Short Story

The Red Exile. AI-Generated.
Chapter 1: The Blackfen The only light in the Blackfen came from the dying day, a sickly yellow bruise smeared across the western sky. It didn’t illuminate; it stained. The air was a thick soup of decay and buzzing insects, and the ground beneath Rudrik Ashborne’s iron-soled boots was a treachery of sucking mire and hidden roots.
By Adam10 months ago in Fiction
The Kallikantzari Are Here
Introduction This is inspired by a picture shared by Geoffrey Hudson on Facebook here: The music is "Out, Demons, Out" by The Edgar Broughton Band
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred 10 months ago in Fiction
Apocalypse
A cloud of ash floated down the slope as Holly slid down, legs braced for impact. She huffed, trying to stifle her coughing instinctively. She realized a moment later.
By Phoenixica2410 months ago in Fiction
Echoes Beneath the Waves:. AI-Generated.
The night was calm, the sea stretching endlessly under a sky scattered with stars. Passengers aboard the RMS Titanic believed they were sailing on a miracle of modern engineering, a ship so vast and luxurious that it was called “unsinkable.” Yet beneath the glittering chandeliers and polished brass, fate was already writing its cruel script.
By The Writer...A_Awan10 months ago in Fiction
Borrowed Face:. AI-Generated.
I first observed her on the train. She sat across from me, head tilted slightly, eyes fixed on the window as if the city rushing past was more important than the people inside. At first glance, she seemed ordinary—dark hair, pale skin, a tired expression. But then she turned, and my breath caught.
By The Writer...A_Awan10 months ago in Fiction
The Watch That Stopped at 3:17 🕰
The watch lay in the back of a kitchen drawer for nearly twenty years. Not because it was forgotten, but because it had been placed there carefully, wrapped in a soft handkerchief that still smelled faintly of soap and tobacco. The drawer was opened often — for spare batteries, for scissors, for rubber bands — and every time it opened, the watch was seen.
By Zidane10 months ago in Fiction
Some Assembly Required
“Well, that was dramatic,” he thought. Here he was, in the middle of a winter wonderland with very little understanding of the language of this country in a car that just failed him as the day turned to night. Michael had been in the country for just under a week and had met all of his contacts except one, and he had been on his way to speak to the last one that very afternoon. He had noted how quickly the darkness settled after 4 pm, but he thought that he would have made it. Michael also thought that the car borrowed from the rental agency would also last. There had been no sign of damage or loss of power. To put it simply, he had run out of gas and was now wondering what to do next.
By Kendall Defoe 10 months ago in Fiction
The last message . AI-Generated.
I woke up to the familiar buzz of my phone. At first, I thought it was just another notification from a friend or one of those annoying app alerts. But when I unlocked it, my heart skipped a beat.
By Evxian Zx10 months ago in Fiction
Guy’s Night. Content Warning.
disclaimer: if your affinity for comedy red lines at religion (or theology in general), you will be offended. this story is a work of fiction. names, characters, events, and celestial interventions are entirely imagined. any resemblance to religious texts, figures, or doctrines is purely coincidental… or, let’s be honest, probably intentional.
By Ashlee Laurel10 months ago in Fiction
The Taj Mahal
The Taj Mahal I did not expect it to feel so quiet. Not silent, just calm in a way that made my chest slow down without asking. The Taj Mahal stood there as if it had been waiting, not for crowds or cameras, but for someone willing to look beyond the shine. White marble catching the light, not showing off, simply being present. I realised then this place was not built to impress the world. It was built to hold a feeling that refused to disappear.
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk 10 months ago in Fiction
The Mailbox That Still Waited 📮
The mailbox stood a little crooked at the edge of Willow Lane, its red paint faded to a tired pink. The flag no longer lifted the way it once had; the hinge squeaked when the wind caught it just right. Most people barely noticed it anymore. Cars passed. Seasons turned. The mailbox stayed.
By Zidane10 months ago in Fiction
Ash
At first it was only a nuisance. A fine gray dust that gathered on windowsills, on the backs of chairs, in the creases of her thoughts. It followed her indoors, clung to her hair, rested on her tongue with the faint bitterness of something already finished.
By Aarsh Malik10 months ago in Fiction