Short Story
The Night My Reflection Spoke Back
The apartment was quieter than usual that night. Even the old radiator, famous for its midnight groans, stayed still, as if it sensed the heaviness sitting in my chest. I had been living alone for almost a year—long enough for the silence to feel normal, but short enough for it to still sting.
By Emranullah10 months ago in Fiction
The Cozy-Tok Tyrant
The mission was “Cozy Core Autumn.” Elara had spent three hundred dollars and six hours building the perfect set in the corner of her apartment. A chunky knit blanket, artfully draped. A vintage copy of Jane Eyre. A ceramic mug from a local potter, filled with a cinnamon-dusted latte that had taken four tries to foam correctly. Three strategically placed pumpkin spice candles, because the algorithm loved odd numbers.
By Habibullah11 months ago in Fiction
The Library That Remembered Her. AI-Generated.
The Library That Remembered Her Arman had not planned to walk that way. He never did. The old district near the abandoned harbor was a place he avoided — every street carried the faint echo of her laughter. But that night, the wind felt oddly familiar, almost like someone was guiding him by the sleeve. Before he could realize where his feet were leading, he was standing in front of a building he had never seen before.
By shakir hamid11 months ago in Fiction
Kitchen of Wynorrific. Top Story - November 2025. Content Warning.
Thanksgiving at the Greenfield household was always a mess. It’s something that I’ve dealt with since I was ten. Mom would be slaving away at the turkey and other things. While dad would be setting the table. Cleaning the living room and barking at me to take care of our large dogs.
By Raphael Fontenelle11 months ago in Fiction
Colorless. Content Warning.
It’s taller than I remember. Freshly painted, white, austere. All traces of the past erased. No sagging porch stairs, waiting to splinter tender feet. No colorful childish collages painted on interior walls. Everything stark white and too clean. The old cottage invisible in the bones of this immaculate beach house. No longer a fairyland full of old things… my grandmother’s garish gold and green Afghan that kept me warm on cold, damp nights. No dusty, sepia-toned photos of old family members. It’s all gone. Colorless. Some might call it clean and bright.
By Cathy Schieffelin11 months ago in Fiction
Unannounced
I wake up in a jolt. There’s a second loud crash coming from my kitchen. I glance at the clock that reads 4:03AM before I grab the metal water bottle on my bedside table and shrug to myself. It’ll have to do. I gently step into the hallway and peer down the stairs. I don’t hear any whispers or footsteps… But I still go down the stairs slowly, making sure I make as little noise as possible. I hear light shuffling, still coming from the kitchen. I grip the water bottle tighter, making sure I won’t accidentally drop it. I slowly peer round the corner into the kitchen to find my previously locked patio door slightly open. And sitting on the stool at the island, I see her. I instantly drop my arms and sigh in contempt. I step into the kitchen, my head slightly tilted to the side in disbelief.
By Tifany Walker11 months ago in Fiction
