Psychological

The Laundry Daze
“You didn't call me over a minute too soon," the kid announced. "This old girl, she's hurting.” “You talking about me?” whispered the older woman, standing behind Text begins him, in the cramped kitchen of the farmhouse. There was no malice in her words, even in her tone of voice, but to a stranger, like the young technician, this would have not been apparent — “I’m feeling as right as one can feel. If anyone’s in bad shape, it’s him. He creaks when he walks, he’s so ancient. You ever hear yourself creaking, Jud?”
By Eric Wolf4 years ago in Fiction
Rong Is Wright
“I haven’t written a word in two years,” said Audley Ruan. To the cafe’s server, he ordered,“Chicken salad on rye, and a cup of chai,” before he pivoted back to face his mysterious companion. “Writer’s block, I can handle, but this—”
By Eric Wolf4 years ago in Fiction
Mundy, Mundi
One learns to be patient, after a time — no pun intended — toiling in the lower ranks of the Time Bureau. I was not blessed with a patient mind, nor with an altogether forgiving nature, as many an ex of mine can confirm, but I do toil, most loyally. I recall when my moment of opportunity arrived, and it did not arrive alone…
By Eric Wolf4 years ago in Fiction
Phantom Shift-Petrópolis
This is Part One in a series. Please be sure to follow to Part Two at the End. ____________________________________________________
By Atomic Historian5 years ago in Fiction
A Familiar Stranger
Dusk had arrived too soon, cradling my apartment building like a toxic lover. The bathroom light seemed too dim, even while it cast shadows beneath my eyes as I gently applied the mascara.
By Karissa E.L. Cuff5 years ago in Fiction
Beep
Disclaimer: I wrote this some time ago and I wonder now about the effect of technology not just on how we communicate and reach out to each other, but also on how we process information. If you read this very carefully, you can imagine being on the receiving end of these messages (one minute of a life). I hope that you appreciate it...
By Kendall Defoe 5 years ago in Fiction
The Reflecting Pool
I love to visit the reflecting pool at the Maclay house, especially at dusk. As the sun sets and the insects and small animals move about, I sit quietly and wait. Most people come here to see the camellias, but I come here to sit by the pool. The park closes at sunset, but when is sunset exactly? It gives me a little leeway to stay a bit too late, and to walk the path past the striped, fragrant and exuberantly colored flowers.
By Terry Roe5 years ago in Fiction
Afterlife
I am the bearer of bad news. You are dead. Your afterlife will be spent out here in the coldness of space. Go ahead. Look around. Doesn’t the earth look so beautiful from up here? So serene. So blue, so abundant with water.
By Julie Lacksonen5 years ago in Fiction
Water's Edge
Cordelia felt like she needed to get to the cabin as quickly as possible. She had just gotten off work and was on her way to her first vacation in what felt like forever. When she finally saw it, her heart leaped, she hadn’t remembered her grandmother’s cabin being so grand. It looked like something out of a calendar. Dark wood logs stacked three stories with a wraparound porch, surrounded by the polychromatic leaves of autumn. Getting away from the coast was exactly what she needed, regardless of what her friends had to say. Living on the beach had not helped her anxiety about water. This place seemed as dry as it could get and that was exactly what she really needed.
By Raine Fielder5 years ago in Fiction
CEREMONY
It was the Ceremony for Recognition, a celebration to commemorate the reentry of the Union. Newman, and everyone young and old, even Grandma, was milling about seeking something. Suddenly the word “Molitar” bubbled up and broke the surface of Grandma's consciousness. Everyone knows Molitar. The children exclaimed, “Molitar!”
By Tom Demar5 years ago in Fiction
Go
“Liar!” I heard a voice say. My eyes snapped open. Actually it woke me up. It’s 3:31am. This is great. I’ll never get back to sleep now. Darkness pressed against the walls of her bedroom. The air felt thick, stale. For a moment I didn’t move. Then instinct took over. My hand slid across the nightstand, fingers brushing against a soft cardboard box.
By Violet Hamilton5 years ago in Fiction
A Good Citizen
Molly liked to start her day by cleaning her apartment, like any good citizen would. She was alone in the house, now. Then again, Molly always remembered being alone.
By Ian Read5 years ago in Fiction