Psychological
The Last Message from My Future Self
It started with a simple email titled: "READ THIS—From Future You." At first, I laughed. Probably spam, or some over-the-top prank. But the sender's name froze me—my name. Same Gmail account I hadn’t used in five years. Curious, I opened it. The message was short but unsettling:
By Musawir Shahabout a year ago in Fiction
Guardians And Angels | Chapter Five | (Part 17)
The Friday night before Halloween during my seventh-grade year is a night I won’t be able to forget for a few lifetimes, if ever. I imagine my soul will wake up three lives from now, with fleeting scenes of this bittersweet night running through my mind, and I'll hold my hand to my heart, trying to quench the pangs and stop the unbearable clenching, not remembering why.
By Christopher Dubbsabout a year ago in Fiction
Parenting 2.0
The chairman of the committee tapped a spoon on the thin, fluted champagne glass in his hand and the room fell silent. “Thank you all for attending today. I wish that it was for a much happier and joyful occasion, but we all saw this coming. And we all wish the man behind the vision the best in whatever remains after his time here.”
By Kendall Defoe about a year ago in Fiction
Episode 3: 24 Hours Earlier
So the bell rang. That’s how it started. Third period was just ending, and the scent of disinfectant and burnt popcorn clung to the air like a warning nobody read. Hallways buzzed with teenage nonsense, and the vending machine kept swallowing dollars like nothing was wrong. Then came the sound.
By Paper Lanternabout a year ago in Fiction
The Girl from Aisle Thirteen
The Stranger in the Red Coat Rain trickled down the dusty windowpane, tracing jagged paths as if the sky itself couldn’t decide how to weep. Inside the tiny bookshop on 3rd and Wren, a boy named Eli sat cross-legged behind the counter, flipping through a dog-eared notebook filled with scribbles, sketches, and dreams. He had worked there for only three weeks, but every hour felt like home.
By Echoes by Shafi--about a year ago in Fiction
We Were the Last Two Dreamers in a City That Stopped Sleeping
The city hadn’t slept in twenty-seven years. Sleep was outlawed after the Dream Collapse — when the government decided that dreams were dangerous, unpredictable, and treasonous. “Order is built in waking,” they told us. “Dreams make rebels of men.” And so, they erased them.
By Abuzar khanabout a year ago in Fiction
"The Last Thought She Never Had"
Margaret sat by the window, the soft light of the late afternoon casting long shadows across her small, cluttered apartment. Outside, the city buzzed with life—people hurrying home, children playing in the park, cars honking in the distance. But inside, silence reigned. The clock ticked steadily on the wall, counting down the moments she had left.
By junaid aliabout a year ago in Fiction
