Short Story

Blossoming in Our Own Time
A few years ago, I stumbled upon a book by Rich Karlgaard called Late Bloomers, The Power of Patience In A World Obsessed With Early Achievement. The title struck a chord with me, like an unexpected harmony that makes you pause and listen. I consider myself a late bloomer—a term Merriam-Webster describes as “someone who becomes successful, attractive, etc., at a later time in life than other people.” Apparently, I’m not alone; many people share this sentiment.
By Tales by J.J.2 years ago in Fiction
A Twist of Fate on a Midnight Train
It was during the summer of 2018 that Ana, a bright-eyed eighteen-year-old, returned to Brazil for her university studies. Her parents still lived in Europe, and she felt an overwhelming sense of homesickness in her first semester. Everything seemed daunting—adjusting to her new roommate, an aloof senior who barely acknowledged her presence, juggling the rigorous academic schedule, and adapting to the chaotic life in the student hostel. She found herself wondering how she would survive an entire year without seeing her parents. Adding to her woes, she had to endure the unofficially sanctioned hazing rituals of the first few weeks, which often left her in tears.
By Tales by J.J.2 years ago in Fiction
Kindness is a beautiful lesson
You lean back in your chair, considering my question deeply. The flicker of the candle on the table casts shadows that dance across your thoughtful face.
By Tales by J.J.2 years ago in Fiction
Life Circle
My back-door neighbors disappear almost fully every summer. It’s a slow, patchy, green obscuration, courtesy of a tall persimmon tree next to the fence that separates our houses. Today morning, as I stand at the kitchen sink filling water in a small saucepan and look out of the window in the back, their seasonal eclipsing is almost at totality. Only an edge of their terracotta tile roof and part of the upstairs window remain. Come fall, the gaps between the branches of the tree, bending under the weight of many fruit, will widen. And, as I walk through the different levels of my house, I’ll start to catch glimpses of them again. An upside-down triangle view of their patio door and the periodic appearance of the man as he jogs in circles around his house. Or, of the lady sitting on the step with her back resting against the pale brown-pink walls, head tilted, and her eyes closed against the sun. I always feel a strange reassurance at their reappearance. We don’t know each other, but they’re part of a cycle I unconsciously track, and though I can never be sure of the shape their return will take, I still count on the little predictability it offers.
By Tales by J.J.2 years ago in Fiction
A Tale of Love and Recognition. AI-Generated.
In the bustling city of Delhi, where dreams clashed with reality amidst the honking cars and crowded streets, lived Rohan, a dedicated software developer at a leading tech company. Despite his hard work and dedication, he often felt like a cog in a machine—unrecognized and undervalued. Each day, he trudged to work, hoping for a sign that his efforts were noticed, but those signs never came.
By Tales by J.J.2 years ago in Fiction
One Sided
Kas He’ll never see me like how I see him. It’s always me texting him first, me asking him how his day was first, me knowing everything about him when he doesn’t even know what my favorite color is. Can I help falling in love with him? No. No matter how hard I’ve tried, no matter how many guys I’ve dated, my heart burns with jealousy whenever he goes out with other girls. But it’ll forever be one sided.
By Kate Ketmayura2 years ago in Fiction
The Healing Journey of Anaya
In the bustling city of Bengaluru, where the modern meets the traditional, lived a young woman named Anaya. At 24, Anaya had a promising career in digital marketing, but her vibrant life was overshadowed by a series of health issues that seemed to have no end. She was diagnosed with PCOD at 22, migraines followed soon after, and frequent fainting spells became her new norm. Visits to multiple doctors only resulted in an endless list of medications.
By Tales by J.J.2 years ago in Fiction
The Art of Self-Love
In the heart of urban Mumbai, amidst the bustling streets and vibrant life, lived Aakash. A successful software engineer by day and a painter by night, Aakash had everything that seemed perfect from the outside. Yet, inside, he was constantly battling a sense of emptiness and an insatiable need for validation.
By Tales by J.J.2 years ago in Fiction
Brielyn. Top Story - November 2024.
The river ran backwards on the day the Queen vanished. The ground of the earth itself went cold and lifeless when she was taken, and the stars did not glow; they simply sat in the sky, dim and dull and sad—waiting.
By angela hepworth2 years ago in Fiction
The Last Stand. Content Warning.
1. I fell down on the concrete, unable to withstand the excruciating pain on my left hand. Crimson blood was dripping from just below the elbow, giving my fingers a warm, soaking sensation. Just a few moments ago, a bullet went straight through my wrist, shattering the bones. My left hand is probably done for; sniper's bullet is not so forgiving.
By Obscure Levin2 years ago in Fiction
Unwelcomed Smuggler
The fog hung low over the harbor, shrouding the dilapidated ships that creaked like old bones in the chilly air. Among them, a lone figure moved with purpose, his silhouette a dark shadow against the dim glow of the streetlamps. Jake had lived a rough life, one marked by secrets and the weight of choices that clawed at his conscience. He was no stranger to this port, a haven for those seeking refuge from the law or the turmoil of their pasts. Tonight, he was on a mission. As a smuggler, he had learned to navigate the treacherous waters of the criminal underworld, but this time was different. The cargo he carried wasn’t just goods; it was a desperate plea for survival. Rumors had spread through the city like wildfire about a shipment of medicine destined for a remote village, cut off from the world by years of conflict. The villagers, too proud to ask for help, were slowly succumbing to illness. The desperate need for aid drew Jake into this web of danger, risking everything for a cause he believed in. He approached the dock where a rickety boat waited, its engine throbbing like a heartbeat. His contact, a grizzled man named Marco, was already there, pacing nervously. The man’s face was etched with lines of worry, and his eyes darted around as if expecting trouble to emerge from the shadows. “Jake,” Marco called, his voice hoarse. “We don’t have much time. The guards are on high alert. They know something is up.” “I know,” Jake replied, his pulse quickening. “But we can’t let them stop us. Those people need this medicine.” Marco nodded, his expression somber. “Alright, let’s load it up and get moving. Keep your head down.” As they worked under the cover of darkness, the sound of distant sirens echoed across the harbor. Each wail sent a jolt of fear through Jake, but he pushed it down, focusing on the task at hand. The crates were heavy, filled with life-saving supplies that could mean the difference between life and death for those in the village. He had never been one to care about the consequences of his actions, but tonight felt different. There was a purpose behind the danger, a reason to risk it all. Just as they finished loading the last crate, the low rumble of an approaching vehicle shattered the stillness. Panic surged through Jake as he glanced toward the road. “We need to go now!” he shouted. They jumped into the boat, Marco fumbling with the engine as Jake kept a vigilant eye on the shore. The headlights of a police cruiser cut through the fog, illuminating the dock. With a sputter, the engine roared to life, and they shot out into the murky water, the boat skimming over the surface like a frightened fish. The police sirens grew fainter behind them, but Jake knew they wouldn’t stop. The guards had their eyes on the harbor, and news of their escape would spread quickly. He steered the boat toward the small island where they planned to hide the cargo until dawn. Each passing wave felt like a reminder of the risks they had taken. As they reached the island, Jake helped Marco unload the crates. They worked swiftly, adrenaline coursing through their veins, but every rustle of the trees sent chills down Jake’s spine. He couldn’t shake the feeling of being hunted. Just as they finished, the sound of voices reached them, echoing through the darkness. The guards had followed their trail. Jake’s heart raced as he and Marco scrambled to find cover. They ducked behind a large boulder, straining to hear the approaching footsteps. “Split up!” one of the guards shouted. “They can’t have gone far!” Jake felt a surge of fear, but also a strange sense of determination. He couldn’t let them find the medicine. It was too important. As the guards closed in, he glanced at Marco, who nodded silently, understanding the unspoken plan. They would not let this mission end in failure. With a deep breath, Jake bolted into the shadows, heart pounding as he moved deeper into the underbrush, ready to fight for something greater than himself. The night was far from over, and he was determined to see it through, no matter the cost.
By zulfi bux2 years ago in Fiction
Echo's From The Mine
In the heart of a forgotten valley, surrounded by jagged mountains and thick woods, lay the abandoned Silver Ridge Mine. Its entrance yawned like the mouth of a beast, dark and foreboding, whispering secrets of the past to anyone brave enough to listen. The town nearby had long since lost its shimmer, its glory fading with the last echo of pickaxes against rock. Only a handful of souls remained, drawn by nostalgia or a stubborn refusal to leave their roots behind. One such soul was Clara, a woman in her thirties with chestnut hair and eyes that held the weight of countless stories. She had grown up in Silver Ridge, a place where laughter once filled the air and dreams soared as high as the mountains. Her father had been a miner, toiling long hours beneath the earth's surface, pulling precious silver from the dark recesses. But when the mine had closed, and the last vein was tapped, despair had gripped the town like a vice. Clara’s father had never returned from the mine after that fateful day—his body never found, his spirit swallowed by the earth he had loved. Clara often wandered to the mine, a place of shadows and memories. She could still hear the echoes of her father's laughter, the stories he spun about the glimmering silver, and the camaraderie of the men who worked alongside him. She could almost feel the warmth of his hand on her shoulder, guiding her through the darkness. Each time she approached the entrance, an uneasy shiver danced along her spine, yet something compelled her to return. One misty morning, Clara set out for the mine, determined to confront the past that had haunted her for so long. The air was thick with fog, lending an otherworldly quality to the landscape. As she drew closer, she heard the familiar sound of water dripping from the rocks, a melody that echoed in the silence. With a deep breath, she stepped inside, the cool air enveloping her like a forgotten embrace. The mine’s interior was a labyrinth of tunnels, crisscrossing in chaotic patterns. Shadows flickered as she lit her lantern, casting a warm glow that illuminated the jagged walls. Clara walked carefully, her heart pounding with a mix of fear and exhilaration. The deeper she ventured, the more she felt the weight of her father’s presence. It was as if the walls were alive with memories, whispering to her through the ages. Suddenly, Clara stumbled upon a hidden chamber, its entrance barely visible behind a cluster of rocks. Curiosity ignited within her, and she pushed her way inside. The chamber opened up into a vast expanse, revealing glittering veins of silver embedded in the stone, untouched and waiting. A gasp escaped her lips as she stepped forward, the treasure shimmering in the lantern's glow. As she approached the silver, a flicker of movement caught her eye. From the shadows emerged a figure—a man with weary eyes and a face etched with the marks of time. Her breath caught in her throat; it was her father, or at least a vision of him. He looked just as she remembered, standing amid the riches he had sought but never claimed. “Clara,” he spoke, his voice resonating in the stillness. “Why have you come?” “I’ve come to find you,” she replied, tears welling in her eyes. “To understand why you never came home.” He smiled gently, his gaze filled with both sorrow and pride. “I never left you. I am here, always. The mine holds my spirit, as it does the spirits of all who worked to carve life from its depths. You must let go of the past to find your own path.” Clara felt a rush of emotions wash over her, the pain of loss mingling with the warmth of love. The silver around her gleamed like stars in the night sky, a reminder of her father’s dreams. She understood then that the mine was not just a place of sorrow but also of hope and legacy. With newfound resolve, Clara turned to leave. As she stepped out of the chamber, the weight on her heart began to lift. The echoes of the mine still whispered behind her, but now they carried a sense of peace. She emerged into the daylight, the sun shining down on her like a promise, ready to embrace the life that awaited beyond the shadows of Silver Ridge.
By zulfi bux2 years ago in Fiction