Psychological
Dead End Hiking. Top Story - April 2026.
I told him I wasn’t in the mood. No, not that, you dirty-minded imbecile—just not in the mood for hiking. It had rained, so the trails would be muddy, with thunderstorms looming. I was tired from a busy work week and had not slept well. He insisted, badgering me, challenging me to a duel on the mountain, and, fool for him that I am, I finally agreed after hours of cajoling.
By Andrea Corwin 7 months ago in Fiction
Here for Me
"WEIRD! I win! I’m the best!" you shout, glugging the remainder of your wine and doing your dorky little happy dance. The corners of my lips stretch almost to my ears. I look at you and my heart swells in my chest. How is it possible that this little creature is mine? MY wife! No one else’s. Mine. I know we’ve been together for years, but I still look at you like I did the first time I saw you.
By Cristal S.7 months ago in Fiction
The Beautiful Thing He Saved
He saved the painting because it was closest to the door. That was what he told people later, and for a while, it held. The fire began in the north room, somewhere behind the plaster where the wiring had been left to age quietly. By the time Frank noticed the smell, it had already taken shape. It moved without urgency, settling into the room as if it had been waiting for permission—curtains first, then wood, then the dry edges of stacked paper.
By Rick Allen7 months ago in Fiction
The Note I Cannot Read. Winner in The Unhappy Ending Challenge. Top Story - April 2026.
April 11th, 2001 I remember when poetry was young, and my voice was... fresh. I think that's the word. Fresh. A gentle summer's breeze would captivate and hold my attention as I wrought its legacy on a lazy Tuesday afternoon. I recall with glee the sound of ducks at the pond quacking for scraps of breadcrumbs from the children who had harassed their parents to leave the gardening for a few hours.
By Paul Stewart7 months ago in Fiction
A HOUSE THAT REMEMBERS. Honorable Mention in The Unhappy Ending Challenge.
Give me something never written, never explained. Something dark, thrilling and uniquely my own. That was what I prayed for when I found you. Never in this world or the next will we be together again, or with anyone else, no matter how hard we tried. We will never talk, never part, never forget the other. That was our vow, our curse, our beginning and our end. Over-and-over-and-over again.By the time I realized something was about to go wrong, the blood had already caked itself under my freshly manicured nails and you were no more. The shine from the light pink varnish already dulled by the smearing of dried blood, and the worst thing was, I couldn’t remember a single thing.
By K.H. Obergfoll7 months ago in Fiction
The Cartography of Ghosts. AI-Generated.
The House That Remembers Eleanor Ashworth had not seen Thornfield in nineteen years, yet the moment her carriage wheels crunched upon the gravel drive, she knew the house had been waiting for her with the patience of something that exists outside of time.
By Alpha Cortex7 months ago in Fiction
