Short Story

A Game Of Veils
The Prompt Convey a deep conversation between two individuals without uttering a single word aloud. The title and concept were inspired by a line in Clive Barker's "Imajica".
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred 3 years ago in Fiction
The Emotion Whisperer
In a world where emotions reigned supreme, there was a mysterious figure known as the Emotion Whisperer. This enigmatic character possessed an extraordinary gift – the power to read and manipulate the deepest feelings of others. The Emotion Whisperer's existence was both a blessing and a curse, for they held the key to influence the hearts and minds of those they encountered. The Emotion Whisperer's story begins in a bustling city where people wore their emotions on their sleeves. In this world, the ability to understand and control emotions was the ultimate currency. It was a place where people would pay a handsome fee to experience happiness or to be freed from the chains of their sorrow. The Emotion Whisperer was a sought-after professional, a confidant of the heart, and a master of manipulation. But, as the title suggests, this story is not just about power and manipulation; it's about the ethical choices one faces when wielding such extraordinary abilities. The Emotion Whisperer was burdened with the weight of moral dilemmas. One day, a young woman named Elara sought out the Emotion Whisperer's services. She was trapped in the clutches of a deep despair that no ordinary therapy could alleviate. Her eyes carried the pain of years gone by, and her heart was heavy with sorrow. She pleaded for the Emotion Whisperer's help, and their gift beckoned them to intervene. The Emotion Whisperer knew they had the power to pull Elara out of the abyss, to infuse her life with joy and hope. But as they looked into her tear-filled eyes, they saw more than just a client; they saw a person in need. It was here that the ethical conundrum emerged. Would they manipulate Elara's emotions, thereby providing her temporary relief, or would they respect her autonomy and allow her to navigate her emotional labyrinth on her own terms? The Emotion Whisperer was torn, their internal battle mirroring the external struggle of ethical versus expedient. Ultimately, they chose the path of ethical restraint. The Emotion Whisperer decided to guide Elara through her pain, offering support, empathy, and a compassionate presence. They realized that manipulation, even for benevolent reasons, could compromise the authenticity of Elara's journey to healing. Their decision was made not out of weakness but out of an understanding that true growth often sprouted from one's own strength. As the days turned into weeks, Elara and the Emotion Whisperer built a genuine connection, transcending the professional boundaries. They became confidants, sharing laughter and tears, hopes and fears. The Emotion Whisperer helped Elara navigate her tumultuous sea of emotions, but they did so without wielding their extraordinary gift as a crutch. Their presence became a guiding light rather than a magic wand. Elara's transformation was nothing short of miraculous. Her sorrow began to lift, replaced by moments of happiness and self-discovery. The Emotion Whisperer had walked beside her in her darkest hours, never manipulating her emotions but empowering her to emerge stronger, resilient, and more self-aware. This story of the Emotion Whisperer underscores the power of ethical choices. In a world where manipulation was an easy path, the Emotion Whisperer chose the ethical route, even at the cost of their own convenience and fame. They discovered that true influence didn't lie in controlling emotions but in nurturing the human spirit. The Emotion Whisperer's journey teaches us that ethical choices, especially when it comes to emotions, are not a sign of weakness. They are a testament to the strength of character and a profound understanding of the human condition. The heart, they realized, is not a puzzle to be solved but a tapestry to be woven with care and compassion. In a world where power often overshadowed ethics, the Emotion Whisperer proved that the most significant impact could be made when the heart and the mind worked in harmony, choosing to honor the sanctity of emotions while embracing the human experience.
By Melane Cervantes3 years ago in Fiction
Knocking. Runner-Up in Unspoken Challenge. Content Warning.
The husbands carried supplies: cereals, water jugs, buckets, books and batteries. We wives carried the children, and the children carried small pieces of comfort in their little hands, smelling of sleep.
By Suze Kay3 years ago in Fiction
Calculated Manipulation. Content Warning.
The air felt heavy. Or maybe that was just me. My breath was heavy. My chest filled up quickly, letting out the air much quicker than it was letting inside. God. You just sat on the other end of the couch. Your body slumped over the couch with your feet kicked up on the coffee table. Your hands covering your eyes as if you were afraid to look at me. Why couldn't you look at me? Why couldn't you face what you've done? The television screen was lit, yet no picture was shown. Only were there colors bouncing off the cracks of the screen; the cracks which appeared after you tried to put your fist through the picture. God. Was that what you didn't want to face? Your hands uncovered your face. Your head still remained resting on the back of the couch, while your feet were propped up on the coffee table. I've always hated the way you would prop your feet up on the table but there's no way I'm correcting you now.
By 'Lissa Stufflestreet3 years ago in Fiction
Ichika's Journey to Body Confidence and Mental Well-being. Content Warning.
Ichika, a vibrant and spirited young woman, hails from the Land of the Rising Sun. She has a captivating presence, with eyes that sparkle like stars, and a smile that radiates warmth and kindness. While her journey has been marked by struggles and challenges, Ichika has emerged as a beacon of hope, teaching people to be confident in their bodies and fostering a positive attitude to support mental health.
By StoryholicFinds3 years ago in Fiction
The Mistletoe Accident
The two of them had just exchanged gifts out in the seated lobby with everyone else when Saqueesha decided she'd put all her things at her desk to get them out of the way of the party. She had gotten him a new watch band since his old one broke on his favorite watch. He had gotten her York peppermint patties and a Yoohoo because he thought he overheard her mention one time that those were part of a core memory for her. She turned the corner, walked down the overly-decorated-for-an-office hall, wondering how often he must be really listening if he remembered that one comment, and once her office chair was in view she realized she forgot her coat in the lobby. She quickly pivoted on her sparkly heels to turn around, unaware she was stepping on spilled eggnog. Her footing went out from under her completely, and Kristopor, who was trying to catch up with her to bring her coat, managed to catch her, but not before her head hit the doorframe. He asked her if she was alright and she responded saying she was embarrassed more than anything, just as she raised a hand to the back of her head and realized it was actually throbbing. As she stood upright he saw her wince and he assured her that they were alone so no one else saw, but suggested they go to the first aid station for an ice pack.
By Chris Santiago3 years ago in Fiction
Bending the Limits
In a small, picturesque town nestled between rolling hills and serene lakes, there lived a young woman named Isabella. She was not your ordinary girl; from the moment she was born, it was clear that she possessed a unique gift. Isabella had flexible bones, a condition that allowed her body to twist and bend in ways that would astonish anyone who witnessed it.
By StoryholicFinds3 years ago in Fiction
Humanity
My body shook and my arm ached. I could taste the dirt in my mouth and feel the wet uncomfortable mud soaking through my pants, working its way through my underwear as well. My lips were dry, my head ached, and all around, nothing but noise and battle. My eyes were stinging from the smoke. The smell of blood and metal filled the air. And despite all the commotion, despite the ache in my muscles, I sat as still as a rock.
By Aythan Maconachie3 years ago in Fiction
The Greenhouse of Hope
Once, in a quiet little town nestled between rolling hills and lush meadows, there lived a blonde girl named Lily. Her backyard was a canvas of wild beauty, where the seasons painted their stories in vibrant colors. For years, she had dreamt of filling that canvas with a greenhouse of her own, a place where she could nurture life and, in her own way, contribute to healing the Earth.
By StoryholicFinds3 years ago in Fiction
The Thighmaster!
Note: I had this saved in a file for many years and posted it on Reedsy. Not one of my best, but I could not help think of it as I heard of the passing of Suzanne Somers. I was a fan and have no mean intentions behind this posting.
By Kendall Defoe 3 years ago in Fiction
Carly Anne and the Crabby Pig
Carly Anne never liked the weekends. If she could, she’d work eleven to six, seven days a week at Crabby Pig Deck and Grill in the shade of the Ferris Wheel at Daytona Beach Pier.
By Mary Louisa Cappelli3 years ago in Fiction
Gape
When our eyes met, it was as if I could truly feel my heart. For the first time, I was acutely aware of its heavy presence in my breast, beating against its bone cage. The strong sense of serene behind his eyes eased every muscle in my body. I had never felt so sure of myself. He sat upon a rock, reminding me of a lanky frog from a children's book. He leaned upon his arms, legs dangling, playfully swinging. His toes were bare to the open air. I offered him a smile. Slight and warm, but confident. I dared not scare him to leap away. His eyes brightened, piercing me with pale green light. He straightened his back and his brow furrowed. He was studying me. I pictured the clockwork of his brain. Tiny copper gears grinding out what to make of this stranger. I smoothed my dress and sat crisscrossed on the bank. Selecting out three round stones, I began to juggle them with spirit. I stuck out my tongue and he laughed. The sound was softer than I had imagined. Far better laugh than my own which had once been compared to the hearty chuckle of a twelve-year-old boy. I fumbled my grip causing one of the rocks to bounce off another into the water. I jumped up into a curtsy as if that were the intended ending of my performance. He quickly slid off the rock and disappeared. When he returned he had a small blade of grass which he slid between his fingers. Lifting his hands to his mouth he blew. The whistle was strong. Carried to my ears by the wind. We faced one another from the opposing embankments. Our fleeting vapors of breath visible in the morning chill. Expressions sober. Jaws relaxed. He risked a wink. I bit my lip. Peeling off my sandals I waded. The clear water frigid against my thighs. There was a loud splash as he dove under the surface, swimming a circle around me like an elegant sea serpent. It surprised me how long he had held his breath. I felt a rough scratch against my leg and thought I had collided with a rock. He rose from the river and I lept back. Water wept off his skin. Skin made of lime and silver scales. Coating his arms and chest like shimmering chainmail. A pair of thin gills on his neck opened and inhaled the fresh air. I stood rooted. By fear or fascination, I couldn’t discern. The current grew stronger and I found myself being dragged under by the ankle. He gripped tight. Scales piercing my flesh. I gulped a breath and submerged. I kicked hard my free leg greeting his thorax. His hold loosened and I wriggled free, breaching the surface. I can’t fucking die like this! This is not how I go! Frantic I sought a weapon, a sharp rock, anything. I could hear him behind me. His gills exhaled like the air control valve of a car. I could feel my heart again. This time pounding, screaming for me to swim. I reached the bank. My dress clung to my legs as I attempted to heave myself out of the water. I caught hold of a thick tree branch as his powerful arms latched around my waist. The branch gave a loud crack. A sharp pain coursed through my cheek where the branch had drawn blood. I was hoisted back into the river thrashing against his hold. Part of the branch still in hand, I saw its end, now splintered and pointy. With every ounce of strength I could muster. I cried out. Drove the branch into his back as far it would go. He let out a sorrowful ear-splitting trill. I was thrown into the waters. His bright green eyes soured to grey. His body fell limp. He disappeared beneath the torrent of our warfare. The clear stream stilled infused with crimson.
By Ravenne 3 years ago in Fiction