Short Story
Chills and Sweat
Chills and sweat shouldn’t mix. At least not on a sweltering, mid-July night. It had been almost four years since we’d heard his voice, almost four years since his comforting smile reassured us that everything would be all right, almost four years of hospital trips to sit and hold his hand, all the while trying to keep hope alive.
By Elizabeth Petit2 years ago in Fiction
Street Hop
Andre is standing on the corner leaning against the brick building that is his apartment complex when a man dressed in raggedy clothing approaches him. “What you got for me, youngblood?” the man asked. “I got that good for you right here” Andre replied while reaching into the right pocket of his flight jacket. Out of it he pulled a tiny ziplock bag with a white powdery substance, it was heroin. The rugged man gave André a 20 dollar bill and André gave him the small bag of heroin. “Preciate that, youngblood” the man said as he walked away. As André stood waiting for another customer, three young men with black jackets similar to André’s started approaching him from across the street.
By Joe Patterson2 years ago in Fiction
Erasure
This will be my last entry, I'm sure of it. I can barely feel the keys under my fingertips. If I look this way, my fingers look solid enough and the keys look ghostly, like they aren't fully of this dimension. Or they are hardly real at all. If I look this way, the keys look normal and it's me that looks translucent and hardly-there. It's the latter that's true. I'm certain of it. It started with Facebook. Those little blue thumbs. Then Insta, and the hearts. Then tiktok, and twitter, and threads and and and... I'd post a picture where I looked good, or thin, or sexy, or.... And wait for those responses, emojis, comments.. I'd say what I think or how I felt, leaning heavily on the affirmation. I felt seen. I felt real. You can't go sexy too often, though. There's a limit, and then people turn away. A hospital shot, or alluding to some other crisis works as long as it's only occasionally. Cute pets is a good staple. Little did I know that this would become an addiction, and I'd need a greater hit to feel the same effect. Or that, over time, I'd need a pretty big hit even to reach '"normal". That the come-down was leaving me feeling less connected and less seen than ever, and I was spending longer down there in that trough. I know now: this is a feature, not a bug, of all those sites and apps I was using. My friends, if they are friends, haven't said anything. Out of politeness, probably. But they don't see me. Can't see me. When we are out together, you know, in person, I feel invisible. Their eyes skitter over me, see through me, or avoid me completely. There's a reason for that. Deep in the pit of addiction now, when those likes fall short. Because I posted less often, or my thoughts clash with the hive mind. When the algorithm squeezes me... I'm not seen. Not real. I fade. I don't just want views and engagement. I need them. Really need them. I need you to see me. Please. Otherwise this will be my final entry. Even now, my fingers are passing through the keys half the time. + + + + + + + + + + + + Word count, excluding note: 366 Submitted on 4th June at 22.30
By L.C. Schäfer2 years ago in Fiction
THE INHERITANCE part nine
THE INHERITANCE – part nine ……… Welcome home ++++++++++ Kate Sullivan inherited the house that once belonged to her great-grandmother. The old stone house sat on the edge of a ten-acre plat of land in Aughacasla, Ireland. Two weeks ago, she’d never heard of the small town and now, she owned a piece of it.
By Margaret Brennan2 years ago in Fiction
The Haunting of Hollw Creek ! be careful before reading
**The Haunting of Hollow Creek** --- It was late October when Emily first heard the whispers. Hollow Creek, a sleepy town nestled in the heart of dense woods, had always been shrouded in mystery and folklore. The townsfolk spoke of eerie happenings, of spirits that wandered the forest, and of an ancient evil that lurked in the shadows. But Emily, a pragmatic woman in her late twenties, dismissed these tales as mere superstitions.
By Suman Nath2 years ago in Fiction
Peppermint & Rain
Why do you insist on waking me so early? Why 3 a.m. every single time? It could at least be 4 a.m., or an occasional 5 a.m.! Better yet, let's try for 6 a.m. I just don't get it. If you are going to bother me like this, over and over, couldn't or shouldn't you be a bit more considerate?
By Shirley Belk2 years ago in Fiction
Night Terrors. Content Warning.
I watched myself die last night; I died on Tuesday as well. As a matter of fact, I have watched myself die 17 times in the last month. Each one more gruesome and violent than the last. The first couple times I died, as you would expect, were really unnerving. I could see what was happening before it happened and I began to frantically yell and scream at my dreaming self, to wake up and watch out. I flailed around anxiously warning myself to "stay out of that room" or "look behind you." Twice, I did my best to stop myself from drinking from random or abandoned bottles that I knew had been poisoned, and every time, I helplessly watched in horror, as I disregarded my cries and died.
By Kelli Sheckler-Amsden2 years ago in Fiction
Beyond the Threshold
Ah, to feel anything other than pain. I am unsure if that fills me with hope or terror for the future. The shots of piercing discomfort, the dull aches and the debilitating reverberations through my body have become my new normal. I am unsure I know how to feel beyond the misery of the jitters and sharp shooting cramps. When waking up, it is empty and lonely again. Perhaps this is how inmates on a long stretch inside feel when approaching their release date? When they know the routine, the security blanket of supervision preventing them from acting out will be gone.
By Paul Stewart2 years ago in Fiction
Embracing Isolation: A Way to Self-Disclosure and Development. Content Warning.
In the rushing about of present day life, isolation is frequently misconstrued and dreaded. The section above embodies a significant acknowledgment about isolation and its ground-breaking power. It proposes that individuals are not genuinely terrified of being distant from everyone else but instead of being with themselves, confronting their deepest contemplations and fears. This reflection opens a passage to investigating the instructive worth of isolation and how it very well may be outfit for self-improvement and self-disclosure.
By MD.KAMRUL HOSEN2 years ago in Fiction
