Psychological

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
Ice Breaker
After she had buried the body she brushed her hair, then put on her white gown and walked out to the backyard. She looked over to the mound of dirt and smiled. She made her way out on the pier over the lake and looked down at the frozen water. She carefully stepped down onto the hard surface. She walked slow and deliberate, step by step until she was far enough out to see the vast mountains around her. She knew this lake well, knew exactly where the thin spots of ice would be, she stood on one and waited. The weight of her and the warmth of her bare feet would soon do the work for her. She heard a small cracking sound and then another. There was no going back, she fell through.
By Raine Fielder5 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
The Unexpected Visitor
Here is a fictional short story about an unexpected visitor with a twist. ... My hands molded the dough. Flour seeped into my fingernails as I turned the dough over. I placed the soft succulent mixture into a tin and put it into the oven before rinsing my hands under warm running water, drying them quickly on a towel. I drank the rest of the red wine from my glass and quickly wiped down the grey marble worktop cleaning the specs of flour off with a damp cloth. The trilling of the doorbell made me jump as my ginger head hit the saucepans hanging from the canopy.
By Denise Larkin6 years ago in Fiction
The Perfect Dress
The shop had been there as long as Lily could remember. She thought back to when she was seven years old and her sister took her there for the first time. It was enormous, with frosted glass windows and pointy spires on the roof, like miniature church steeples. She had paid particularly great attention to the door. It was a large wooden door with an oval-shaped, stained-glass picture of a pink and red rose. The glass met the door in perfectly smooth connection. The handle curved outward and then down, like a swan, craning its neck to eat the last crumb of bread thrown at its feet. A small lever above the handle would release the lock and it clicked when you held it down with your thumb. The door made an eerie creaking sound when it opened, almost like the doors in the scary movies, but this door wasn’t scary.
By Amos Glade6 years ago in Fiction
This Is My Page!
Some families pass down silver. This family passed down a book. I. The Last Box The attic still smelled like her mother: lavender, old paper, and the faint ghost of oil paint that had never quite left the floorboards.
By Dr. George Shannon Ferguson6 years ago in Fiction
Hellfire and Kindness
My world is one of black and white. Of good and evil. My world is after mankind's destruction. Sobs and hysteria echo about the empty valleys and cities now where there was once endless noise, a mixture of good and bad and anywhere in between. Laughter is rarely heard and when it is, it is looked down upon with terror as if the very idea or thought, or sound of joy might bring more devastation to the surface of our world.
By Hope Martin9 years ago in Fiction