Short Story

Red rivers
My throbbing headache wakes me from my sleep. It’s 3 PM. I’m lying on my right side. Slowly, I turn onto my back and rub my eyes. Ouch. I sit up straight and slowly get out of bed. My head is pounding, causing me to lose my balance for a moment. I manage to collect myself and walk to the bathroom. I look in the mirror. I’m silent. So silent, just looking at myself. I get angry. My eyes are swollen and red. I hit the sink with my hands, step back, and put my hands in my hair, pulling at it. I let go. Enough is enough. I step into the shower. I think I was in the shower for an hour. Thinking. I’m so unbelievably angry that I don’t think I can even put it into words. Anger is an emotion I don’t usually feel easily, but my bucket is full. It’s been two months already. But it still hurts so much. The more I think about it, the more things I realize. This makes me angry again. But I’m also angry at myself. If you look at it, I did this to myself. Wait, what… No. No, that’s nonsense. I wasn’t the problem. I’m the victim. I run to my bedroom and put on the first clothes I see, grab my bag and keys, and head out. I arrive at the house. The door creaks open. Exactly as I remember. The blue door that was slammed shut so many times. I walk inside. The smell hits me. It makes me nauseous. I look at the kitchen and see the empty vase on the table. I visualize flowers in it. I shake my head. I try not to think about the memories and shake the smell off me. I have to keep going. I look at the living room, and nothing has changed in the past few months. Everything is exactly the same. I’m not surprised.
By Eemsabout a year ago in Fiction
MIDNIGHT MAGIC - ch 21
MIDNIGHT MAGIC – ch 21 Julie (*)(*)(*) As with Cormac, Finola walked to the door, opened it, then beckoned to Monty. “Monty, I am releasing you from the binding and silence spells only. You will go, live your life as I’ve commanded. Yet, keep in mind, that you will never again have the ability to hurt any woman.” She snapped her fingers and watched as his eyes awakened. “Monty, leave my house. Leave now, before I change my mind.”
By Margaret Brennanabout a year ago in Fiction
OKC Thunder
iturn0image0turn0image3turn0image7turn0image8The Oklahoma City Thunder had an exceptional 2024-25 NBA season, finishing with a remarkable 68-14 record, the best in the league and the fourth best in NBA history. The performance earned them the top seed in the Western Conference and the first-ever Maurice Podoloff Trophy in franchise history. citeturn0search19.
By Rahul Sanaabout a year ago in Fiction
Long Deep Love Messages for Her That Touch the Soul
In a world of diminishing attention spans and lost love amidst the hustle and bustle of daily living, long romantic love messages to her are a bold declaration that there is such a thing as real love—unbridled, raw, exposed, and profoundly deep. Whether you've been with your woman for many years or you're just starting something amazing, telling her just how you feel in gorgeous rambling, heart-stopping messages provides an emotional connection words alone can never possibly express.
By Turjo Miaabout a year ago in Fiction
Chinese Mythology Tales ⑴
Hello everyone! Starting today, I'll be sharing Chinese mythological stories with you. This first story comes from Liaozhai Zhiyi (a classic collection of supernatural tales from 17th century China, full of ghosts, fox spirits, and strange encounters - kind of like China's version of Twilight Zone meets ancient folklore).
By William Neroabout a year ago in Fiction
Letters to the Man I Might Become. AI-Generated.
“This is what silence becomes when it grows old inside a man.” What happens when a man spends his whole life doing everything — except living for himself?
By Fateh Muhammad about a year ago in Fiction
Long-distance relationships: Falling in love over Skype
I split a slice of cake with my boyfriend, Jamie, and caught a look of frustration from a passing waiter. But I didn't care. I was drinking champagne with my beau in the sunlight of the courtyard at the Mandarin Oriental in Paris and quickly devouring a slice of the most delicious raspberry and chocolate-mousse cake I'd ever tasted.
By Turjo Miaabout a year ago in Fiction
My Sister Is My Soulmate
"There are so many strange aspects to your relationship with Tina." Last summer, I received this text from someone I respect and adore. The remark about my connection with my twin sister still hurt, even though we were arguing about something else at the time. In addition to the fact that it wasn't the first time that person had made such an implication, I had been wondering the same thing for a significant portion of my adult life.
By Turjo Miaabout a year ago in Fiction
The Last Cup of Tea
It was a dreary Tuesday afternoon in the psychology department of a Midwestern university. Students were shuffling into class, expecting another boring lecture on cognitive bias or Freudian theory. But that day, their professor had something else in mind. Breaking with tradition, she started telling a story.
By Turjo Miaabout a year ago in Fiction
"The Hollow Page"
The First Scene: The Arrival As Eliza drove into the gravel lot of the defunct library, rain splashed against the windshield. The Morrow Archives, which had been sealed since 1963 after a fire claimed the lives of thirteen patrons during a midnight reading, was the only surviving structure in the town of Drellwood, which had vanished from most maps. They were never found by anyone. However, Eliza was a connoisseur of cursed items. an urban mythologist. the kind of person who believed that horror was most effective when it blended with reality. The original, undated manuscript of The Hollow Page was her holy grail. Legend says that the manuscript didn't have an author. Written in permanent ink, it was discovered in the library's basement. A "fracturing of self" was experienced by those who read it aloud. Madness. Disappearance. Death.
By Mridul Mahmud about a year ago in Fiction
If we believe we can't do something, then we can't do anything.
Once upon a time, a gentleman was walking past a circus and he noticed that the elephants were not kept in cages but were not chained. A small rope was being used to tie the arms. Seeing this, the man wondered how this was possible.If you tie it with a small rope, the question will come to everyone's mind, is it possible to tie such a big elephant with a small rope? Of course not!
By Md Ariful Islamabout a year ago in Fiction
Beneath the Crimson Sky. AI-Generated.
The sky was always red at dusk in Arvenil. Not the warm, painted hues of a sunset. No — this red bled like memory. Like ash. They said the heavens wept crimson after the war, mourning the souls it had swallowed whole. For Kai, that sky was a wound that never healed. --- He stood alone at the stone. White granite. Clean. Carved with a name he couldn’t say out loud anymore: Eren Valen. In his hand, a bouquet of blue and white asters — Eren’s favorite. They were once wild, scattered across the cliffs of their childhood. Now they were just offerings to a silence that stretched years wide. --- Eren had always been the fire. Fearless. Reckless. Brilliant. The kind of person who could laugh with death and still walk away grinning. Kai had been his opposite — a thinker, a protector, a shadow that moved where Eren’s light shined. Together, they were unstoppable. Until the mission that ended everything. --- They were supposed to sabotage the Crimson Core — the enemy’s last weapon. But when the gates slammed shut, and the countdown began, someone had to stay behind. And Eren… chose to be the one. “I’ll handle it,” he said, eyes steady. “You get out. Someone has to live.” Kai had begged him. Screamed. Even drew his blade. But Eren only smiled, a bittersweet curl to his lips. “You only live once, Kai.” He stepped back, hand on the ignition crystal. “But if you do it right… once is enough.” --- The blast painted the sky red. The same red that still haunted Kai’s dreams. --- Years passed. The war ended. Statues were raised. Names etched into walls. But Kai never moved on. He trained young warriors now — taught them to fight smart, to choose when to stand… and when to live. He carried Eren’s sword on his back. Never used it. Never let it rest. Every year, on this day, he returned to the grave. But today was different. --- There was a reflection in the puddle beneath the stone. Not his own. Eren knelt there, mirrored in water — older, worn, but smiling. “Am I dead?” Kai asked, breath caught. “No,” Eren replied, his voice like wind. “But you’re finally listening.” “What is this?” “A moment. One moment. To say what matters.” --- Kai dropped to his knees. “I should’ve stayed. I should’ve found another way.” Eren shook his head, gentle. “You lived, Kai. You carried it. You remembered. That’s enough.” --- The image faded. The puddle stilled. And for the first time in years, the crimson sky began to break — bleeding into gold. Kai stood. The weight of the sword on his back lighter than before. He turned from the grave, not with sorrow, but with peace. He would keep living. Keep doing it right. Because sometimes, one life is all you get. And if you do it right… Once is enough.
By ed darkabout a year ago in Fiction