Series

Toast, Towels, & Tights (& Bisoprolol)
Journal Log - SUBJECT M 03/05 07:12 Exited Statham Road terrace carrying standard grocery tote. Fingernail polish chipped (burgundy, left index). Leopard-print scarf worn loosely. No umbrella. Forecast: rain. 05/05 07:46 Kitchen curtains open. Seated at corner table, drinking from glass tumbler. Toast cut diagonal, crusts off. (Just like E) 07/05 08:28 - Garden activity: rosemary clipped with bent scissors. Soil residue on kitchen tile, 3rd from left nr door. 10/05 22:01 - Bathroom light active. Blind raised ~4cm. Subject stood unmoving for extended period in front of mirror. Steam patterns indicated close proximity. Towel pale blue, faded embroidery. 14/05 16:55 - Television audible. Crime series with abrupt tonal shifts. Subject laughed ~27min mark.
By L.C. Schäferabout a year ago in Fiction
Episode 6: What Happens When You Don't Die
I didn’t scream when it bit me. That’s important. Screaming is the beginning of the end. A scream is the part of the ritual where the body decides to surrender. I didn’t. I just looked down at the half-circle of teeth still hooked in my forearm, and I thought: Oh. I guess this is how I find out what kind of story I’m in.
By Paper Lanternabout a year ago in Fiction
Raining
It started with a single drop. Just one gentle tap on the windowpane, followed by another. I was seated by the old wooden table in my grandmother’s house, the very place where time seemed to move slower, or perhaps stopped altogether. The air was thick with the scent of earth and nostalgia. Outside, the sky was an ashen grey, rumbling softly with distant thunder. Inside, a silence lingered—one that had been waiting patiently to be broken by the arrival of rain.
By Motivate4universeabout a year ago in Fiction
Episode 5: Rescue Girl
They told us to go back in. They always say that. They say it like the walls haven’t grown teeth. Like rescue is still a thing that happens instead of a thing that kills you slower.
By Paper Lanternabout a year ago in Fiction
The Library of Regrets
The Library of Regrets The night had fallen thick and silent, draping the world in shadows that felt too heavy to bear. Clara awoke to find herself not in her small, cluttered bedroom, but standing before an enormous, ancient wooden door, etched with twisting vines and glowing letters that whispered secrets she could almost understand.
By waseem khanabout a year ago in Fiction
The Art of Creating Fiction That Feels Real
Have you ever read a novel so vivid it felt as if you could step right into its world? Or met a character in a short story who seemed more alive than some people you know in real life? That’s the power of fiction that feels real. Many aspiring writers think great fiction is only about having a wild imagination. But the secret isn’t about dreaming up the most far-fetched plots. It’s about grounding those ideas in details that make your reader believe every word—even if your story is set on another planet or in a time that never existed. Here’s how to craft fiction that captivates from the first sentence and leaves a lasting impact long after the last page is turned. --- 1. Start With a Strong “What If?” All unforgettable fiction begins with a question that sparks curiosity. Think about the novels you love. They probably have a premise that makes you lean in. Examples: What if a young wizard didn’t know he was magical until he turned eleven? What if memories could be bought and sold like commodities? What if a tiny town harbored an ancient secret that could destroy the world? A great “what if” doesn’t have to be complicated. It just needs to create a sense of wonder or tension. Before you start writing, jot down several possibilities. Ask yourself which idea you can’t stop thinking about. That’s usually the one worth exploring. --- 2. Build a World With Rules Even if you’re writing about an imaginary place, your world needs rules. Readers are willing to suspend disbelief—but only if the story follows a logic they can grasp. Ask yourself: What is daily life like here? What do people eat, wear, and fear? What customs or taboos shape their choices? Consistency is everything. If magic exists, decide who can wield it, how it works, and what it costs. If your story is set in the future, consider how technology has changed relationships, politics, or the environment. Remember: Details make the impossible feel probable. --- 3. Create Characters With Conflicting Desires One of the biggest mistakes new fiction writers make is creating characters who feel flat. They might have a goal—but no internal conflicts. But in real life, people are full of contradictions: You can love someone and resent them at the same time. You can crave adventure but fear failure. You can dream of success yet sabotage yourself out of insecurity. Give your characters at least two conflicting desires. This tension drives the story forward and makes readers root for them. Ask: What does this character want more than anything? What are they afraid will happen if they fail? What secret are they hiding? --- 4. Show, Don’t Tell This classic advice never gets old because it works. Instead of telling your reader “John was angry,” show it: John’s jaw tightened. He slammed the car door so hard the window rattled. The more sensory details you use—sights, sounds, textures—the more immersive your story becomes. When readers can picture every scene, they stop feeling like spectators and start experiencing the world through your characters’ eyes. --- 5. Let Your Characters Fail Perfect characters are boring. Readers connect with vulnerability and imperfection. Don’t protect your characters from mistakes. Let them fail, embarrass themselves, and make bad decisions. Failure not only builds empathy but also sets up moments of growth and redemption. This is where your story’s emotional power comes from. --- 6. End With Resonance A good ending doesn’t have to be a happy one—but it should feel earned. Ask yourself: Has the character changed in a meaningful way? Have their choices led to a believable outcome? What question or feeling do I want to leave in the reader’s mind? An unresolved thread can be powerful if it invites reflection rather than frustration. --- Final Thoughts Fiction is a bridge between imagination and truth. When you write stories that feel real, you give readers the gift of seeing themselves—and the world—differently. Remember: You don’t need to be a literary genius to create something beautiful. You just need to be curious, observant, and willing to put your heart on the page. So the next time an idea tugs at your imagination, don’t dismiss it as silly or impossible. Write it down. Give it shape. Let it breathe. Because somewhere out there, a reader is waiting for a story that only you can tell. And when you write fiction that feels alive, you’ll discover that you, too, become more alive in the process.
By Kim Jonabout a year ago in Fiction
Journey to the Center of the Galaxy
The distance from Quadrant 99 to Quadrant 1 (and the presidential palace and grounds) was considerably far. Kevin and Sillan continued onwards on their hover-bikes. The chaos at the DNA Records Office hadn't died down one bit. They made a quick exit.
By Po Iveyabout a year ago in Fiction
Bite Size Pieces
l'm not scared of him. Not really. I know I've got him where I want him. But you know what, I did feel a bit... uneasy when I saw his eyes. Boy was he ever mad! The pigs made to leave and I thought for a sec... What if... you know? What if I've read him all wrong? I'd been so sure. Talked a good talk to the coppers. About how I didn't need to leave, sleep somewhere else. I'll be safe enough, officer. I think. All that. I know he heard me and all. I could practically hear the cogs turning in his brain. He knows he can't kill me. Can't hurt me. Can't slice off my toes. There's a paper trail, see. Authorities love one of them. Anything happens to me, he'll be the first one they look at, I bet. That means I've got insurance. Better still, he's got nothing on me. I mean, he was pretty mad. I got a look at his room. He totalled it. It stank in there. Body odour. Sweat, you know. I'm sure I saw a bottle of piss. He'd hate that. Being reduced that way. No feeling what her might do if he thought he could get away with it. Or if he just lost control. So. I should take some precautions right? I've been keeping notes. Real detailed. Ordered some motion sensors. Soon be won't be able to scratch his arse in bed without me knowing about it. If he sneezes, I'll know when he reaches for a tissue. I like that. I dunno. Maybe because people are complicated. But. You can make them into easy pieces. Bite-sized. They can be a list of habits. Columns of numbers. Properly filed video clips. Audio too. Encoded. Stored chronologically. Password protected. Yes. That's easier than the smell of him. His eyes. So intense. I like knowing I'm to blame for that. But it doesn't make him easier to look at. +
By L.C. Schäferabout a year ago in Fiction
Something Darker; Chapter 20
"Mother?" The questioning voice asks. I spin towards it. A young Micah stands in the doorway to my room, staring in confusion. He had at least seen her wipe my memory.
By Katarzyna Crevanabout a year ago in Fiction
When Silence Wore Her Name
In a world that never listened, she bloomed with words she never spoke. They say silence is golden. But for Aaira, silence was a weight she carried on her back like an invisible sack of bricks—always there, always heavy, never quite understood.
By mr azibabout a year ago in Fiction
Real Money Heist – Part 1: The Planner
I still remember the first time I met him. Not in some dark alley or abandoned warehouse like they show in movies. It was at Gloria Jean’s in DHA Phase 6, Lahore. A quiet Thursday. Rain on the windows. He was already there — sipping black coffee, no sugar. Looked like someone’s retired uncle, not the man who would plan the biggest heist Pakistan never found out about.
By Sofia Elira Solenneabout a year ago in Fiction
Guardians and Angels | Chapter Five | Part 18
Brendan Bragg wasn’t alone the night he was murdered on Gravity Hill, and he wasn’t only with Laura DeAngelo either. No, there was another creature there with them on the hillside roadway that snaked upward like a gravel river running silently overtop Sonoma Mountain that October night—a deadly beast—and it wasn’t his murderer.
By Christopher Dubbsabout a year ago in Fiction