Short Story
The Clockmaker’s Secret. AI-Generated.
In the heart of a small European town stood a little clock shop called Teller’s Timepieces. It was easy to miss — wedged between a bakery and a tailor’s store, with a dusty sign that hadn’t been repainted in decades. But those who knew the place spoke of its owner, Elias Teller, as a man who could fix any clock in the world — even those long thought broken forever.
By shakir hamid12 months ago in Fiction
The Last Passenger. AI-Generated.
The 11:40 p.m. train from Crescent City to Marrow Junction was almost empty that night. Only four passengers sat scattered in the dimly lit compartment — a young woman reading a paperback, a middle-aged man staring out the window, a student with headphones, and an old lady clutching a suitcase.
By shakir hamid12 months ago in Fiction
What If Columbus Hadn’t Discovered America?
Human history is filled with turning points — those moments when a single decision, event, or discovery changes the course of the world forever. One of the most important of these moments was, without a doubt, the year 1492, when Christopher Columbus reached the shores of the New World, opening an entirely new chapter in global history.
By Nyku Blondu12 months ago in Fiction
The Pot and the Ministry
“The Pot and the Ministry” A king was once passing through a region where people drank water directly from a canal. They bent down, scooped water in their hands, drank, and moved on. Watching this, the king paused for a moment, then turned to his minister and said,
By New stAr writer 12 months ago in Fiction
A Shot in the Heart. Top Story - October 2025.
Chantilly took her slice of cake, along with a glass of milk, into the living room to eat while she watched the latest episode of her favorite daytime talk show. Settling onto the chintz-covered couch, she turned the TV on with the remote, switching the channels until she found the one she was searching for. Today was her first day of vacation, and even though Franklin had to work all week, she had every intention of enjoying it to the hilt.
By Mother Combs12 months ago in Fiction
Swipe Right For Guns & Amour
Lee, 31 29 Location: East London Height: 6'1" Weight: 185 lbs Job: warehouse night shift / part-time mechanic Looking for: someone chill. no drama. About Me: I cook pretty good. Risottos my thing. Hate small talk. Brunch is a scam. Crypto is a scam. Cops can jog the f on 🖕 Likes: football, top gear the old one with Clarkson, anything with Jason Statham. Message me if: you like the vibes I'm not for you if: you judge drunk tattoos or like Tailor Swift Tia, 25 Location: Hackney Height: 5'4" Weight: 135 lbs Job: freelance barista / DJ Looking for: Chaos with boundaries. About Me: I talk fast, sleep weird n love a good exit. ACAB!!!! Likes: sons of anarchy, true crime podcasts, tequila, fast bikes, slow mornings. Message me if: you’ve been banned from at least one pub I'm not for you if: body count is an issue + Lee: U drink coffee or just pretend lol Tia: double expresso for me haha Lee: Fair. You sleep normal hrs? Tia: Define normal 🤪 Lee: idk like 2am to 10am. Tia: Close enough ;) what was your job sry I forget Lee: Warehouse. Nights. Tia: look hot in overalls? 😈 Lee: mabye lol. You free Thursday? Could judge for yourself Tia: yeah I got some time on thirsday. What r u thinkin Lee: Coffee near the station? After I get off work? cant wait to finaly meet you Tia: sure. what time? + Tia arrived late. Lee was leaning against the window, scrolling through something on his phone. For all the world as if he didn't care that she was late, or might not even show. Like, whatever, bitch. She squinted at him through the glass. He had bags under his eyes, and his face looked a bit grey, like old porridge. Well, that's nights for you, isn't it? He was a bit heavyset, like he'd been enjoying pasta and not going to the gym. There was at least a night's worth of stubble on his chin, too, but she didn't mind that. (Rawrr.) She tapped the glass, as if he were a Betta, and he turned, the scowl around his eyes not so deeply entrenched after all. When he lightened up a little, he looked almost boyish under the face fuzz. Kind of sweet. Tia scuttled in, as much as one can scuttle wearing big clunky boots like that. She was wearing the kind of expression that would have matched some kind of zany headwear. The only concession to "unorthodox things in the head region" was old acid-green dye at the ends of her dirty blonde hair. On the list of things she was not wearing: a bra. And if you are wondering whether that's "dirty-blonde" or "dirty, blonde", let me clarify: it was both. The café was half full. It was late enough in the morning that the blue collar workers had long since finished their fry-ups and bacon rolls, and, as they might have put it, "scarpered". Not so late that they'd come back for buckets of teak-coloured tea, either. Instead the place was littered with the kind of clientele to match Lee and Tia exactly: people with casual work, or unsociable hours. Or, in some cases, no work at all. She scrunched up her nose, and he noticed that her eyeliner was smudged. A girlfriend might have wondered if it was yesterday's, but Lee wasn't well versed in the proper application of cosmetics. If anything, he vaguely assumed it was tricky, and if this was a girl who hadn't devoted a lot of time to figuring it out, well, then maybe she was more interesting than some he could mention. She wasn't wearing any other make-up. "What's up?" he said. "Hey," she said, sliding into her seat and shaking loose the disgusted expression. "You're not a vegetarian are you?" he asked, with a sinking feeling in his paunch. "What? No? Oh, God no, I just-" She laughed a little, to show him it was no big thing, not really, and added, "...the music in here is always shit." "Sorry," he arched an eyebrow, "I'll take you to a club next time." She laughed again, the sound lubricated and loosened her, and unlatched her tongue. "I'll dust off my mesh top and fuzzy boots, then. And my lucky skirt." She waited for him to ask why it was lucky, but he didn't think he had to. He enjoyed the mental image she had painted. A smile lurked among the stubble, like a lioness in long grass. Some might call it a leer, but let's not be unkind. She scuttled (I know: again, it was, like, her only setting) up to the counter to order her espresso, which they didn't have, and another builder's tea for her swanky date, currently up to his balls in BBC News. Very sophisticated. Once seated again, this time with her off-brand instant coffee (the granules floated on top, and she wished she'd asked for sugar) she seemed a little unbalanced. It would take her a while to find her footing, her comfort zone. In the meantime, she asked questions quickfire, as if this were Mastermind (special subject: himself). Have you ever been in a fight? What was the last concert you went to? Have you ever got kicked out of a pub? Do you believe in fate? He did his best to keep up. (I can look after myself, darlin', don't you worry about that. Garage Nation. Yeah, there's a couple of places in Croydon I can't show my face in. I don't know about Fate, but I do believe in luck. And timing.) They finished their drinks. "I had a little surprise planned, actually," he said. Her face lit up. "I didn't want to say, because I wasn't sure you'd be up for it. Most girls probably aren't. But you're... you're different. It's pretty special. What do you say? Feel like an adventure?" She reached across the table to grasp his meaty paws in her skinny hands, beaming. Her nails were bitten short with chipped and mismatched polish. "My car is just round the corner," he said. "You brave enough to get in a car with a guy like me?" Her heart raced and her eyes shone. They left the cafe together. "Do you like surprises?" It was his turn for quickfire questions. She nodded. "Crazy ones?" She squeaked. "Let's go." He had suddenly and inexplicably become more handsome.
By L.C. Schäfer12 months ago in Fiction
Before I Knew
He appeared in her life on a night when even the stars seemed shy, their shimmer pale under the weight of her solitude. His arrival was not a sound, not a word ... just a gentle, invisible presence, like a current stirring the sleeping surface of a pond. She felt him there, swimming among the stars she had long ago claimed as her only company.
By Julie O'Hara - Author, Poet and Spiritual Warrior12 months ago in Fiction
The old man at night
The old man at night I saw him again, this night as he dragged his left foot on the cobblestone streets. His gait, a little unsteady with a hunched back and a wooden cane. His face partially covered by a worn out hood and his dirty long ash-gray hair hanging long over his chin. His clothes were that from two nights ago and he probably reeked of alcohol like he did that night.
By Ewura Ekua Acquah12 months ago in Fiction
Null Hypothesis . Winner in A Knock at the Door Challenge. Content Warning.
Boom! He stops— stops peeling his skin and lets his head swivel in the lonesome dark, towards the noise. It came from the varied wall, directly below the pale green dot. But the dot is still as always, it has always been there and it has never moved-- the dot is constant and eternal.
By Sam Spinelli12 months ago in Fiction
