Short Story
The Cup of What Was Forgotten
In a narrow alley that never appears on tourist maps, Yasser stands behind a tarnished brass counter. The scent of cardamom and dark-roasted beans clings to the stone like memory to skin. He did not inherit the café from his grandfather. He inherited the silence that comes before every cup. On a weathered wooden sign, hung by a frayed linen string, someone had carved in slanting script:
By Mohamed Adel5 months ago in Fiction
It Wasn't a Tornado...
There are nights in Oklahoma when the sky doesn’t sound like thunder. It sounds like something arriving. They call it Tornado Valley—wind that screams like a freight train, ground that trembles like it’s trying to shake something loose. But people who’ve lived there long enough know the storms don’t always behave like storms. Sometimes… they feel deliberate. That’s the night my Uncle Charlie disappeared.
By Victor Eaves5 months ago in Fiction
Above From Below Part 8
After many shots, and several beers, Andrea and Rick headed back to their hotel. Rick had opened up to Andrea. She now understood the ghosts, and why he wsarned her that he wasn't someone to get too close to. Still, she trusted Rick, at least as much as she trusted anyone else. Under any other circumstances, she might have considered making a move on him, but as much as he opened up, she could tell Rick was still holding back.
By Jason Morton5 months ago in Fiction
The Emperor's Gambit
The Emperor’s Gambit A short story loosely based on the Star Wars universe By: Stanley Komarniski It had been 20 years since Luke defeated the Emperor and saved his father from the Dark Side. The Jedi school he had started was far away from Coruscant, in the outer rim. It was the general idea that if he kept the Jedi away from the Politics in Coruscant that he could avoid the mistakes that the Jedi made in the past. At the same time, it kept the trainees from being manipulated from some of the corruption in the government.
By Stanley Komarniski5 months ago in Fiction
He Might Be Late
The last good day was in October, when her mom still knew the hydrangeas. She stood at the kitchen window and watched her mother in her yellow cardigan, the one with the missing button she kept meaning to replace, move through the garden with a confidence that hadn't been there in weeks. Patricia stopped at the blue cluster near the fence, bent slowly, and touched one of the dried heads with two fingers. The gesture was familiar, proprietary. My garden, it said. I planted these.
By RC Adamson5 months ago in Fiction
4/31
Today is April 31st. Mostly because we don’t know what day it is anymore. All the bombs went off across the ocean somewhere around April 15th. It’s been a while since then, so April 31st works. I feel like it’s been April 31st for a while now, though. Maybe it’s time to start saying May.
By Phoenixica245 months ago in Fiction
Above From Below Part 8
As Rick and Andrea sped away from the Observatory, keeping his lights off to stay hidden in the dark of night, Rick heard the information he briefly gleemed from the computer as the words rattled around in his head. He didn't understand what he'd seen fully, but knew that the classified stamp that had been entered on the files meant it was likely what got Nico killed. That they hadn't secured the files better meant they didn't know about him. The connection between him and Nico hadn't been found. How though, had Andrea found the tie?
By Jason Morton5 months ago in Fiction
The Echoes We Leave Behind. AI-Generated.
Arman had always believed that life was about moving forward—faster, higher, further. He lived in a city that never seemed to pause, where people rushed past each other like waves that never met. Days blurred into nights, and nights dissolved into more work, more goals, more chasing.
By Waleed khan5 months ago in Fiction
