Short Story
The Girl Who Wrote Her Name on the Moon. AI-Generated.
The night her brother died, Aisha made a promise. She stood barefoot in the backyard, her palms covered in dirt, the air sharp with silence. Her mother was inside, a ghost made of tears. Her father hadn’t spoken in hours.
By Mudasir Hakeemi about a year ago in Fiction
A night of isolation
Now was my chance to see if our health service was worth its salt. A simple visit to the doctors ended up with a not so simple visit to the hospital. I rang the doc for more pain killers, I told her I knew what would work for me . Unlike the others she wanted me to go to her for yet more tests.
By ASHLEY SMITHabout a year ago in Fiction
Do It Again
Introduction The second first time is a weird concept because to me, it is usually a time, that is like the first time but this time you now how a bit of a clue about what yu are doing, so if you didn't make it the first time, then you may recall the pitfalls and put them right for this time.
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred about a year ago in Fiction
The Robot Who Wrote PoemS
In the year 2091, humans built machines to make life easier. Some cleaned homes. Some worked in factories. Some drove cars. But in a quiet laboratory at the edge of a rainy city, an engineer named Dr. Laila Rehman was working on something different.
By The voice of the heartabout a year ago in Fiction
The Lying House
I remember the day I first saw him. I ran away. Not too far, just enough to avoid feeling too shy. It was almost as if the closeness of him made my shyness overflow like rainwater in a tank. I wanted to cry like the sky, because I’ve never felt this wanted in a while. But there’s danger in being vulnerable, in our world.
By Caitlin Charltonabout a year ago in Fiction
The Pull of Your Hand. Content Warning.
The sun caresses my face with soft, late-afternoon rays, and the unruly brambles offer the last of their inky blackberries, still plump with end-of-summer rain. I put one in my mouth and bitter-sweet sunshine explodes against my tongue. A robin eyes me from a fence, head on one side, querying crumbs.
By Bridget Applebyabout a year ago in Fiction
The Ghost of Spin Ghar. AI-Generated.
The night Wali Khan returned from the city, the mountains were silent. No gunfire. No laughter. Just wind. His father — Haji Gul Rahman — had died in what they called a hunting accident. But something in the air, in the way the elders averted their eyes, told Wali there was more.
By Mudasir Hakeemi about a year ago in Fiction
