Short Story
The Last Banana Split
The Last Banana Split D. A. Ratliff My grandmother’s voice echoed as I raced on foot, chasing a car thief along a residential sidewalk. Gram told me to be thankful for something each day. In her honor, I gave thanks that this was a cool February morning in New Orleans and not a hot, humid July morning and kept running.
By D. A. Ratliff2 years ago in Fiction
Dreamkeepers
It all started when Hayat began to remember. They were barely a year old then, just beginning to learn how to talk. The first word they ever spoke was “ayaw,” meaning “no” in Filipino. In fact, Hayat would grow up saying or demonstrating this all the time whenever they felt uncomfortable.
By Karina Thyra2 years ago in Fiction
To Dream is to Forget. Content Warning.
"I've dreamed a lot. I'm tired now from dreaming, but not tired of dreaming. No one tires of dreaming, because to dream is to forget, and forgetting does not weigh on us, it is a dreamless sleep throughout which we remain awake." - Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet
By Paul Stewart2 years ago in Fiction
Self-Inflicted Fear
Work had been hectic! My whole body was weighed down by exhaustion and hunger as I lazily unlocked the door without calling on my next-door neighbor, Felix, to say 'hi' as I usually would. He must have heard the jingling sound from the bunch of keys as I unlocked my door. The monotonous buzz of office life, mixed with the heavy traffic I had driven through, drained me completely that evening. All I craved was good food and peaceful sleep. Fortunately, I had stored up enough food over the weekend in my small fridge. I hurried to the kitchen, walking as fast as my legs could carry me to microwave some rice. I savored each bite as it filled the gnawing void in my stomach. I could sense the worms in my stomach dancing, excited to be fed at last.
By Oluwatosin Tade2 years ago in Fiction
Luna’s recurring dream.. AI-Generated.
Once upon a time in a futuristic city, nestled between towering skyscrapers and neon lights, there lived a young dreamer named Luna. Every night, Luna found herself transported to this city in her dreams, where reality seemed to twist and turn in mesmerizing ways.
By Faith Essie2 years ago in Fiction
A Journey of Brightness and Balance
As the blistering hot rays of the summer sun surrounded the area on the longest day of the year, I felt a surge of anticipation and excitement. Today was not just any day; June 20, 2024 (Summer Solstice), was a day to honor the Sun and its life-giving energy, reflect on the past year, and prepare for one of the most exciting seasons of the year! Opening my eyes to the warm, amber light flooding my bedroom, I aimed to ensure my summer would start well!
By Anthony Chan2 years ago in Fiction
The Ravens Gift. Content Warning.
Ma is holding me in her silver birch rocking chair. Humming softly as she strokes my long black hair. In her arms everything else turns to a blur. I feel warm and complete. The breeze from outside brings the scent of lilacs through the open window, mixing with the fragrant cherry wood burning in the potbelly stove. All of it is helping to calm me down after such a long day. This morning started like any other, except it was my eleventh birthday. Cawing from the ravens outside woke me as the sun was starting to rise. Ma and I ran outside together and watched the ravens flying around. One by one they swooped down to their altar and dropped shiny pebbles, a coin, three rings, and even a pair of sunglasses in; it was almost like they knew it was my birthday! This was a good sign, or so I had thought. At the back of my mind I’m still mourning the loss of my elderberry trees. Watching as my Uncle cut them down earlier devastated me! Planting our trees was my last memory of Pa before he was killed in the war. Ma, Pa, and I had each planted our own tree when I was six. Uncle said it was the only way to get enough money to survive this winter with the price of beans dropping so low, but even Ma was not happy. She had told him not to, said that she would get a job in town but he didn't listen. I wish Pa was still here, then Uncle never would have come and stayed. Taking a deep breath I focus my thoughts on this morning's sunrise with Ma and the aroma surrounding me. A faint click of the door while I was drifting to sleep in Ma’s warm embrace told me Uncle was back.
By Sarah Wilcox2 years ago in Fiction
The Hike
Tuesday, May 29th The trail. I’ve never hiked it before, but the lush forest embraces me with every step. It hides the beating rays of the sun, cooling my trek and protecting me. Gradually, a dark, ominous shade descends upon me. Stealing the sun’s warmth. I pause. Cold air encompasses me. A young man about 19 or 20 with melanin skin and a short afro appears. His eyes are closed.
By Iris Harris2 years ago in Fiction
The Book and The Lamp. Content Warning.
Neil envied people who say they love sleep. Those who say they see it as a refuge where they can rest and renew safely. For Neil, sleep was never safe. It had always been a noisy, chaotic place. When he was younger, he was plagued with nightmares. For a while, thanks to lousy sleeping patterns that involved staying awake as long as he possibly could and waking up earlier than he should. The dreams he remembered were scarce these days. Until the book and the lamp started haunting him.
By Paul Stewart2 years ago in Fiction
Sleeping Afraid. Top Story - July 2024.
I always wake to three hallowing knocks that reverberate from the back of my skull through my teeth. That’s how I know it’s coming. The bitter metallic taste of adrenaline coats my tongue. Hot panic has its claws in my chest and sweat dews my forehead. Suspense and dread course through my veins and it takes all my strength to choose survival over succumbing to the debilitating fear. My ears twitch like a dog toward every noise and my breath comes hot against the hand that I pressed to my mouth to keep myself quiet. I need to slow my breathing…one breath in, hold, one breath out. I remove my hand from my mouth so I can ease myself out of bed and carefully place my feet onto the floor so as not to make a sound. I half-crouch and feel my way to the bedroom door, and slowly turn the knob. I know when to stop opening it to avoid the creak and I start making my way down the foreboding hallway. The floorboards give in pain as my weight shifts from one foot to the other, not quite walking, just easing my way forward. I feel another rush of dread drop into the pit of my stomach when I reach the stairs – they’re the hardest part. The old wood of the house moans with the weight of my fear and no matter how hard I try they always creak. I’ve learned the hard way that I have to do these quickly – it wakes and finds me with the sound of these godforsaken stairs. I stay in a low crouch, my legs on fire with the effort, as I place one foot on each stair using the handrail to guide myself down and take, albeit minimal, weight off the unforgiving wood.
By Tattoos & Tarot2 years ago in Fiction
