Short Story

The Emergency Contact
Love, in this house, is not subtle. It’s the last packet of crisps handed over without flinching. It’s pausing your stim to listen to a story that doesn’t interest you at all. It’s someone silently finding the runaway socks and putting them back in the washing basket that sat unfolded, again, without saying a word.
By Laura about a year ago in Fiction
The Emergency Contact
It didn’t happen overnight. I didn’t open the door and fall in love with him. He didn’t show up with a cape and sensory-friendly headphones. No one dropped to one knee holding a chewy tube under moonlight. It wasn’t a lightning bolt. It was slower than that. Quieter. Safer.
By Laura about a year ago in Fiction
The Emergency Contact
The kids are on the bus. The house is quiet. Too quiet. Not the peaceful kind of quiet, not “ahh, a moment to breathe.” It’s the kind of quiet that echoes. That presses.
By Laura about a year ago in Fiction
The Emergency Contact
There it was. The letter. Four paragraphs of clinical language that confirmed what I already knew, my youngest is autistic.
By Laura about a year ago in Fiction
The Lesson of the Red Light
Ravi was a bright but impatient college student in Delhi. He lived in a fast-paced world — always on the move, always chasing time. Whether it was getting to college, meeting friends, or just going for a ride, Ravi believed speed was everything.
By Shakoorabout a year ago in Fiction
The Clockmaker’s Last Secret
In the quiet, mist-laden town of Eldermere, where cobblestone streets wound like the gears of an ancient timepiece, there lived a clockmaker named Elias Veyne. His shop, tucked between a butcher’s stall and a forgotten bookstore, was a place of whispers—both literal and imagined. The townsfolk said Elias didn’t just repair clocks; he "listened "to them. And then, one autumn evening, he vanished. The only clue was a single pocket watch left on his workbench, its hands frozen at 3:17. But this was no ordinary timepiece. When wound, it didn’t tick forward—it ticked *backward*. The Mystery Unfolds Lira Arden, a young journalist from the city, arrived in Eldermere after hearing rumors of the clockmaker’s disappearance. She had grown up on stories of Elias—how his clocks never lost a second, how some claimed they could even *predict* events before they happened. But superstition was one thing; a missing man was another. The townspeople were reluctant to speak. The butcher muttered about "bad luck," the bookstore owner simply shook her head, and the mayor insisted Elias had "gone on a trip." But Lira noticed how their eyes flicked toward the old clock tower at the center of town, its face perpetually stuck at the same time: 3:17. That night, Lira wound the pocket watch. The world shuddered. Suddenly, she stood not in the dimly lit shop, but in the same room bathed in golden afternoon light. Elias Veyne stood before her, his fingers stained with oil, his expression one of grim recognition. "You shouldn’t have done that," he said.
By Azmat Roman ✨about a year ago in Fiction
The Sound Beneath
Some inherit property. Others inherit the strength to free themselves from silence. 📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼
By Michelle Liew Tsui-Linabout a year ago in Fiction
Chapter 11: Recognizing Siblings, Imperial Box
Dongmei glared at Ye Chu and quickly undressed for Huangfu Shiyue. After tidying herself up briefly, Huangfu Shiyue looked at Ye Chu again. "Mr. Ye, thanks to your help this time. Let me take care of things here first, and then I'll host a banquet to thank you."
By HuaxunTechnologyabout a year ago in Fiction
When Time Stood Still
There are moments in life when everything slows down—moments so intense, so utterly strange, that time itself seems to hold its breath. For me, that moment came on a rainy October evening in a place I never meant to be. I was driving back from a failed job interview in a town three hours from home. It had been a rough day—gray skies, wet roads, and a growing sense of failure tightening in my chest like a vice. The kind of day that makes you question everything. My GPS warned of a traffic jam ahead and offered a detour. Tired and frustrated, I clicked “Yes” without thinking twice. That was my first mistake. The new route led me through a stretch of unfamiliar countryside. Forest on both sides. No houses. No signals. Just a narrow road snaking through shadows. And then—my second mistake—I ignored the storm warning blinking on my dashboard. The rain came fast, like it had been waiting for me. Thunder cracked the sky open. The wipers danced frantically. I leaned forward, squinting through the blur, until I saw it—an old gas station, its flickering neon sign barely holding on.
By M.Bilalabout a year ago in Fiction
Another World Nearby
I've decided to move far away. I don't intend to tell any of my housemates; it's none of their business. I spent a long time weighing my options, oscillating between contradicting feelings about what I wanted to do, because I knew I wasn’t happy but I didn’t want to make an impulsive decision that I would regret. And then, one day, my decision was final.
By Testabout a year ago in Fiction
My Dead Brother Sends Me Voicemails
The first voicemail came on the anniversary of his death. It was just after midnight. I was scrolling through old photos of us when my phone buzzed. The caller ID said “Unknown.” I let it go to voicemail. A minute later, a notification lit up:
By Musawir Shahabout a year ago in Fiction
The Man in The Vent. AI-Generated.
He came pre-aged, hairline stressed just enough to suggest three divorces and a Harvard double major. Nobody blinked when he took the oath—same gait, same speaking cadence, even wore the same cufflinks as the last guy.
By Jesse L Shelleyabout a year ago in Fiction