Short Story
Black Coffee Steam
The ring is missing. We are sitting at the kitchen table arguing about it, but they are not shouting at me. I almost wish they were. It would be less painful than this silent disappointment that feels like the weight of the world is bringing me to my knees. I did not mean to lose the ring, it was a symbol of my love and commitment to them. A gold infinite band engraved with their name, Solitude.
By Katerina Petrouabout a year ago in Fiction
The Dominant Child. Honorable Mention in Parallel Lives Challenge.
Though Amethyst was eleven, she was still afraid of the dark, and it was from the dark that the other girl seemed to come. On a long summer night like many others, Amy lay in bed curled up and sniffling. The more she tried not to think about the terrible things she was sure the darkness harbored just out of her sight, the more real they became: hunched, gnarled shapes bathing her neck in their subtle, hungry breath, monsters waiting for her to give one inch, twitch one muscle, their dark-furred or scaly limbs coiled, ready to pounce. She was an only child, and was thus used to weathering the foolishness of childhood alone and unvalidated.
By Raistlin Allenabout a year ago in Fiction
The Cold Truth
It was a freezing morning in the village of Barikot, where winter wrapped everything in silence. The fields lay stiff with frost, and a thick fog clung to the narrow paths that twisted between mud-brick houses. Gul Nawaz, a middle-aged farmer known for his quiet nature and steady hands, was walking toward the main road to find someone in town who could repair his broken water pump. As he passed the canal on the edge of his farmland, something unusual caught his eye. There, lying half-frozen in the brittle grass, was a snake — motionless, its dull skin blending with the earth. Most villagers would have taken a stick to it or walked away without a second glance. But Gul didn’t move. He crouched down, looked closely, and saw that the snake was still breathing, barely.
By Musawir Shahabout a year ago in Fiction
The Last Minute A Story of Dying . Content Warning.
The noise was the first to leave him. He could see the lips of his daughter, feel the tremble of her hand on his, but could no longer hear her. Not the soft whisper of her voice. Not the garbled sob in her throat. Not the quiet beep of the machines. As if life itself had lowered the level, as if the world was backing away quietly, waiting to release.
By Dr Haider ali shamsherabout a year ago in Fiction
The Mirror That Remembers
The Mirror That Remembers By (Mukhles hassan) The mirror was unlike any other Arman had ever seen. It was tall, arched at the top, wrapped in a dull golden frame with vines carved around its edges. He found it tucked away in the attic of his late grandfather’s old cottage, covered under a heavy sheet, almost as if it were asleep — waiting.
By Mukhles hassan about a year ago in Fiction
The Moon Waited for Her
Author's note (Intro): I wrote this romantic short story inspired by the kind of love that lingers — quiet, patient, and full of unspoken memories. It's about second chances, timing, and the promises we make under the stars. Aarav had returned to the hill after two years, just like he said he would. The same bench beneath the neem tree waited for him, worn by weather and time, yet still standing like it had something left to witness.
By Fazal Wahidabout a year ago in Fiction
The Other Housemate
Oh, what in the – “Molly!!!” Violet let out an exhausted groan. The day had been long, hot, fruitless, a challenge she never asked for; her patience tested, her tolerance reduced to a wisp of forced breath that stirred up a sickly war-like storm in her chest. She threw her head back, closed her eyes, and tightened her grip on the damp duffle bag laying limp in her hands.
By Kritta Maryabout a year ago in Fiction
