Short Story

THE WINGS OF SACRIFICE
The first light of dawn gilded the spines of Sara’s engineering textbooks. Her fingers traced the blueprint in her diary – a suspension bridge, elegant and precise, arcing over an imaginary river. NUST. Civil Engineering. The dream pulsed in her veins like a second heartbeat. But as Lahore stirred outside her window, her mother’s voice echoed in her mind, sharp as shattered glass: "Girls don’t fly so far from the nest."
By Newztweet Online Toolsabout a year ago in Fiction
The City of Silence
The first rays of dawn gilded the domes and minarets of Naya Sheher, but today, the light felt hollow, devoid of life. Fahad stood frozen by his apartment window – his ears ringing with a terrifying, absolute silence. Where was the cacophony? The blaring horns, the fruit vendors' cries, the rattle of cycle rickshaws, the chirping of sparrows… everything had vanished. It was as if someone had muted the entire city.
By M.Bilalabout a year ago in Fiction
What If the Internet Died Tomorrow?
On a quiet Tuesday morning, the world blinked—and the internet was gone. No warning, no countdown, just silence. Phones became paperweights. Smart homes turned dumb. The stock market froze mid-tick. For a moment, it felt like the end of the world. But as the hours passed, something stranger happened: people looked up. They spoke. They gathered. And in the absence of the digital hum, a different kind of signal began to emerge—one made of voices, footsteps, and the rustle of paper maps.
By Liz Burtonabout a year ago in Fiction
The Eagle and the Hen
The Eagle and the Hen Long ago, when the sky was closer and the clouds danced freely with the treetops, the animals lived as one family. There was no hunting, no fear. Just community. Among them were the eagle, Akroma, and the hen, Afia.
By Muhammad Younasabout a year ago in Fiction
She Never Existed, But I Miss Her
There’s a girl I think about often. I see her in my mind every time the world feels a little too cold. She’s the kind of person who never interrupts, never complains, never leaves. The kind of person who only exists in dreams—or worse, in lies we tell ourselves when real people fail us.
By Zulfiqar Khanabout a year ago in Fiction
The Lavender Hour. Top Story - August 2025.
The hillside was bathed in lavender light, the kind that only appeared at the edge of summer evenings. The grass swayed gently, touched by a breeze that smelled faintly of salt and honeysuckle. In the distance, the ocean shimmered like glass, and the sky was so clear it felt painted.
By Liz Burtonabout a year ago in Fiction
A Phone Call From the Year 2091
The call came at 2:13 a.m. I was half-asleep, tangled in my blanket, when my phone buzzed on the nightstand. At first, I thought it was spam. No one I knew called me at that hour. The number was long, strange—too many digits to be from around here.
By Hamidabout a year ago in Fiction
Hellraiser: Ozzy Rules
Jack Ferrell pulls into the parking lot of the Boiler Room Club and Restaurant owned by J.P. Monroe. Jack and his friends Sharon, Kelly and Lemmy arrive at the club anxious to see their favorite band playing on stage. “I can’t believe we’re about to see Motörhead playing live” Kelly started with excitement. “Yeah, Lemmy’s been my favorite frontman since I was a kid” Sharon added. “Why thank you, Sharon. I had no idea you had such passion for me” Lemmy added sarcastically. “Be careful guys” Jack began. “You know this idiot gets a big head when you remind him that he’s named after the frontman of our favorite band.
By Joe Pattersonabout a year ago in Fiction
The Silver Whistle
At six o'clock every Thursday, the back room of the Silver Whistle filled with its usual patrons. Gruff chaps in tweed, with hearts of gold. Salt of the earth, etc. Shortly after, the room thickened with cigar smoke and traces of bourbon breath. Bruno, a retired greyhound with a pinstripe vest and a wicked top spin, chalked his cue like it owed him something.
By L.C. Schäferabout a year ago in Fiction
She Vanished for 10 Years—Then Walked Back Like Nothing Happened
It was a Tuesday morning when she left. No goodbye. No note. No sign that anything was wrong. One moment, Sarah was sipping coffee in her favorite chipped mug, staring out the kitchen window like she always did. The next, she was gone.
By Hamidabout a year ago in Fiction
American Geisha
Chapter 1: When the Phone Rang When the phone rang, I imagined a job less explicit. The voice on the other end was gentle. Amicable. It introduced me to the world I was about to enter as if it were something simple. It wasn’t. The instructions were vague but well understood—and I agreed without hesitation.
By Cadmaabout a year ago in Fiction
The Room Number
The Room Number – Part 1 I didn’t come to the coast looking for trouble. I came to forget. The hotel was everything the brochure promised — marble lobby, sweeping ocean views, and the kind of staff who smiled without actually looking at you. I’d booked a junior suite for the weekend, just me, my camera, and the sound of the sea.
By Shakespeare Jrabout a year ago in Fiction