Short Story

The Silence Between Us
Zaid had always found comfort in silence. The quiet corners of the madrasa, the hushed rustle of pages turning, the whispered prayers at dawn — they were his safe places, his home. While others sought expression in speech or debate, Zaid lived inside himself, guarded and observant.
By The voice of the heartabout a year ago in Fiction
The Green Rebellion
In a world choked by smog, where city skies glowed an eerie orange and rivers ran thick with waste, a whisper of hope stirred in the unlikeliest of places—a small, forgotten playground on the edge of a sprawling metropolis. The year was 2045, and the Earth groaned under the weight of pollution. Factories belched black clouds, and plastic littered every corner of the planet. But in that rusty playground, under a gnarled old tree, a group of children discovered something extraordinary: a secret that would spark The Green Rebellion.
By Abid about a year ago in Fiction
Grandma’s Chest of Stories
After Grandma passed away, the house sank into an unfamiliar silence. Without her, every corner felt hollow, as if even the walls missed her warmth. She wasn’t just a grandmother—she was a storyteller, a healer, and the heartbeat of our home.
By M.Bilalabout a year ago in Fiction
Burn With Me
Burn With Me The golden dawn spilled over Vaeloria like melted honey, setting the city ablaze with light. The streets hummed with the clash of old magic and new greed, where the poor scraped for crumbs and the rich feasted on power. In the soot-stained lanes of **Cinderwick**, where the air smelled of crushed herbs and burning wood, **Saria Wren** stirred a pot of glowing elixirs. Her fingers, stained violet from twilight sage, moved with the quiet certainty of someone who knew the secrets of fire.
By Shakespeare Jrabout a year ago in Fiction
The Legacy of Home. Top Story - July 2025.
It was only August, but it already felt like Summer’s end. The heat had broken; maybe it was the thunderstorm of tears I had wept which had tempered the humidity and made the air less oppressive, as if the world were giving me some comfort. My eyes sizzled at the thought, threatening to begin bubbling pools again. I blinked fiercely, urging them silently to settle themselves. They obeyed, this time, and I sighed in relief. I did not want my eyes blurry as I traveled the tree arched mountain pass, her road ways curving up like a sanguine river. It was so peaceful, so familiar, and I cherished the sun sparkling through the emerald leaves and the smell of the sunlight toasting the onion grass as I drove onward towards home.
By Ellie Hoovsabout a year ago in Fiction
Mum's the Word
So she's lying there, right, completely out. He must have heard her go down. Great big thump. She's not a small woman. Anyway. He still didn't shout out. Bang on the door. Anything. Dunno what I was expecting really. But now, I look back, and I reckon... I was gonna keep going till he gave me something. I'd probably keep going after that, too. But right then, I just wanted to know what it was going to take. To break him. I guess. He must feel something for her. She's his mum, right? I mean, I don't have one, but... I kind of wished I did. When I was little, you know. A kid. I thought she'd be beautiful, and smell clean. Tuck me in or whatever. It sounds sappy, but little kids want stupid shit, don't they? I'm not like that anymore. Obviously. I don't need anything now. Or anyone. Point is. For most people, mums are people they about. Aren't they? Maybe I'd read him all wrong. There she is. A lump in cheap clothes. At my mercy. She's not, by the way, anything like the mum I imagined when I was a stupid little kid. She's ugly. Up close, she doesn't smell good. She does seem to worship him. But that only proves how stupid she is. I should do her then. In the murder way. Not the sex way. I don't know why I didn't. Saving it, I suppose. Gut instinct. Holding off so l can do it when it'll hurt him most. I dragged her limp body to the front door. Not bothering to be quiet. I got the door open. Checked the corridor. Okay, now I had to act quick. I don't like that. I like a plan. Breathing room. Don't like stress. But here goes. I picked her up. That was hard. She's short but shes dumpy. I carried her down to her car and bundled her into the passenger seat. "One too many sherries. One too many sherries." I held that in my mouth, hoping no one would ask. I got in the driver's seat. Gotta admit, my hands were all sweaty. I don't like driving. I avoid it when I can. Prefer buses. But I can drive. So I did. I used her satnav to find the way back to her place. What is it with old people programming in places like "home"? Do you need a machine to get you how to get somewhere you go every day? People are so stupid. I found her keys in her handbag, got the door open. Came back for her. Manhandled her in. Somehow. Had a good rummage through her belongings. What to keep? I thought I might take the phone, but those things are trackable, so maybe I shouldn't keep it. Found myself thumbing her front door key. Wouldn't it be funny if she had no spare and was locked inside? Neat. Poetic, practically. I did take the phone, but I broke it apart and dropped the pieces in the canal. It took a long time to walk home.
By L.C. Schäferabout a year ago in Fiction
TUS NUA - ch 11
TUS NUA – ch 11 New Beginnings – Mia and Midnight (*)(*)(*) They wandered around the glen, talking, crying, hugging, healing. Nora Green wiped a whisp of hair from Mary’s eyes and said, “This is such a beautiful place. I can’t think of anywhere better to heal than here but it’s time to go back home.”
By Margaret Brennanabout a year ago in Fiction
Episode 2: We Gave the Order, and Then the Screaming Started
They dropped us in at 0600. That’s how it started. Grey sky. No wind. Dead silence that stuck to your skin like old sweat.
By Paper Lanternabout a year ago in Fiction
The Infinite Vacation
Micah’s days had blurred into grayscale. The blinds in his apartment stayed half-shut even at noon, letting in just enough light to remind him it was still happening, that life hadn’t stopped, just his part in it. He worked from home now, writing meaningless lines of code for a logistics software company that didn’t care if he wore the same hoodie three days in a row or if he ever brushed his hair again.
By Zarina Majidovaabout a year ago in Fiction
The Reflections of The Lost
They called it my “room,” but it never felt like mine. I was a guest, a stranger in a house full of unspoken histories and half-hearted welcomes.
By Manahil Khanabout a year ago in Fiction
O Soave Fanciulla
Allen sat in a quiet and quaint Italian bistro, enjoying the gentle classical music in the background, lifting the atmosphere. He thought about how he’d waited a month for this night—since that unexpected coffee shop encounter. Though Samantha didn’t know at the time, it was a re-encounter.
By Paul Stewartabout a year ago in Fiction
The Lion and Lamb
**Introduction** The imagery of a **lion and lamb** lying down together is one of the most powerful and paradoxical visions in literature, religion, and philosophy. It represents the collision of two opposing forces—**strength and gentleness, dominance and submission, ferocity and innocence.** This metaphor has been used across cultures and texts, from **Biblical prophecies** to **political speeches**, from **children’s fables** to **modern motivational talks.**
By Wisal Ahmad about a year ago in Fiction