Short Story
Chinese Mythology Tales 3. Content Warning.
Hello everyone! Starting today, I'll be sharing Chinese mythological stories with you. I'll do my best to explain any terms that might be unfamiliar, so before reading the story, it would help to understand some background about these special terms. The title of this story is:The Revenant Bride
By William Neroabout a year ago in Fiction
Freedom
Finally, a moment to rest. They slow down, allowing their breath to catch up with them. Bloodstains frame the tears in their clothes. They wear muddy masks that hide their bruises. Both of them slump against the wall, slowly sliding to a seat. Whether it’s the adrenaline or the persistent pain flooding their bodies doesn’t matter. They can barely feel the jagged stone that forms the walls of the cavernous maze.
By Tales from a Madmanabout a year ago in Fiction
The Same Seat Every Morning
She always sat in the same seat - third table from the left, near the window where the light filtered through at just the right angle—warm but not blinding. The coffee shop had changed over the years. The menu got fancier, the music softer. But that corner stayed the same, and so did June.
By Elendionneabout a year ago in Fiction
The Whispering Windmill
🌞 The Drought-Stricken Village In the sun-scorched village of Emberly, the earth was cracked like a spider’s web 🕸️, and rivers had dried up long ago 💧. Here lived 11-year-old Tessa—a curious girl with messy braids, ink-stained fingers 🖋️, and a brain that worked faster than the old windmill on Oak Hill. Her father, the village clockmaker ⏳, said she had “gears in her bones” because she loved fixing broken things 🔧. But the villagers had lost hope. Their smiles faded like the dying crops 🌵.
By Kratika Saxenaabout a year ago in Fiction
Echoes of the Silentium
The twin suns of Xylos cast long, distorted shadows across the dunes as the desert stretched out before Elara like an ocean of rust. The grav-drive of her modified sandcrawler, which she affectionately referred to as "Dusty," rumbled beneath her in a monotonous song. In this abandoned part of the galaxy, Elara was a scavenger and relic hunter, her face hidden by a rebreather and goggles. She tried to find the Silentium. The Silentium was a phenomenon rather than a location. A vast and terrifying area of space where there was no sound at all. There was no sound of an engine humming, a laser firing, or a voice. In the midst of the cosmic symphony, there was a bleak evidence of an unknown power—a void. Elara knew better than to believe it was a myth told by sailors to scare young space travelers. Her famous astrophysicist father had devoted his life to studying the Silentium because he was driven by a single, haunting question: What caused it? Ten years earlier, he had vanished into that void. Elara came to find out what had occurred. Elara followed a faint energy signature that her father's research had suggested, and as she moved through the barren landscape, days turned into weeks. Dusty's scanners pinged erratically, the silence of the desert amplifying the rhythmic thump of her own heart. The twin suns were relentlessly beating down on her, so she rationed her water and nutrient paste. Elara gasped as Dusty ascended a dunes one evening in the violet twilight. A valley that wasn't filled with sand but with metal lay in front of her. The landscape was littered with twisted, shattered structures of an unimaginable scale that glowed faintly in the waning light. This wasn't natural. The technology in this graveyard was so advanced that it was beyond comprehension. Elara whispered, her voice a dry rasp in the rebreather, "This is it." "He was in this location." Dusty was carefully led into the valley by her. The total absence of conversation was profound. Her ears hurt as it pressed against her like a physical force. She switched to visual communication on her helmet display, the text appearing in front of her eyes.
By Tafsirul Talukdar luvdoabout a year ago in Fiction
The Elevator That Skipped the 7th Floor
A New Job in a Tall Building When Farhan landed his new job at the prestigious Echelon Towers, he couldn’t believe his luck. The company was top-notch, the pay was solid, and the office was on the 14th floor of a sleek high-rise downtown. It was the kind of job you tell your relatives about with pride. On his first day, he wore his best shirt, arrived ten minutes early, and stepped into the building’s shiny chrome elevator. He pressed 14, watching the soft blue light blink. But something strange caught his eye. The elevator panel read: G, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9… Farhan frowned. Where’s 7? --- A Missing Floor At lunch, curiosity got the better of him. He asked his new coworker, Sana, about the missing floor. “Oh,” she said with a shrug, “there’s no 7th floor here.” “That’s what I saw,” he replied. “But why?” “Old superstition, maybe?” she guessed. “Like how some buildings skip the 13th floor. Who knows? I just take the stairs most days.” Still, something didn’t sit right with Farhan. The building was modern, logical, precise. Skipping a floor felt like a glitch in a place built for perfection. --- An Accidental Stop Two weeks into the job, Farhan worked late. The office was empty, the halls quiet. He packed his bag, yawned, and called the elevator. As the doors slid open, he stepped in and pressed G for ground. But instead of going down, the elevator jerked. It stopped. The panel read: 7. His breath caught. There was no button for 7. Yet here he was. The doors opened slowly. A dim corridor stretched before him. Dust floated in the stale air. The lights were low, flickering. Farhan should’ve stayed inside. Should’ve pressed Close. But curiosity wins over caution more often than it should. --- The Forgotten Floor The hallway looked abandoned. Old wooden doors lined both sides. There were no signs, no office numbers, no nameplates. He took cautious steps. A soft humming echoed down the corridor, like electricity buzzing through faulty wires. Then he heard it: Click. A door creaked open on its own. Inside was a room frozen in time. Old filing cabinets, rotary phones, typewriters. Paper scattered across desks like people had left in a hurry — and never returned. He picked up a paper dated May 1974. Farhan felt a chill run down his spine. This was impossible. The building was constructed in 1998. --- Whispers in the Dark He turned to leave but found the corridor darker now. The flickering lights had gone out behind him. And then… footsteps. Not his. Steady, slow, deliberate. Farhan backed away, heart pounding. A whisper crawled through the silence: “You’re not supposed to be here…” He spun around. No one there. He ran back to the elevator. Pressed the button. Pressed it again. Nothing. The hallway seemed longer now, warped, like the building was breathing — stretching. He banged on the doors, panic rising in his chest. Then the panel blinked. G. The elevator door opened. Bright lights. Normal panel. Normal floor numbers — minus 7. He rushed in and didn’t look back. --- A Closed Mouth Gathers No Dust The next morning, Farhan told no one. Not his boss. Not Sana. But he did his research. He found no blueprints for a 7th floor. No old articles. Nothing. Like it never existed. He even asked building security. “Sir,” the guard said firmly, “Echelon Towers has no 7th floor. It never did.” “But I was—” The guard gave him a look that said, Drop it. Farhan nodded and walked away. --- One Last Glance A month later, Farhan quit the job. He told people it was too stressful. Not the right fit. But the truth was, every night he worked late, the elevator would pause. Just for a second. Right between floors 6 and 8. Once, when he glanced at the panel, he saw a flash — just a glitch — but he swore it read: "Welcome back." He never took that elevator again. --- Still There The Echelon Towers still stands. People go to work. Ride the elevators. Live their normal lives. But every once in a while, late at night, someone hits the button for floor 8… …and the elevator stops on a floor that doesn’t exist.
By GadgetGroundabout a year ago in Fiction
📖 The 12-Year-Old Diary and an Unsent Letter
It was a rainy afternoon when Aaliya ducked into an old secondhand bookstore in the quiet lanes of Daryaganj. The rain had started without warning, and she wasn’t carrying an umbrella. The bookstore, tucked between a steaming tea stall and a faded tailor shop, looked like the perfect place to wait it out.
By Silent Tearsabout a year ago in Fiction
Shadow's Of The Heart- 2
The village was quiet and covered in fog this morning. Elina, who was once Aria, walked the path to the old bridge with nothing but fleeting dreams in her head. She had dreams of neon rain, gunfire, and a man whose face she couldn't keep. She had lost all memory since the explosion. She believed that. But the dreams got stronger each night. Additionally, the man always observed from the shadows. Her gentle nature was adored by the locals. Despite this, she looked sad, as if she were waiting for something or someone. She had no idea that Zayan had always been nearby, but she did Hidden Watching. He was still unable to approach her. They would return if the agency knew she was still alive. And she might not be able to forgive him if she remembered who she really was. because she had no idea what Zayan had done. He had decided to forget about her. He hacked the facility that night, not destroyed it. discovered a neurological program that the organization used to rewire assets. He had used it on her to free her from blood, lies, and the mission they had forced her into. He had done this to start over. He brought her peace. And it shattered him. Elina felt that someone was behind her one day as she was gathering herbs in the woods. She abruptly turned. He remained there. Zayan: He was unrecognizable to her. However, her heart rate did. She said, drawn, scared, and confused, "You..." "Have we met yet?" He gave a soft smile. "Maybe... in a different life." They talked for a long time about everything and nothing. He used a fictitious name and claimed to be a traveler. However, each exchange was like a spark rekindling a long-lost passion. He kept coming back throughout the days. Her memories also changed. Part by part. She remained trembling at the lake's edge until one evening. When he appeared, she whispered, "I know who you are." "Now I remember everything." Zayan stopped breathing. "I remember you as well as the agency and the betrayal. You wiped me out. She moved in closer. "But I also recall why I fell in love with you." Her eyes welled up with tears. "Yes, you took away my past. However, freedom is something you gave me that no one else did. a decision." Zayan reduced his gaze. "I didn't want you to go." She said in a soft voice, "And you didn't." "You only assisted me in discovering who I really am—without the mission or the lies." The mist rolled around them like a soft curtain as they stood in silence. The twist came next. She added, "I didn't tell you everything either." "I was already questioning them before they sent me to you." I wanted to leave. Zayan gave a sharp upward gaze. I intended to fake the mission and then vanish. However, when I met you, everything became real. Too true. They were separated by a breeze. Nothing was hidden this time. No purpose, No slander. Only two souls who persevered through the worst and found their way back. They walked slowly, hand in hand, back into the village together. However, a pair of binoculars watched from the forest's edge. Over a secret communication device, a voice cracked: "Reacquired target. Both are present.
By Riazul Islamabout a year ago in Fiction
