Short Story
The Shapeshifter in the Woods
The Shapeshifter in the Woods Malcom had lived beside the woods for twelve quiet years. They pressed close to his back fence, thick with old trees and darker rumours, yet nothing had ever crossed the line into his life. Not until the night he heard the dog.
By βΏ V+ Marie381Uk 9 months ago in Fiction
The Day the Clock Refused to Move. AI-Generated.
The clock stopped at 9:17 a.m. At first, no one noticed. The cafΓ© buzzed with its usual soundsβcups touching saucers, chairs scraping the floor, conversations overlapping without apology. Outside, traffic continued its impatient rhythm. Time, as far as anyone could tell, was still doing its job.
By Mehwish Jabeen9 months ago in Fiction
Silence. Top Story - June 2024. Content Warning.
I donβt remember the day the world ended. But I do remember the day I noticed. That photo was it, but I did not know what it meant until I sat in my darkened bathroom, staring at the newly developed film. The street was neither empty, nor abandoned. It was dead. The colours of the flowers wrapped in that red ribbon caught my eye, and as I crouched to take that photo, I could hear only the lonely silence of a graveyard after dark.
By Alexander McEvoy9 months ago in Fiction
Apparition . Content Warning.
He stood propped in the doorway, hands in his pockets, a small smile on his lips, eyes flashing in the small light from her reading lamp. An encouraging nod, the open, friendly posture, it was all so perfectly him, right down to the black canvas jacket with a torn epaulette over his right shoulder.
By Alexander McEvoy9 months ago in Fiction
IN THE AVU OBSERVATORY
The observatory at Avu, in Borneo, stands on the spur of the mountain. To the north rises the old crater, black at night against the unfathomable blue of the sky. From the little circular building, with its mushroom dome, the slopes plunge steeply
By Amelia Miller9 months ago in Fiction
The Day the Sun Crowned the Third Pyramid
The Day the Sun Crowned the Third Pyramid The desert was still, the kind of still that pressed against the ears and made every heartbeat loud. I had arrived hours before dawn, walking over sand that had carried footsteps older than memory. The pyramids loomed, dark and patient, watching the night fold into itself.
By βΏ V+ Marie381Uk 9 months ago in Fiction
Life Comes Without Instructions
What is the measure of a life? What gives it worth? Whatβs it all for? What is the point? To celebrate a life is to lose it to death. It is inevitable. We are all hanging onto the dash between our birth and death dates. Hoping to make a mark, something to be remembered for. Is that in the things we do, or the people we know? I believe it is in the people we touch. Lives that we are mingled with. Not what we aspire to be, but WHO we aspire to become.
By Kelli Sheckler-Amsden9 months ago in Fiction
