Series

The Dream
# The world outside my window was a symphony of rain. Each drop, a tiny percussionist on the glass, drumming a lullaby against the night. I lay in bed, the sheets pulled up to my chin, a warmth spreading through my body as I drifted into the familiar embrace of sleep.
By Sara2 years ago in Fiction
Starlight Manor
The rest of the night is dark and quiet. Nobody feels like talking, not even Weyah. They play cards in silence, the three of them, and they curl up in bed and cling to each other as tight as they can.
By angela hepworth2 years ago in Fiction
149: APGAR — One Off for Color
I didn't want to go; I was pushed. Out. I knew if I entered, I was doomed. It was a message hard-wired. We're all born to die.
By Gerard DiLeo2 years ago in Fiction
The Stranger
The oak door swung open on to a silent courtyard. A novelty for Amelia, whose life had been a cacophony of other people's thoughts.
By L.C. Schäfer2 years ago in Fiction
Eternal Echoes. AI-Generated.
𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 1: The 𝑺𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝒐𝒇 𝑪𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒚 In the capital of Alaysh, where skyscrapers and tall buildings touched the clouds and people hurried about in their way too busy lives, there was a clam boy named Ash who was not the kind of student who aced in every test he attends or dazzled everyone with his brilliance. No, but Ash was just an above average student sometimes below average as well, who had a peculiar or a pretty strange way of approaching life.
By ASHFAQ RAHMAN2 years ago in Fiction
The Heart's Clockwork Pulse (Part: 2)
The Heart's Clockwork Pulse: A Steampunk Mystery Part 2: Echoes in the Aether The Clock Pinnacle, a skeletal goliath against the star-cleaned night sky, lingered over Crowley and Gearheart as they crawled through the squeaking iron entryway. The quietness was broken exclusively by the musical ticking of inconspicuous cog wheels, a sound that creeped them out. Moonlight sifted through broke stained-glass windows, projecting a scary shine on the enormous inside. Pinion wheels, gear-teeth, and switches embellished the walls, leftovers of a fantastic, incomplete precision project. As they wandered further, the metallic tang of oil and rust filled thick in the air.
By Ahmad Al Amin2 years ago in Fiction
The Heart's Clockwork Pulse (Part: 1)
The Heart's Clockwork Pulse: A Steampunk Mystery Part 1: The Song of the Clockwork Crow The cobblestone streets of Aethel glistened under the gaslight's orange glow, casting long, inky shadows that danced with the evening mist. Inspector Alistair Crowley, a man whose stoicism rivaled the granite buildings that lined the street, adjusted his tweed cap and surveyed the scene. Atop a wrought iron railing, perched an otherworldly sight - a crow, crafted entirely of gleaming brass and intricate clockwork gears. Its mechanical wings lay still, its ruby eyes lifeless.
By Ahmad Al Amin2 years ago in Fiction
148 Carousel
Each child had a favorite carousel horse. The happiness on their faces accrued, adding mass to the universe where everything mattered. The irony is that I passed the carousel every day, unaware of the sheer joy that up-and-down and centrifugal torque mustered for those unused to a pretense of speed unencumbered by seatbelts and windows and behaving.
By Gerard DiLeo2 years ago in Fiction
The Bag - Him
This microfiction is part of a series. In order: The Bag; Jason's Dilemma; The Girl; Jason and the Girl; The Skewered Apple; Girl, Disrupted; Reward
By Rachel Deeming2 years ago in Fiction
My Stupid Cat
I shouldn't of done it, but I was mad. Stupid cat. Here's what happened, ok: I caught her sleeping on the back of the sofa and I got an idea. I tiptoed round so so quiet. That's hard you know. And I lay down, real careful, so she wouldn't wake up. I shutted my eyes tight, and I tried to go to sleep. But it wouldn't and it wouldn't and it wouldn't.
By L.C. Schäfer2 years ago in Fiction
Why Cybil Makes Her Bed
Once upon a time, there was a lovely, precocious young girl named Cybil. Cybil was very special: she was Magickal! She sometimes saw things that other people couldn't; or she knew something would happen before it did; and sometimes she knew things that no ordinary eight year old could know.
By Kyle Hulbert2 years ago in Fiction
Mévouimeur: The Story of Lilac and Silver (Part 1)
The grand hall of the Mevouimeur manor was alive with the sounds of a lavish banquet. Servants bustled about, carrying trays of roasted fowl, baked breads, and glasses of fine wine, as the aristocratic guests mingled and conversed in hushed tones. At the head table, Henry Mevouimeur sat, his eyes glazed over, as his father, Lord James, delivered a long-winded speech extolling the virtues and accomplishments of their noble house.
By MadameObscura2 years ago in Fiction