Psychological

Small World
I don’t want to set the story’s tone by detailing the weather. I can’t stand the cliche of it. But winters in New York are so depressing. That angelic, fluffy, pristine snow lasts for about two days before it becomes a slushy, black mess. It’s December. Only six months to go until I’m back in Rhodes. Until I’m away from this wholesome life I’m supposed to call home. I’m craving something that will keep me up at night—someone who can look at me like I’m still worth undressing, remind my body it’s still alive. My husband is great in New York . But in Greece—I want nothing to do with my current life. I’ve asked myself what I’m missing here that I have to fly eight hours away to find it. It’s not about sex. It’s not about feeling free either, or pretending I’m twenty-something again. It’s more about being seen. Being understood. About someone knowing who I was before I became whatever this is that I am now. A stay-at-home wife—mother— bitch . My husband gets to keep his social life. So two weeks every July, I earned the privilege to fly to the island and leave everyone. It's a shame, though—how adventure can equate to such sadness.
By tatiana vitas2 months ago in Fiction
Season of the Out. Content Warning.
Priscilla always thought adulthood would eventually calm down. Maybe not peaceful, but at least predictable. Instead, her life had turned into a year‑round carnival run by raccoons, children, and whatever cosmic intern was in charge of her fate.
By Syl De'Vil2 months ago in Fiction
Storage Shed
You go to the shed for a table leaf. That’s it. That’s the entire mission. A simple retrieval operation. A three‑minute task. Something so basic it doesn’t even qualify as a chore. You’ve survived gate guard at 0300, CQ shifts that felt like psychological warfare, and the kind of family chaos that should earn hazard pay. A shed should not be a threat.
By Syl De'Vil2 months ago in Fiction
Aurelius Ascends. Top Story - September 2026.
Aurelius Ascends had spent the best part of fifteen years shifting from a single figment of a dream to a glossy digital image on a one-hundred-inch computer screen, eventually realized by SpaceCorp's head designer, Lisa Scanlon, and put on the drawing board.
By Jonathan Townend2 months ago in Fiction
The Rotting Wreaths of Winterveil. Top Story - September 2026.
It was a truly tacit place, Winterveil —with unpredictable, looping weather and calendars that barely rang true. You would think students had grown accustomed to living such a life, but most of them had no idea, no clue of what world they had been born into.
By K.H. Obergfoll2 months ago in Fiction
Future Disguise
How does a dream that’s interpreted as a miracle become a nightmare in reality? A question that Ruemaq had in mind when his eyes shot wide open. His skin was extremely slippery and the bed allowed his body to crease itself into a puddle. Ruemaq rested his hand on his forehead. “What is up with the heat today?!”
By Devond Devoe2 months ago in Fiction
What If You Don't Need All The Answers?
Impermanence and Illusion: A Mind Without Conclusions By Chase McQuade I would like to begin this discussion in utmost sincerity and seriousness. I have seen endless, cyclical debates about the illusion that Buddhism points toward, and with it, the notion of impermanence. I believe a terrible misconception has settled around these ideas. They have become generalized abstractions, repeated with predetermined conclusions, often without the discussion that might reveal what we have actually understood.
By Chase McQuade2 months ago in Fiction
Grim Reaping is not what it used to be!
"Grim Reaping is not what it used to be". Grumbled Fate. His fingers felt like they were getting Carpal tunnel syndrome from the constant and non-stop journaling. There was a definite pressure on the median nerve in the wrist, leading to pain, numbness, tingling, and weakness in his hand and fingers.
By Novel Allen2 months ago in Fiction
THE TIFFIN
Whenever people in the Railway Colony spoke Dev's name, they sighed first and lowered their voices, looking over their shoulders as if the boy might appear from the steam of the passing trains.
By Hasmukh Goyani2 months ago in Fiction
Wrong Identity
"If you touch that dial again, I am personally going to throw your phone into the swimming pool," Elias said, leaning over the dashboard of the rusted sedan.
By Forest Green2 months ago in Fiction
Silent Night, Holy Sh*t
I'm feeling lost. I'll tell you why, if you don't mind listening to an old guy rant. My dear wife of 48 years, Elizabeth, passed away almost a year ago, right after Christmas. She was my life. My all. I was sure we'd make it 50 years together, but alas, it wasn't meant to be.
By Julie Lacksonen2 months ago in Fiction
The Door at the End of the Hall
The Door at the End of the Hall You have lived in this house for six months. You have never been in this room. The door isn’t locked. That’s the first thing: your hand on the knob, standing in the hall. You’d always assumed it was locked, never wondered why. It isn’t. It’s just a door, like any other door, the knob cool and brass, turning easily under your palm.
By Jin2 months ago in Fiction