Series
Ten minutes to mask a murder
In ten minutes, the squad would arrive. I heaved the 'murder weapon', a huge hunk of ice, into the storm drain. As it hit with a smash, the steady stream of meltwater started to push the pieces away, along with the red streaks that had covered one side. I hid the cocaine in the trunk.
By Raymond G Taylor4 months ago in Fiction
Effie & Simon
After that first time Lorelai stayed over, it was a while before Effie asked me to babysit again. Lonnie had insinuated to her that there was something sinister about me doing that, or even being fond of her. Had I been an aunty, there'd have been no problem.
By L.C. Schäfer4 months ago in Fiction
Falling in Love With Someone From Another Timeline
The Voice on the Radio It began on a stormy Thursday night when Ethan was alone in his apartment, struggling to fix an old radio he had purchased from a flea market. The device was nearly fifty years old and barely functional, but Ethan enjoyed restoring vintage electronics in his spare time. As rain battered the windows and thunder echoed across the city, he adjusted one of the radio's rusted dials. Suddenly, a clear voice emerged through the static.
By Robert Redford5 months ago in Fiction
The Photograph That Changes Every Morning
The Unexpected Package The photograph arrived on a rainy Tuesday morning in a plain brown package with no return address. Daniel almost ignored it, assuming it was another delivery intended for someone else in the apartment building. But his name was written clearly across the front. Curious, he carried it inside and carefully opened it on the kitchen table. Nestled within layers of yellowed newspaper was an old wooden frame containing a black-and-white photograph of a Victorian house standing alone at the edge of a forest. The image appeared ordinary at first glance. The house looked abandoned, its windows dark and lifeless beneath a cloudy sky. A narrow path stretched from the front porch into the woods beyond. There was no note, no explanation, and no indication of who had sent it. After staring at it for several minutes, Daniel simply shrugged and placed it on a shelf in his living room.
By Robert Redford5 months ago in Fiction
The Merchant of Shadows
The weavers of the High Steppe did not use wool or silk. They sat on the rocky precipices where the wind whipped through the canyons like a physical weight, and they wove the air itself. Using needles carved from the bones of mountain eagles, they captured the invisible currents, turning gusts into heavy blankets and gentle breezes into delicate, translucent veils that could ward off the fiercest winter frost.
By Asghar ali awan5 months ago in Fiction
