Short Story
The Secrets of The Forgotten City - Part 8
Chapter 8: Gears of Revelation The pounding of metal footsteps still echoed in Anya’s ears, a phantom percussion that drowned out even the city’s relentless hum. Silas, his face grim, pushed onward through the labyrinthine tunnels, his hand cannon still raised, every shadow a potential threat. Anya stumbled after him, the metallic tang of ozone burning her nostrils, the memory of the automaton’s cold, calculating gaze seared into her mind. Each breath felt like swallowing dust.
By hiteshsinh solanki2 years ago in Fiction
The Secrets of The Forgotten City - Part 7
The corridor collapsed inward with a groan of tortured metal, spewing dust and sparking wires like a wounded beast. Anya stumbled, Silas’s grip a lifeline as the floor tilted beneath them. They scrambled back, coughing, as the passage transformed into a solid wall of gears, grinding against each other in a senseless, deafening symphony.
By hiteshsinh solanki2 years ago in Fiction
The Secrets of The Forgotten City - Part 6
The gates groaned open like the sigh of a long-forgotten titan, their rusted edges scraping against stone with a sound that vibrated deep in Anya’s bones. A cool, stale breath washed over them, carrying the scent of dust, decay, and the faint, metallic tang of old oil. It was the smell of history, of forgotten grandeur, and of something else – a subtle undercurrent of pain that resonated within Anya, echoing her own unspoken fears.
By hiteshsinh solanki2 years ago in Fiction
The Secrets of The Forgotten City - Part 5
The air, thick and heavy with the cloying sweetness of Lumina bloom, pressed down on them like a humid shroud. Days of relentless travel had etched themselves onto Silas's face, deepening the lines around his eyes, dusting his beard with a fine layer of ochre earth. Anya, however, seemed invigorated, her tarnished copper eyes gleaming with an almost feverish intensity. She moved with a newfound purpose, her senses heightened, as if the very ground vibrated with secrets only she could decipher.
By hiteshsinh solanki2 years ago in Fiction
The Secrets of The Forgotten City - Part 4
The dawn arrived grudgingly, painting the eastern sky in bruised purples and sickly greens. Anya stood beside Silas at the edge of Oakhaven, the weight of her threadbare pack a physical manifestation of the responsibility she now carried. The villagers, faces etched with a mixture of fear and relief, watched from a distance, their silence a heavy shroud. Even Elder Mael, who'd once held her hand when she was small and terrified of the storm, wouldn’t meet her eye. She was leaving a piece of herself behind, a piece she wasn't sure she could ever reclaim.
By hiteshsinh solanki2 years ago in Fiction
The Secrets of The Forgotten City - Part 3
Chapter 3: The Whispers Grow Louder The elders’ meeting hall smelled of stale pipeweed and simmering resentment. Anya stood by the warped wooden door, feeling smaller than she ever had. The room was thick with the silence that follows a foregone conclusion, the kind that suffocated hope before it could even sprout. Silas Blackwood, radiating a quiet, unsettling confidence, stood before the gathered villagers. He had the air of a hawk circling a field of mice, assessing the weakest points, the most readily exploitable fears.
By hiteshsinh solanki2 years ago in Fiction
The Secrets of The Forgotten City - Part 2
Chapter 2: Blackwood's Bargain The morning light, fractured by dust motes swirling in Anya's workshop, felt accusatory. It illuminated the clutter, the scraps of metal that were both her sanctuary and her prison, each discarded gear a silent witness to her isolation. Silas Blackwood stood amidst it all, an unwelcome intruder in her carefully constructed world. His presence was a discordant note, a harsh clang against the gentle hum of her internal world.
By hiteshsinh solanki2 years ago in Fiction
The Secrets of The Forgotten City - Part 1
Chapter 1: Whispers of Rust The wind carried dust and the metallic tang of long-dead machinery across the Blasted Lands, stinging Anya’s eyes as she wrestled with the broken water pump. Each groan of the rusted gears was a lament, a faded echo of Aerilon, the clockwork city slumbering beneath their feet. She tightened a bolt, the metal cold against her grease-stained fingers, listening. Not just to the pump’s struggling rhythm, but to the whispers beneath, the faint, fractal symphony of the city’s slumbering heart.
By hiteshsinh solanki2 years ago in Fiction
A New York Love Story
Jocelyn Tyler stood in front of a floor-to-ceiling mirror in a sleek Manhattan photo studio, the bright lights illuminating the ivory planes of her strikingly angular face. She swept a slender hand through her cascading chestnut locks, the shine of the freshly styled waves reflecting back at her, along with the enigmatic gaze of her piercing blue eyes. Around her, the bustling energy of the fashion world hummed like a symphony of creativity and ambition, a cacophony of whispered secrets and unspoken rivalries that painted the backdrop of her glamorous yet cutthroat career.
By Babiprincess2 years ago in Fiction
The Space Between Us
Love does not always exist in contact or words - it often stays quietly in the room. The corruption of the conversation, the looks of saying more than a paragraph, and the silence that is not completely empty. It is the kind of love that gives this kind of space between us.
By Md.Abdul Wahed2 years ago in Fiction
bitter(sweet). Top Story - April 2025.
Her leg bounces nervously as she stares out the window, focused on the boy across the street. If someone else was watching her, they would think it was just a girl with a crush, debating on whether to wave at him, and stressing about the possible (or possibly improbable) line of dominoes that could fall afterward. Either that or she was embarrassed about her choice in clothing-hair tossed up in a messy bun and a casual, baggy attire.
By Alexandria Stanwyck2 years ago in Fiction
