Psychological
Stitch: The Wire Song.. Content Warning.
The winter hunger isn't a rumble in your belly; it is a hollow, driving madness that consumes your entire mind. For six grueling months, you haven't been a girl named Sara. You haven't worn your heavy hiking boots or thought about a home back in Maine. Something deep and unexplainable broke inside your psyche under the weight of everything that you carry, and you fled, trapped entirely inside the thick, striking coat of a fox.
By Syl De'Vil2 months ago in Fiction
Stitch:The Alpine Crimson
The biting, sub‑zero wind howling across the Swiss Alps didn’t just freeze the skin; it carved straight into the bone. For miles in every direction, the landscape was a blinding, desolate canvas of white and jagged grey peak. The winter air was so thin it felt like breathing shattered glass, carrying nothing but the lonely roar of the wind and the constant threat of an avalanche.
By Syl De'Vil2 months ago in Fiction
Stitch: Winter Freeze of '96
The regional BMX track outside of Orlando was a chaotic, dust-choked ring of adrenaline and family friction in late October of 1996. The heat was sitting at a sweltering ninety-two degrees, the thick Florida air smelling heavily of fried concessions, melting tire rubber, and copper-rich dirt. Ted sat on a folding lawn chair near the starting gate, a pair of dark aviators hiding his critical gaze as he watched the brackets warm up. Next to him, Lisa was meticulously organizing the cooler, ensuring the sports drinks were perfectly packed in ice.
By Syl De'Vil2 months ago in Fiction
Stitch. Out of Season
After four weeks of trying to stitch herself back into a life she barely remembered, Sara Foxgrave starts to realize that whatever followed her home isn’t done with her. Maine is supposed to be safe. Normal. Predictable. But when a summer flower blooms in the dead of October, Sara learns that reality has no intention of staying in its lane.
By Syl De'Vil2 months ago in Fiction
Nothing To Lose Part 8
Unable to find their second victim, Jonas and Danny split their focus, and Jonas ends up in a dangerous situation. Part 8 Footsteps echoed through the building, bouncing against the vaulted ceilings as the sounds rose from the marble floors. There was only one person sitting in a pew. An older woman, come to pray for her ailing husband. The priest was at his altar, working on a sermon and barely acknowledging the door to the church opening. He looked up, just long enough, that he could see that it was Michael. Father Michael had returned.
By Jason Morton2 months ago in Fiction
Rose’s Thorny Ward
Chapter 1 Recently, took a taxi ride. The driver was a garrulous older guy with a patchy beard, wispy mustache, laugh lines - all of this I saw in the rear view mirror. TG, Taxi Guy, wore a wrinkled, sweat stained Yankees baseball cap backwards. Maybe he wants to be sure his fares are properly presented with the bill. * shrug* . Where was I going? Where was I coming from? Neither is pertinent to this tale. I came from Nothing and was enroute to Nowhere. Fine - I was coming from a funeral and headed to an empty flat. A funeral decorated with a single dead rose, attended by a forlorn cast off.
By Andrew C McDonald2 months ago in Fiction
The Bloom of Broadfen
The Bloom of Broadfen The frost of January did not merely descend upon the parish of Broadfen; it paralysed the landscape, blanching the thatch of the cottages and hardening the deep ruts of the sheep lanes into unyielding ridges. It had been a season of unbroken misery. A spiteful summer had ruined the wheat, leaving the ears bitter and sour. Now the grim hold of winter was stealing the last gristle of life from the village. The cold had cut slowly, like the paring iron Old Creech used to shave the leather when the parish had had cattle. It did not merely chill; it altered the framework of the flesh. It froze the breath in the throat until the lungs felt still as wicker and locked the joints of the labourers into rigid, unnatural angles that no fire could warm. When the frail, or elderly, succumbed in their beds, they bypassed the ease of sleep, hardening instantly into the likeness of grey stone.
By Alyson Smith 2 months ago in Fiction
The Carousel Opened in February
The carousel should have been asleep. Everyone in Bellweather knew that. From October until Easter, the amusement pier belonged to wind, salt, and gulls. The ticket booths were boarded shut. The arcade machines stood unplugged behind metal shutters. The roller coaster collected rain in its empty seats. Even the painted horses on the old carousel were wrapped in gray canvas, their bright mouths hidden from winter.
By Alain SUPPINI2 months ago in Fiction
The Glitch
I know you better than you think. I know you are a people pleaser. You’ve never once in your life sent a food order back in a restaurant for fear of upsetting someone. You practically step off the sidewalk to get out of the way for oncoming groups of people.
By Scott Christenson🌴2 months ago in Fiction
See you in May
At 9:13 p.m., I told my husband I wanted everyone to disappear. Not forever. I didn’t say forever. I was standing barefoot in the kitchen, scraping burnt breadcrumbs from my stainless steel pan into the sink while my husband was clearing the dinner table. Late night tonight. Cold for January—even for us here in Florida.
By tatiana vitas2 months ago in Fiction
