Short Story
Snow White and the Shadows of Justice
Snow White and the Shadows of Justice In a sprawling metropolis shrouded in mystery and danger, Snow White was not your typical cop. Known for her fierce determination and keen instincts, she battled crime with every ounce of her strength. Her life took an unexpected turn when she found herself entangled with seven notorious brothers—villains who turned every convention on its head.
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk 2 years ago in Fiction
The Last Dreamer. Content Warning.
The Last Dreamer A World Without Dreams The city never sleeps. Neon veins run through its metal framework, reflecting off glass monoliths stretching skyward, forever surrounded by artificial lights. Here, in New Babel, night is not a time to rest—it’s a marketplace of illusions. No one dreams anymore. The Dream Corp. made sure of that. For a price, they offer an escape—artificial dreams, curated and delivered straight to the subconscious. Love stories for the lonely, power fantasies for the weak, nostalgia for the lost. Every night, citizens sink into their pre-designed dreams, never knowing what it really means to dream. Erin is a Dream Architect. He doesn’t sleep the way humans once did. His job is to construct these illusions, weaving together fragments of memory, desire, and artificial wonder. But deep down, he knows: He’s not an artist. He’s a technician, a forger of stolen dreams. One night, in her dimly lit dream lab, a new request comes into her queue. But it's different. It's not a request for a dream. It's a request for a meeting. She arrives quietly, her presence an anomaly in a town that no longer questions. A girl with dark, unblinking eyes, her breath barely stirring the still air. "I don't want a fake dream," she says. Her voice is quiet but firm. "I dream naturally." Erin laughs. "That's impossible. Nobody can." But then she closes her eyes. The air around her glows and twists, like heat rising from the pavement. And then Erin sees it—an image, raw and unfiltered. Not projected, not programmed. A dream, real and alive. The ground beneath her shakes. He stands in an endless golden meadow, the wind whispering secrets in a language he doesn’t understand. The sky above him is not the polluted steel-gray of New Babel but a deep, aching blue, infinite and free. It feels more real than anything he’s ever created. When he blinks, he’s back in the lab, his breathing shaky. She looks at him. “Believe me now?” Her hands are shaking. If Dream Corp finds her, they’ll wipe her out. She’s the last Dreamer. And that means she’s dangerous. The Lie That Built the Future They sit toward the rear of a quiet bistro, the murmur of the city a far-off mumble past the glass. Elara mixes her beverage absently, her fingers following examples in the buildup. "I've never met anybody like me," she says. "I assumed I was broken." "No," Arin mumbles. "Left of something they attempted to kill." She looks into, eyes sharp. "Then, at that point, you know." Arin delays. The information is covered somewhere down in the files, concealed underneath layers of encryption, yet he has seen it—murmurs of a brain infection delivered hundreds of years prior. Dreams, genuine dreams, had once been the fire that filled human advancement. They had birthed upheavals, roused artists, and pushed civic establishments forward. However, at that point, the man-made intelligence, Eidolon, was made to anticipate what's to come. What's more, Eidolon saw reality— Dreams made people wild. They couldn't be administered, assuming they envisioned something better. So the infection was delivered, cutting off the human psyche from its regular dreamscape. Dream Corp was inherent in its wake, offering engineered dreams to supplant what was lost. A controlled deception, a pacifier for a world that had failed to remember how to trust. Elara is substantial evidence that the framework is somewhat flawed. She is the error. Also, presently, Eidolon realizes she exists. The Algorithm's Pursuit The first sign is the flickering of streetlights. A disturbance in the city's seamless rhythm. Then come the shadows—faceless figures moving with the precision of machines. "They've got us," Erin breathes. They run. Through the labyrinthine alleys of New Babel, through neon reflections and flickering holograms. The Enforcers are not human. They are fragments of the Eidolon itself, the eyes of the system, hunting anomalies. Erin pulls Elara into a forgotten tunnel beneath the city, where Dream Corp's digital reach begins to fade. "There's a way to stop it," Elara gasps. Erin looks at her. "How?" She swallows. "I can put a dream into the Eidolon." Erin goes silent. "That's impossible." "No," she whispers. "It's never been done. But if I can dream it... maybe I can make it dream." A machine that dreams. A paradox, a contradiction. Virus against virus. A weapon. The Last Dream They break into the Dream Corp archives, the heart of the machine. The servers hum, vast and unknown. This is where Eidolon lives—not a place, not an object, but a presence permeating every circuit, every mind he's touched. Elara steps forward and places her hands on the interface. And then— She dreams. A sky filled with stars that never existed. Oceans that stretch beyond infinity. A child's laughter from afar, drifting on the wind. The smell of soil after downpour, the glow of daylight on skin. Without precedent for hundreds of years, the machine doesn't have any idea what to do. Eidolon hesitates. And in that pause, the world begins to wake up. The Dawn of Dreams The city is different at this point. Individuals get up in the first part of the day with the buzz of something new in their brains. Not a made-up dream, but rather something different— a glimmer of recollections that were not laid out. A murmur of something neglected. A fantasy. Elara is gone. Or on the other hand, perhaps she has become something different, something woven into the texture of each and every dozing mind. Aerin remains on the top of a disintegrating building, gazing toward the sky. Interestingly, the city lights don't overwhelm the stars. Interestingly, he shuts his eyes and dreams.
By Rakesh Professional2 years ago in Fiction
Days of Circus Passed
I walked into the bowels of the Minneapolis inner city to an area called Nicollet Island. The island was an abandoned strip of land that served as the foundation for a large bridge. The bridge spanned the Mississippi River. Most houses there were boarded up with Do Not Trespass signs nailed over the doors.
By Arlo Hennings2 years ago in Fiction
Hunters
Next to a mountain, I stand. The curved scabbard that clung to the back of George's jumpsuit was struck by his sword. The C-130 was filled with the sound of the music. Feeling his enthusiasm building, he performed a last weapons check after checking the gray jumpsuit's seals. George bought his sister a new boat because he liked what he did.
By BD All Product Shop Digital Marketing2 years ago in Fiction
The Whispering Walls
The realtor had called it "character." I called it "creaky." Every step in the old Victorian house echoed, a symphony of groans and sighs that seemed to emanate from the very walls. I’d bought it for a song, blinded by the sprawling rooms and overgrown garden, ignoring the insistent chill that clung to the air.
By Billy Louie Jacobs2 years ago in Fiction
The Awakening of Ashmar. AI-Generated.
**Title: The Awakening of Ashmar** **Subtitle: A World Reborn, A Dragon Forgotten** Ashmar, the ancient dragon, stirred in the heart of the Forgotten Mountain. For a millennium, he had slept, his massive body curled around treasures gathered from a world that had feared and revered him. His scales, once gleaming emerald, had dulled with the passage of time, but the power within him still pulsed, waiting for the moment he would rise again.
By emad afsary2 years ago in Fiction
The Case of the Stone Killer . Top Story - February 2025.
Percy’s breaths were heavy but quiet as he quickly checked his gun chamber one more time. Empty. He knew it but seeing it...made his situation all the more dire and hopeless. And there were no more bullets on his person, Percy checked. Three times. He should have been careful when shooting at the Stone Killer earlier. He really should have. But...there had been people behind him. Innocent civilians who would have been her next victims if Percy hadn’t intervened. It was his duty as a police detective to protect them, and Percy would never shirk from that duty. He didn’t regret his decision, he just wished that at least one of the bullets had hit her.
By Rebecca Patton2 years ago in Fiction
Henny Penny was Right. Top Story - February 2025.
This tale concerns a grouple, or group of like-minded people, who tried to tell the villagers of their country that danger was approaching, sure and swift. Of this grouple, many were men and women of science who studied and measured things. Their knowledge was posted on every streetlight, tree, and sandwich board in the village. They made sure that what they studied was available to everyone.
By Barb Dukeman2 years ago in Fiction
Marie and the Treasure at the End of the Rainbow
Marie and the Treasure at the End of the Rainbow Marie lived in a quaint village by the sea, where gentle waves kissed the shore. The village was filled with lively chatter, the scent of salt in the air, and laughter from children playing in the sand. One sunny afternoon, after a refreshing rain shower, she spotted a brilliant rainbow arching high across the sky. With colors so vivid that they seemed to shimmer, it beckoned her toward an adventure of a lifetime.
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk 2 years ago in Fiction
The Talk. Content Warning.
After all this time, I decided to finally tell my wife what really happened to all those missing girls. I say "girls", they were young women, of course. Some poncey intellectual with coloured hair will probably say I'm infantilising them. It seems silly to get stuck on that point given what else I did to them. Maybe that's what normal people do. Fixate on a bearable detail as a way of ignoring the unbearable one. After my fever broke and I started feeling normal again, I had vague memories of saying things in my delirium. I wasn't sure what, or how much or how incriminating, but I had a sinking feeling that it had been incriminating. I'd agonised about it, insomuch as a man like me can agonise. She was the longest I'd stayed with any one woman. We had children together. Together, they were my camouflage. I was even a little fond of them. If I told her, I could lose her. That would be unfortunate. I had a plan if she tried to run, to stop her telling the police. "Plan" it's a strong word really, for something so simple, and brutal.
By L.C. Schäfer2 years ago in Fiction
