Short Story
The Stranger
She is enjoying lunch with her best friend and colleague at her usual table in her favorite cafe. The cafe is located on the ground floor of her office building. She meets her friend here for lunch seemingly every weekday. On this day, however, her colleague notices a striking young man sitting two tables away. The young man is sitting alone and enjoying lunch himself, but is consistently looking in their direction.
By Sean Johnson2 years ago in Fiction
Between Classes and Heartbeats. AI-Generated.
In the bustling halls of Maplewood High, where lockers clanged and laughter echoed, Sarah Thompson was known for her bright smile and passion for art. With her sketchbook always tucked under her arm, she found solace in creating beautiful worlds. But amidst the chaos of teenage life, Sarah felt a void—something was missing.
By Atere Oluwatofarati2 years ago in Fiction
United We Stand
Oliver and Christina are best friends on their way to their favorite bar named Frankie’s for the election results. As Oliver drives they both glance at each other with sarcastic smiles. Oliver is a Democrat who holds very liberal ideals and Christina is a Republican who holds very conservative ideals, yet they are best friends.
By Joe Patterson2 years ago in Fiction
Amari's journey . Content Warning.
Roots Beneath the Surface Amari always loved the summer block party in his neighborhood. People came out in droves, filling the street with music, laughter, and the smell of barbecues. Kids raced up and down on bikes, grandmothers shared family recipes, and everyone felt like they belonged to one big family. Yet every year, a little part of him felt like he was performing for an invisible audience. His heart held the knowledge, too big and heavy for his eight-year-old body, that no matter how much everyone around him celebrated his presence here, the wider world would not always feel the same. Amari’s father had started giving him “the talk” when he was only five, and every year since then, he’d had another layer added, like bricks to a wall. “When you go outside, don’t run in public. People will think you’re running from something, even if you’re just having fun,” he’d say. “And never reach for anything in a store without asking first.” Amari’s father wasn’t bitter when he said it, only sad and serious, making Amari promise to remember these lessons. One Saturday, Amari’s mother took him to the mall for a back-to-school shopping trip. He was feeling a little braver, a little more grown-up. He had just turned nine the week before and had received his first real watch as a gift. As he passed a jewelry store, his eyes lingered on a watch display with fancy designs that looked even nicer than his own. The sleek metal bands and tiny dials looked like something from another world. Unable to resist, he reached out to touch the glass, pressing his fingers against it, marveling at the details. “Hey!” a voice snapped. Startled, Amari turned to see a store employee glaring at him. “What are you doing here?” she demanded. The hostility in her voice chilled him. He looked around, unsure of what he’d done wrong. Before he could answer, his mother appeared at his side, having seen the commotion from across the hall. “Is there a problem here?” she asked, her voice polite but firm. “I just wanted to make sure he wasn’t… getting any ideas,” the employee replied, her eyes still narrowed. Amari’s mother looked at him, then back at the woman. “He’s just a kid,” she said, a trace of sadness coloring her words. They walked away, but Amari could feel his mother’s grip on his hand tighten, like she was holding onto him with everything she had. The ride home was quiet, but that evening, Amari found his father outside, sitting on the porch. He joined him, and they sat together in silence until Amari finally asked, “Dad, why did she look at me like that? I wasn’t doing anything wrong.” His father sighed and placed a heavy arm around his shoulders. “Son, sometimes people look at you and see what they want to see, not who you really are. They don’t know your heart, but they think they do because of the color of your skin.” “But that’s not fair,” Amari whispered, tears prickling his eyes. He hated feeling small, feeling like his world was different just because of something he couldn’t change. “No, it’s not,” his father said. “And I wish I could say that it’ll get easier. But the world isn’t fair, and that’s why you have to be strong. Strong enough to know that you are more than anyone’s judgment, stronger than any assumption someone might make about you.” As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with orange and purple streaks, Amari felt a kind of strength he hadn’t before. His father’s words were heavy but real, like the bricks he’d been given each year. And he knew he would carry them, would build himself up with them, and in time, grow into someone his father would be proud of. The next summer at the block party, Amari joined the laughter, the games, and the joy with a new understanding. Yes, he would always live in a world where some people saw his skin before his soul. But in his own neighborhood, surrounded by the people who knew his heart, he could feel his true self radiate, a strength that ran deep, like roots beneath the surface, unseen but unbreakable.
By Javel samuels2 years ago in Fiction
Beloved President Black
In the warring nation of Harmonyland, there lived a kind and charismatic leader named President Black. Known for his jet-black hair and warm smile, he was beloved by his subjects for his unwavering dedication to their well-being. The path of leadership, however, was fraught with challenges, and President Black soon found himself navigating a labyrinth of obstacles that would test his mettle.
By Antoni De'Leon2 years ago in Fiction
Of Fire and Tide
The river ran backwards on the day the Queen vanished. The Lanterna mountains imploded, crashing into the ground - leaving behind only craters of soil and rock. Now devoid of sun, the flora and fauna that had once sustained the land wilted into nothing. The villagers began to starve. Many packed their belongings and moved onwards to more fruitful plains. Some died on the journey, others were lost to the harshness of the winter. Those that survived took root again but would wistfully remember the place that had been home. They would talk of the majestic Karianarga tree that would flower under the touch of the morning sun, leaving parcels of handtied food – succulent salifir meat, sweet mead cake and bottles of candied dew.
By River and Celia in Underland2 years ago in Fiction
A Wake-Up Call in Purple
The sun stood at a sharp angle, glaring into his car. It was morning, and Dennis was on his way to work. It was the same every morning, and he could just manage to stop by the Café on the Square for a cup of coffee and a croissant. His usual breakfast. It was easy and convenient for someone alone.
By Henrik Hageland2 years ago in Fiction
