Psychological
The Sleep Experiment
The Sleep Experiment When dreams become a battlefield between man and machine by Alex Mario The lights in Room 9 never turned off completely. They dimmed just enough to trick the human brain into thinking it was safe to close its eyes. On the far side of the glass, Dr. Evelyn Ross monitored the sleeping subjects, her face illuminated by screens full of neural activity patterns—each pulse and spike a tiny flicker of someone’s dream.
By Alex Marioabout a year ago in Fiction
The Whisper Code
The Whisper Code Every night, her radio speaks in her dead husband’s voice — giving her coordinates she shouldn’t follow. The rain hadn’t stopped for three days. The air inside Mara’s small apartment smelled of damp wood and loneliness. Her husband, Lewis, had been dead for almost a year, and yet the old shortwave radio on her nightstand had started to hum again.
By Alex Marioabout a year ago in Fiction
The Eye Behind the Door
It begins with a blink. Not yours, the keyhole's. You lean toward the door and the brass narrows, then opens again, a pupil taking you in. The plate is warm, the way coins are warm after a stranger has held them. You tell yourself it’s the house breathing, wood adjusting to the evening. You tell yourself a lot of things that are almost true.
By Echoes By Jujuabout a year ago in Fiction
The People We Almost Loved
The People We Almost Loved By [Hasnain Shah] You never think much about the ones you almost loved. Not at first. They blur into the digital fog — faces you swiped left or right on, messages that fizzled into nothing, names that sounded perfect until silence took them.
By Hasnain Shahabout a year ago in Fiction
The Hunter in the Mist. AI-Generated.
The forest road was golden that evening — washed in dying light, leaves whispering like old secrets. Jonas Vale, a solitary hunter, had walked these woods for twenty years. He knew every broken branch, every deer track, every breath of wind.
By Ghanni malikabout a year ago in Fiction
Moonlight Over the Broken Village
The war had ended, but the silence it left behind was a different kind of weapon. The village of Oakhaven was a skeleton of its former self. Houses were scorched shells, the old stone bridge lay in the river like a broken spine, and the hearts of the people were as shattered as the windows they once looked through.
By Habibullahabout a year ago in Fiction
