Short Story
The Forgotten Library
"The Forgotten Library" In the heart of a bustling city, where the rhythm of life pounded like a steady drumbeat, there stood a forgotten library. Its grand facade, adorned with intricate carvings and weathered stone, whispered tales of a bygone era when books held the secrets of the world.
By Gobika Senthilkumar2 years ago in Fiction
The Quiet Library
The Quiet Library Within the heart of an ancient city, covered in fog and history, there stood an overlooked library. Its stone exterior was worn by time, ivy inching up its dividers, as in the event that nature herself looked for to recover the stories inside. On one especially inauspicious, stormy evening, Sophia, an essayist battling with an onerous writer's square, found herself meandering the overly complex boulevards, her feet driving her to this dismissed landmark of information.
By Abdul Qayyum2 years ago in Fiction
Echoes of the Abyss
In the quiet hours between dusk and dawn, where reality and dreams intermingle, there exists a realm where nightmares are born. For Emily, it began with a whisper—a faint echo in the recesses of her mind that grew louder with each passing night.
By eBook Basket2 years ago in Fiction
Nice to See You, Again?
once, in my dream, I attended some kind of wonderful dance concert. square stage in the middle, seats or bleachers all around. was probably organized by a local troupe, as a fundraiser for the community or artistic cause, but I was very impressed by their talent, so figured it would be nice to spread the word. and I either ran into my sister there coincidentally in the audience, or recounted it after I went, because she used to be a dancer and still enjoys it, so I thought she would be really interested in hearing how amazing this was, perhaps invite her to go again with me sometime.
By Ellen Stedfeld2 years ago in Fiction
Predator and Prey. Content Warning.
Nellie trudged through the door to her apartment, kicking off her high heels in the entryway. Another night, another attack… this one more brutal than usual. Standing before the cracked bathroom mirror, wetting a rag to remove her makeup. The powder washed away, revealing cuts, bruises, and scars in various stages of healing mingled with the fresh ones from tonight. She frowned at her reflection as she dabbed her lips, removing the lipstick and blood.
By Morgan Rhianna Bland2 years ago in Fiction
Brodde's Nightmare
The sky was filled with the glow of a blood red moon as I trapsed through the baren woods of the countryside. No sound filled the air, save for the whistling winds and the creaking of old, dead wood swaying back and forth. I stepped lightly among fallen leaves and twigs that made barely a rustle in the dark of night. The wind grew louder as the shadows enveloped and threatened to consume me. Yet, within the darkness, I felt the eyes upon me; bright and yellow as they always were. I turned to look in the direction the hairs on my neck pointed when standing on end, but the amber glow would fade as soon as I made contact with them. A chill ran down my arms and my spine as my legs turned to jelly. I wanted to run from them. I wanted to scream for help, but my mouth filled with dirt and gravel at the opening, and I heaved it at my feet; my throat rubbed raw from the mountain of it that fell between my teeth. The eyes were in front of me and they were beside me, and they were behind me. They were all around me, closing in, waiting for the right time to strike. I fell to me knees and prayed to the old gods, hoping they would hear my plea, and spare me the death or at least make it quick. No relief came as the growl grew from the spaces between the trees, louder and louder, until they drowned out the wind. The growling was all I knew as I felt the lunge and the stabbing pain that radiated through my chest. I closed my eyes tight against the darkness. The red sky quickly turned to blue and green as a woman sang to me her song.
By Gunnar Anderson2 years ago in Fiction
The Seventh Step. Top Story - June 2024.
“It’s a different room every time. Sometimes it’s my grandma’s house from when I was little. Sometimes it’s my college apartment. Sometimes it’s somewhere unfamiliar, but always there are the stairs. I know I have to go up, but I’m afraid. I can feel my heart pounding and I feel sick, but I don’t know why. It’s like my body isn’t mine anymore, and I start up the stairs, and I’m thinking ‘No, stop!’ but I just keep going. When I get a ways up, I try to take another step but, instead, I fall backwards. I can feel myself in the air, just in a panic, nothing to hold on to and no way to stop, just falling, falling, falling until THUMP! And then I wake up.”
By Megan Malcolm2 years ago in Fiction
