Short Story

Run with the Rain
The first time they met, it was raining. Not a soft drizzle, not a romantic mist—but a full, thunder-shouting downpour that turned the sidewalks into rivers and the sky into a drum.
By Rohullahabout a year ago in Fiction
Inidgo Sky
Black soil trickles between calloused fingers, like sand through an hourglass. Caleb inhales the rich earth, welcoming the damp scent into his lungs. Suddenly he shudders uncontrollably when he exhales, overcome with exhaustion and emotions locked inside which now burst forth. His tears hidden within the soft rains falling from an autum sky. Tired muscles tremble with a will of their own.
By JBazabout a year ago in Fiction
The Unbreakable Three
They met on a Tuesday. Not that any of them remembered the date. But it was sunny, and the school cafeteria served meatballs that day—Lucy always said she could never forget a good meatball, and that was how it began.
By Rohullahabout a year ago in Fiction
Good Dog
The boy didn’t speak for the first hundred miles. Not when the truck broke down in the valley. Not when the crows circled low and the air smelled of burnt rubber and old fire.
By Rohullahabout a year ago in Fiction
Empty Chairs at the Kitchen Table
There were five chairs at the table, but only four of them were ever used now. The fifth one—the one closest to the window, where the morning light used to catch his laughter—remained untouched. A thin layer of dust had settled on its wooden slats, and no matter how many times she wiped it clean, it never felt right to sit there. Ethan’s chair. It had been two years since the accident. Two years of mornings where she still set out five plates out of habit, only to put one back when reality caught up with her. Two years of half-heard echoes—*"Pass the salt, Mom"*—vanishing before they fully formed. Her husband, Mark, pretended not to notice. He drank his coffee in silence, eyes fixed on the newspaper, as if avoiding the empty space would make it disappear. Their daughter, Lily, had stopped asking when her brother was coming home. But Claire? She still saw him everywhere. In the way the steam curled off a mug of hot chocolate—*his favorite*. In the way the wind chimes on the porch jingled at dusk—*just like his laugh*. In the way the house creaked at night, as if it, too, was waiting for footsteps that would never come. One evening, she found Lily sitting in Ethan’s chair, her small fingers tracing the scratches he’d left on the table years ago—a jagged line from when he’d tried to carve his initials with a butter knife. *"Mom,"* Lily whispered, *"does it hurt less yet?"* Claire opened her mouth to lie. But the words dissolved before they could take shape. Instead, she sank into the chair beside her daughter, gripping her coffee cup like an anchor, and stared at the empty space across from her. The truth was, grief wasn’t a storm you outran. It was the quiet, relentless tide that seeped into everything—the cracks in the walls, the silence between words, the untouched chair at the table where a boy should have been. And some days, the weight of that absence was the loudest thing in the room.
By Wiki Rjmabout a year ago in Fiction
The Lighthouse Keeper's Letter. Content Warning.
Introduction This is for Laura Pruett's "Deranged Lighthouse Keeper!" Challenge that you can find here: The music is "I Want To Marry A Lighthouse Keeper" by Erika Eigen as featured in Stanley Kubrick's film "A Clockwork Orange"
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred - EBAabout a year ago in Fiction
The Town That Fell Asleep
In the heart of a forgotten valley—tucked away where GPS signals fade and no cell tower dares to reach—there lies a town called Somnera. From the outside, it looks like any other small town. Rows of timeworn red-brick houses line its narrow roads. A single church steeple watches over the town square. The air always seems to carry the scent of chimney smoke and pine. It’s quiet, unremarkable. Almost too quiet.
By Rieus Bradabout a year ago in Fiction
A Good Man is hard to find . AI-Generated.
art writing...The sun blistered down upon the old country road like a watchful eye, burning the cracked earth, illuminating the ghosts of wildflowers that once lined the ditches. Dust stirred up by passing cars danced in the beams of light, swirling as if spirits of the land protested the invasion of strangers.
By Haroon Badshahabout a year ago in Fiction
Sunrise on the Reaping
Sunrise on the Reaping The sun rose blood-red over District 12, staining the cracked rooftops and coal-choked skies in hues too beautiful for a day like this.
By FAIZAN AFRIDIabout a year ago in Fiction
My dear Lipstick
My dear Lipstick, From the very first time I touched your velvety body, I knew I was made for you. Every morning, as the human sits at her dressing table I wait bristling with anticipation. I wait, wishing she will pick me to embrace you in a little dance.
By Susan Fourtané about a year ago in Fiction
The Clockmaker’s Daughter
No one ever left Greyhill. It was a town untouched by the speed of the outside world — tucked between foggy hills and a forest that always smelled like rain. The buildings were old, but the clocks were never wrong. Every hour, dozens of tower bells chimed in perfect harmony, like the heartbeat of something ancient and unseen.
By Inamullah Afridiabout a year ago in Fiction
A standing salutation for Mission: Impossible in Cannes
On May 14, 2025- the Grand Theatre Lumiere of Cannes (France) has been an eye witness of an unforgettable incident. The gem of the Mission: Impossible franchise Tom cruise is getting a tribute of 5-minitue standing salutation in the Cannes Film Festival.
By Jubyda Zafarabout a year ago in Fiction