Short Story
Day 7: Flood...a what? . Content Warning.
Assesment: Not being volunteer number one feels slightly desspointingly promising. When Cornman Ron asked what happened to the last ones, of course only learning that after, while I took hold of the approved recorder, he was shrugged off with a pat on his back. I folded a notebook in half to keep in my cargo pants for the experience journal Wolfman Patrick called necessary. That’s where it stayed, whether I gave a damn about what was happening here or not. I used previous recordings to get to where the last guy left off, sounding familiar as hell, to get a sense of what I was expecting. What curse would get me, what sacrifice would do me in? I don't know any more, and I used to like that.
By Willem Indigo10 months ago in Fiction
Time
5:55am I toss my head back, savoring the cool air against my sweaty skin. The sky blossoms into a beautiful array of hues over my head. Birds sing as they stir in their nests, getting ready to take to the air. My legs tremble beneath me. I tap the screen on my watch to stop the timer. Seven minutes, ten seconds. So close. I wanted to break seven minutes so badly–I had since high school. I stumble forward, reaching for my bike and unhooking my water bottle from the metal bar. I take several deep gulps of cold water as I watch the surface of the river rush by, the falls thundering over the dam a few hundred yards away. The flowing water catches the earliest morning light, erupting in a treasure trove of glitter and sparkles.
By Phoenixica2410 months ago in Fiction
Through the Wreckage: Voices of Train Survivors:. AI-Generated.
It was supposed to be a routine journey. Passengers boarded the train with everyday hopes—students carrying books, workers clutching lunchboxes, families sharing quiet conversations. The rhythmic sound of wheels against the tracks promised safety, familiarity, and progress. Yet within moments, that rhythm shattered into chaos.
By The Writer...A_Awan10 months ago in Fiction
The Man Who Vanished at the Bus Stop:. AI-Generated.
It was just another midnight at the bus stop. The air was heavy with the scent of rain, the streetlight above flickered as if struggling to stay alive, and the crowd around me seemed as ordinary as ever. Students with backpacks, office workers scrolling through their phones, and a few faces staring blankly into the distance. Nothing in that moment suggested it would turn into a story I would never forget.
By The Writer...A_Awan10 months ago in Fiction
The Silent Patient: A Voice Buried in Shadows... AI-Generated.
The first time I saw her, she was sitting in the corner of the psychiatric ward, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her eyes fixed on something invisible beyond the barred window. Alicia Berenson had not spoken a single word since the night she shot her husband.
By The Writer...A_Awan10 months ago in Fiction
Update: The Concession Stand Calls
UPDATE: The phone rang today… but this time, it wasn’t just the boy on the line. So, I wasn’t planning on updating because, honestly, I thought people would call BS, but a bunch of you asked for more details. And then something happened today that I can’t keep to myself.
By V-Ink Stories10 months ago in Fiction
