Series
Don't Look At My Face, I'm Hideous
If you suspect there's something hideously wrong with your face, it's tempting to look at your reflection to reassure yourself everything is fine. That you are actually no more ghastly than normal. The trick is to avoid doing that until you're somewhere that you can process the information. That's what I do. I turn and go back the way I came, back to the flat. It's not mine, exactly, but it's the closest thing I have to a home. It's private. Well, it's got a lock on the door, anyway, and there's nobody else there. There's that lady, again. The one from earlier, with the pack of Daschunds. Four of the little buggers, all stumpy little legs and smooth coats. Shiny, black and tan little creatures with amber eyes and wagging tails. See, they look normal. Filled in. Complete. But the woman walking them... Ugh. Shuddering, I look away. I hope I'm not too obvious about it. These people might be horrifying to look at, but I don't want them to think I'm rude. My gaze lands on a little blonde girl playing on the green, and then skitters away just as quickly. It's no good. Her face, or what she has instead of a face, lingers in my mind. A fuzzy, skin-coloured blob framed by pale yellow strands. Poor kid. Does she know she's a freak? I shouldn't think that. I might be like it as well. It doesn't take long to get back. There's my front door... I think. But it's red. Wasn't it blue before? I'm not sure. Not important. I head upstairs, fumble with the key and shut myself in. It feels like a big sigh of relief.
By L.C. Schäferabout a year ago in Fiction
Plato in the Wasteland
“We were born in the vault. We died in the vault.” — Fallout This haunting line from the videogame Fallout 3 encapsulates more than just a fictional setting; it echoes a philosophical idea, first articulated over two thousand years ago by Plato in his famous Allegory of the Cave. In this thought experiment, Plato describes a group of prisoners confined since birth in a dark cave, chained in place and forced to stare at a wall. Behind them burns a fire, and between the fire and the prisoners, puppeteers cast shadows on the wall. These shadows are all the prisoners know. To them, this play of light is reality. But one prisoner escapes and ascends to the surface, blinded at first by the sun. As his eyes adjust, he sees the real world: objects, light, and the source of what Plato perceived as the truth of all things. The perfect form of ideas. When he decides to return and free the others, they mock him, and if given the chance, would kill him for disturbing their illusion. The sure thing is that he will be met with negative and sometimes dangerous reactions from his fellow prisoners.
By Sergios Saropoulosabout a year ago in Fiction
Stuck
My downstairs neighbour greeted me politely, and I screamed in her face. She was a nice enough lady, I'm sure. Didn't deserve that. In my defense, I was freaked out, and starting to unravel. I don't know how I got here, and I have no idea how to get back.
By L.C. Schäferabout a year ago in Fiction
After The Sunset The Stars As My Witness. Content Warning.
Danae was often blind, deaf, and mute when it came to the reckless decisions that spewed out of Perseus’ often idle mind. Her son was all she had and she wanted him to be free and happy without her restricting him and maybe just maybe the empty feeling he always felt would go away. Even if she tried to guide him it was of no use, he was as stubborn as the donkey in Polydectes' courtyard that had refused to work for the past month despite the merciless whips it got. she thought of him more like the sun, you don't command it to rise or set or disappear it does as it pleases, majestically. This time would be different, this decision would be more than just reckless and she was going to try to stop her sun, she didn’t want her sun to set forever leaving her to the darkness to feast on her. However, she would not hear of these antics from the horse's mouth but instead from the one that fed the horse with the idea. “Danae!” A familiar and unpleasant voice called from behind her. She tried to subtly increase her pace. “Danae!” he yelled louder than before, drawing everyone's attention even the deaf beggar must have heard him from the way he stared at her. She stopped, waiting for him to get to her. “Polydectes,” she smiled as he approached “Your majesty,” she bowed her head and curtsied, dreading the conversation that was going to erupt between them, she already knew what the conversation would revolve around. They’d frequently had this conversation since Perseus had reached the mature age for marriage. “You have been on my mind lately,” Polydectes would always break the ice, that was already broken. “ Oh, you have?” she would always respond. She could recite their interaction and knew his intentions though she pretended to be oblivious. “I have, of what your life would be like after…” he cleared his throat “Perseus?” he whispered like it was a secret only she should know “And what would have happened to Perseus?” she asked softly suppressing her annoyance. “Well, he will marry one day or you may…” he clears his throat as if he was preparing her for a revelation “He may not return from his quest” What quest? she wondered, Perseus hadn't mentioned any quest. Polydectes could read the confusion that imprinted all over Danae on the mention of the quest. “Well, on my birthday feast, you see. He promised the severed head of the mortal gorgon…” He paused to watch Danae’s expression turn from confusion to horror. It couldn't be who I think it is she hoped in her heart “Medusa” he whispered with amusement tingling in his tone confirming what Danae feared. “Medusa,” she gasped. Euryale watched the clueless colony of tourists touring the beach and venturing into their territory, Sthetho scanned through the treasures they brought out of their ship while Medusa was supposed to plot the routes they’d use to hunt but instead got distracted by the sunset. As the sun set giving the moon a chance to finally shine Medusa hissed quick haphazard instructions as the sisters spersed out to hunt. Hunting was harder for Medusa compared to her sisters because she had to hunt with her eyes closed to avoid turning their prey to stone but the people were loud and reeked of fear which diluted the intensity of the challenge. Hunting always made her feel powerful, as screams of terror purged through the beach and the rest of the island it would deafen the memory that would always tag along with the moon because as she attacked and defeated them she would pretend it was him she was defeating. Children and pregnant women were exempted from the purge but would live with the trauma of seeing their loved ones die. Medusa thought that would be better than death but like her trauma, it would eat them up till there was nothing left. The survivors would be escorted by Meritus, their servant, to assist the survivors back on to the ship and shipping them away. The sisters would then return to their cave with their stolen treasures. “I was thinking of making something like this,” Euryale said wrapping the cloth around her body from their recent treasures. “What do you think,” she asked as she turned away from the mirror to face her sisters, Medusa stood behind her eliminating the jewellery that didn't flatter her taste while Stheno studied the weapons they’d found. Medusa always felt like it was her fault because she let her guard down and Stheno always felt like it was her fault because she wasn't there to protect Medusa but it was none of their faults, if Medusa hadn't let her guard down it still would've happened and If Stheno had been there she would’ve hopelessly watched the scene and failed to protect her anyway. And Euryale lived with the guilt.
By Ropafadzo Thokozani Zinyuke (Fadzo) about a year ago in Fiction
Manual of Love 2 (2007)
Scene 1: A Love Born from Tragedy – A Paraplegic and His Nurse The film starts with a sad but kind of sweet story. We see a guy’s life change completely when he gets an accident and becomes a paraplegic. While he’s adjusting to his new normal, he feels hopelessly lonely.
By Shoaib Rehmanabout a year ago in Fiction
Does Joel Die in The Last of Us?
The Last of Us series has captivated audiences with its heart-wrenching storytelling and powerful emotional moments. Joel’s tragic death, one of the most impactful events in the series, has left fans both shocked and devastated.
By Shoaib Rehmanabout a year ago in Fiction
FIFTY SHADES 4: Revenge Teaser (2025)
The soothing sound of a piano plays as the camera reveals a stunning clip villa for a breathtaking view. The villa is surrounded by rocks with the golden hues of sunset reflecting off the endless ocean. The camera pans over the estate revealing calm and serenity. The view almost looks peaceful. There is a breeze which adds to the nostalgia of the landscape. Time seems to have stopped in this paradise.
By Shoaib Rehmanabout a year ago in Fiction
Sylwen Thornshade - The Verdant Warden
Sylwen Thornshade - The Verdant Warden The wind carried whispers through the towering oaks of Forend’s Forest, weaving between emerald leaves and tangled vines. Here, amidst the deep roots and ancient thickets, Sylwen Thornshade walked in silent communion with the land. She was one of Silvanna’s chosen, a vessel, a voice, a guardian of Nature. Every breath Sylwen took was an oath to the goddess, a vow to maintain the balance between life and destruction.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)about a year ago in Fiction
Silverfire. AI-Generated.
The snow fell softly that night — not in flurries, but like a hush laid gently over the earth. A quiet so complete, I could hear the faintest creak of old branches, the brittle crunch of frost beneath my boots. I’d learned to listen to the absence of sound lately. Not just notice it — really listen to it. Silence, I’d found, isn’t empty. It speaks. You just have to get quiet enough to hear it.
By Jeremie Nelson about a year ago in Fiction
Thurgrim Ironhold - The Hammer of Eniche
Thurgrim Ironhold - The Hammer of Eniche The moon hung low over the ruined chapel, its pale light casting long shadows through broken archways and shattered stained glass. The once-holy ground had become a desecrated battlefield, littered with the rattling remains of the restless dead. They clawed forward, skeletal hands grasping at the dwarf who stood in their path, his breath steaming in the cold night air.Thurgrim Ironhold tightened his grip around his weapon—a massive spiked maul, the head of which was adorned with jagged steel, each edge blessed by the unyielding will of Eniche. His armor, plated and brutal, bristled with spikes of its own, a reflection of the god he served. A deity of war, of discipline, of strength unbroken in the face of evil.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)about a year ago in Fiction
