Short Story
A Walk Through The Garden
Victor awoke with a terrified gasp, barely holding back a scream. He snapped up to a sitting position immediately, fueled by fear and adrenaline, then cradles his woozy, swimming head in his hands right after. In hindsight, sitting up so fast was not a smart idea. With a groan, he pivoted around and set his feet on the floor, bending over until his head was between his knees. It felt like his brain had been put in a blender on frappe; his stomach was doing flip-flops under his ribs, and his ears were filled with a shrill, high-pitched whine that refused to go away. By the time he got his breath back and the world stopped spinning like a Tilt-O-Whirl, he realized that whine was not a whine.
By Natalie Grayabout a year ago in Fiction
Talea Lightheart - The Healing Step
Talea Lightheart - The Healing Step The halls of Losend’s Haven, the largest hospital in the city, never knew silence. The murmurs of the sick, the hurried steps of healers, the weary sighs of caretakers. It was a place where suffering clung to the air like mist.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)about a year ago in Fiction
The You That Was Never Really Here
I finally cried over you once I realized that you were really and truly gone. Our entire family sat around the dining room table and in the adjacent room with their attention divided between whoever was speaking in that moment and whatever was going on behind their phone screens. The only non-victims of such an awkward emotional scene were your great-grandchildren, who were running around and picking at the drywall, unbeknownst to their parents.
By Jennifer Ticknerabout a year ago in Fiction
Niva's Task
Niva is a snow leopard who lives in the Himalayan Mountains, over 18,000 feet up in the air where very few ever dare to venture. She has made her home in the crags of two overhanging rocks where her two little cubs wait for her patiently. However, patience doesn't last long for the young and soon their are crying for something to eat. Niva rushes from her perch to soothe them before she decides to make the trek out to her favorite hunting grounds. Traveling in this cold mountain habitat is very precarious journey, but Niva has cubs to feed and can't back down no matter the cost.
By Toby Hewardabout a year ago in Fiction
The Girl Who Spoke in Colors
In a quiet village tucked between rolling hills and whispering woods, there lived a girl named Elara. From the moment she could speak, everyone knew she was different. Elara didn’t speak like other children. Her words came out in colors—soft, glowing wisps of light that drifted from her mouth and painted the air. When she said “hello,” a warm yellow shimmered like sunlight. When she was sad, her words dripped in cool blue trails, like rain falling in slow motion. And when she laughed? The air exploded with swirls of pink, gold, and green—like a festival of joy. At first, people were amazed. Her parents thought it was a blessing. Travelers came to see the girl who spoke in rainbows. But as she grew older, admiration turned into discomfort. “It’s not normal,” said the baker. “What if it’s a curse?” whispered the schoolteacher. “She’ll never fit in,” muttered the mayor. At school, the other children stared. They teased her. “Speak again, Color Girl,” they'd laugh. “Let’s see if your sadness matches your face!” Elara stopped talking. For days. Then weeks. She learned to nod, to write, to gesture—anything to avoid opening her mouth. Her world grew quieter. And duller. --- 🌈 A Voice That Couldn’t Stay Silent But magic doesn’t like being locked away. One day, while walking home through the forest, Elara came across a small bird with a broken wing. It chirped helplessly. She looked around—no one was there. So she did something she hadn’t done in months. She spoke. “It’s okay. I’ll help you.” The words came out in soft lilac and pale green. The bird blinked, calmed, and nestled into her hands. That moment changed something in her. Her voice—her colors—had soothed, comforted. Not confused. Not frightened. She began talking again, slowly, but only when she was alone or in the woods. She spoke to trees, to stars, to the wind. She didn’t know it yet, but the forest was listening. --- 🏛️ The Mayor’s Great Lie Back in the village, trouble was brewing. The mayor had announced that a wealthy mining company was going to build a factory at the edge of the woods. “It will bring jobs!” he promised. “It’s safe! Good for everyone!” But something didn’t sit right with Elara. She heard her parents whispering at night about the forest being cut down. The river might get poisoned. The animals might leave. But no one dared challenge the mayor. That was, until the town meeting. --- 🎤 The Day the Colors Returned The town square was packed. The mayor stood tall, smiling, holding papers and pointing at maps. His words flowed smoothly, convincing and confident. But Elara saw something no one else could: Each time he lied, his words came out in a dark, oily gray. Each sentence twisted the air around it. A lie. Another. And another. She stepped forward. A few villagers gasped. “That’s the Color Girl!” “She doesn’t speak anymore.” But she did now. Elara walked to the front, faced the mayor, and spoke clearly: “You’re lying.” Her words burst into a flash of crimson red and white—a signal of warning and truth. The mayor stammered. “Nonsense! She’s just a girl. She—” Elara interrupted him again, her voice glowing bright gold. “You said the river won’t be harmed, but I saw the documents. There are waste plans, not safety plans.” Now her colors painted the air like fireworks—truths the crowd could see. The villagers turned to the mayor. “Is that true?” “What else are you hiding?” The mayor tried to argue, but all his words came out in that same dark smog. The crowd saw it. Felt it. Truth had a color. So did lies. --- 💫 Embracing the Gift After that day, the factory was canceled. The mayor resigned. A new council was formed—one that listened to the people, and to Elara. No one called her “Color Girl” anymore. They called her “Truthspeaker.” Children stopped mocking her and started asking her what different colors meant. Artists began painting based on her words. A poet even wrote a book inspired by the way her voice turned sorrow into violet light. Elara didn’t need to hide anymore. She understood now that her uniqueness was never a curse—it was a gift. --- 💬 Moral of the Story In a world that asks you to fit in, the bravest thing you can do is stand out. Elara’s voice was different. Strange. Even scary. But it was real, and it was powerful. Sometimes the thing that makes you feel apart from the world… …is the very thing that can help change it.
By Abdul Musawer about a year ago in Fiction
The Boy Who Wasn't
I walked out my back door and there he was, the boy with the dark brown hair and the Nerf gun. Looked like he’d stepped right out of the ‘80s. It shocked me more than I care to admit. Not because I didn’t know him, or because he was trespassing on my property. Not because of the mischievous twinkle in his eye as he ducked behind the abandoned hot tub in my back yard. Not even because everything about the kid screamed a hot summer day in 1986. No, it was something else . . . something less . . . tangible. It was the feeling – no, the certainty, the absolute conviction that the boy wasn’t really there.
By Laura Pruettabout a year ago in Fiction
The Girl Behind the Door
1. The Whispering House In the overlooked town of Elmbrook—where the wind murmured like a overlooked bedtime song and the crows roosted like prophets—stood an ancient, exhausted house. It had no title, but everybody called it The Wilt House. Children strolled quicker close it; older folks whispered supplications; and those who had once challenged to trespass carried their hush like a mystery curse.
By Muhammad Abdullahabout a year ago in Fiction
Seraphine Dewstride - The Dawnbringer
Seraphine Dewstride - The Dawnbringer Halle had always been a place of revelry and peace. The halfling town nestled against the river’s bend, its thatched roof burrows and cobblestone paths warmed by the golden glow of lanternlight. Families laughed over their hearths, and the scent of fresh-baked food carried through the valley on the evening breeze.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)about a year ago in Fiction
The Silent Howl of Lyra
The wind whipped through the jagged peaks of the Greyfang Mountains, carrying the scent of pine and the promise of a harsh winter. Lyra, a lone wolf with fur the color of twilight and eyes like molten gold, stood silhouetted against the bruised sky. Her pack, once vibrant and strong, had been scattered by a sudden, violent blizzard months ago. She was the sole survivor, her paws aching with every step, her belly hollow with hunger.
By Waqif Khanabout a year ago in Fiction
