let me know what you want. So, mote it be. I know a book of spells who knows, but it worked. The masks stopped and froze and then I stepped forward. I asked Ying 'Well.' The mask stared. I asked Yang 'Well'. It just stared. I walked around the room studied and it for maybe some answers for why this room and not the other room they were at.
By Mark Graham2 months ago in Fiction
The First Snow
Twenty years ago, a snowflake fell on a sweltering July night. The befuddled residents of Crescent Cove emerged from their beach homes and wooden cottages to find a crisp breeze drifting snowflakes across the beach, sidewalks, and rooftops. They melted within moments of landing, soaking into the sand, drying on a child’s outstretched hand, leaving no trace they had ever been there. Abigail Monroe slept through the night that snowed in July, but awoke the next morning to find her mother, Carol Monroe, had vanished with the snow—every year since, the snow returns to Monroe House but not Crescent Cove.
By Britt Blomster 2 months ago in Fiction
The Snow in July
The snow began on the seventeenth of July. At first, Daniel thought it was ash. He was standing outside the apartment building at 8:43 in the evening, staring at his phone, when the first white speck landed on the back of his hand. It melted instantly. Another touched his wrist.
By ANTICHRIST SUPERSTAR2 months ago in Fiction
The Stroke of Midnight 6
While I was standing there stuck it seems there was what I called Ying and Yang just daring me to move. That is the feeling that I was receiving. Why do I think this aren't they just papier-mache masks. I wonder what would happen if I threw water on them. I needed to find a way to move. This is a dream, I think, and I am only sleepwalking, I am. Just let me close my eyes for a little while and open them to see what happens and maybe I will awake in my bed with no worries. Go.
By Mark Graham2 months ago in Fiction
