Short Story

The Library of Lost Things
Nobody noticed when the building appeared at the end of Sycamore Lane. One day, it wasn’t there. The next, it stood tall and weathered, wedged between a shuttered post office and a condemned bakery. No one remembered anyone building it, no contractor trucks, no ribbon cutting. Yet there it was—an old stone structure with ivy clinging to its bones and a crooked brass sign over the arched door:
By Get Richabout a year ago in Fiction
The Girl Who Painted Time
In the quiet town of Morren’s Hollow, tucked between blue hills and silver fog, lived a girl named Amira who could paint time.
By Get Richabout a year ago in Fiction
The Bookstore Where Our Eyes First Spoke
The old bookstore on Elm Street was supposed to be torn down by spring. It smelled like dusty paper and warm cinnamon, with creaky wooden floors that whispered with every step. Leah had wandered in on a rainy Tuesday, hoping to kill time. She wasn’t expecting to find the last piece of her heart between the pages of a book—or in someone else’s eyes.
By The Waiting Treeabout a year ago in Fiction
The Last Call Booth
The phone booth hadn't worked in years. It stood like a forgotten relic on the edge of town, half-buried in ivy and rust, just before the road turned to gravel and disappeared into the woods. The glass was cracked, the cord half-severed, and the dial pad missing several numbers. Most people passed it without noticing.
By Get Richabout a year ago in Fiction
Signed, The Future Me
The letter arrived on a Tuesday. There was no stamp, no return address. Just a single sheet of aged, yellowed paper folded precisely into thirds, tucked inside a plain envelope. On the front, written in ink that shimmered faintly like oil on water, were the words:
By Get Richabout a year ago in Fiction
The House That Wasn’t There Yesterday
No one saw it being built. That was the first strange thing. It just appeared—like a skipped frame in a film reel—between the Miller’s white ranch and the empty lot where neighborhood kids used to set off fireworks and dig for worms. One morning, there it was: a charcoal-gray Victorian house with dark windows and a gate that groaned even when the wind was still.
By Get Richabout a year ago in Fiction
The Silent Artist of the Alley
The alley was a forgotten seam in the city's bustling fabric. It wasn't the kind of place you'd linger, not with its overflowing bins, the perpetual scent of damp concrete, and the shadows that clung stubbornly even on the brightest days. Here, dreams often came to rust, and ambitions dissolved into the grime. Yet, amidst this forgotten corner, lived a man known only as Elias. He was the quietest soul in the loudest city, a man who saw what others overlooked, and heard what others dismissed. Elias was deaf, and he spoke only in the language of his hands.
By Mian Nazir Shahabout a year ago in Fiction
Mysspelled
Year 3990 Brockway District, Mars The bookstore resembled that of a classic, small town, library. In the middle of it were rows of seats filled with nervous and eager readers readying their questions for the speaker as their hands gripped a hardcover copy waiting to be signed by its author. The surrounding room was filled with that smell you only get from aged paper.
By David S. JohnsonWilliamsabout a year ago in Fiction
The Whispering Loom
A Tapestry of Forgotten Songs In the village of Threadhaven, where the hills bloomed with heather and the air hummed with secrets, there stood an ancient loom. It was no ordinary machine—its wood was carved with sigils that glowed faintly at dusk, and its threads seemed to shimmer with colors no dye could match. The villagers called it the Starloom, and they believed it wove the fates of those who dared to touch it. But no one had, not in living memory. It sat in the old mill, guarded by dust and whispers.
By Shohel Ranaabout a year ago in Fiction
The Lantern Keeper
A Tale of Light and Secrets In the village of Dusk Hollow, nestled between jagged cliffs and a restless sea, the nights were never truly dark. A single lantern, suspended from an ancient iron post at the cliff’s edge, burned with an unearthly glow. It never flickered, never dimmed, and no one knew who kept it lit. The villagers called it the Sentinel, and they swore it guided lost ships to shore—or kept something far worse at bay.
By Shohel Ranaabout a year ago in Fiction
The Train That Waited
The Train That Waited Rain danced gently on the roof of the station as people bustled beneath umbrellas and faded signs. The 9:40 train to Merrow Hill stood quietly on Platform 3, its windows fogged by breath and time. It had been scheduled to leave fifteen minutes ago, yet not a single passenger complained. Some barely noticed.
By Shohel Ranaabout a year ago in Fiction
TIME TRAVELLER
Time Traveler 2115.The world is no longer the same. The purity of the atmosphere is almost gone, water sources are drying up, and the habitable space for humans is limited to a few megacities. During this time, a young scientist was born—Dr. Ryan Mitra. He was only twenty-three years old at the time, but his progress in genetic engineering, quantum mechanics, and astrophysics surprised the entire scientific community. Dr. Ryan always believed, “The solution to the problem lies in the future, you just need to know how to bend time and reach the right time.” This idea began his secret research—time transportation. After three years of relentless work, late one night, Ryan created a small, shiny machine in his secret lab. He named it—"Chrono-Sphere". It was a kind of quantum-time bubble, which could transfer his body through time, a kind of live teleportation, but through the time-stream.
By sagorbariabout a year ago in Fiction