Short Story

Reset. Content Warning.
His hand hovered over the button. He didn't know what'd happen if he pressed it; only that he'd get the reset he wanted. Would someone die? He thought about Evie, and the kids (all those fucking kids). He didn't hate them. He just wished he'd never... He didn't want to be a part of it any more.
By L.C. Schäfer2 years ago in Fiction
Emanuel Wilson's Life Journey: Birth to Adulthood
Emanuel Wilson's Life Journey: Birth to Adulthood Emanuel Wilson's life story is full of resilience, growth, and big wins. From humble starts to being a respected leader, his journey inspires many. His life story, filled with key moments and challenges, shows how he made it big.
By Asrar Ahmed Warraich2 years ago in Fiction
I Detest Every Stepmother On The Planet.
My name is Razia, and if you could even call it that, my house is barely standing and is like a shattered tent. There's no door, only a frayed and unkempt curtain that billows in the breeze, a weak partition separating my world from the outside. She gave me a startled look as I welcomed her; it was as though she was shocked that I was still alive. Where should I sit when she told me to? There was nowhere to take a seat. Nothing to settle onto.
By Abdul Qayyum2 years ago in Fiction
Hartfield's Nightmare
George Hartfield walked down the cobblestone streets of Oganfield. His shoes clacked off the dull, red bricks. The dream he had last night swirled around his mind. He was going mad and it was all that damned servants fault. Should have never hired her in the first place. He knew the moment he laid eyes on her she was going to be nothing but trouble.
By Jacob Peyton2 years ago in Fiction
Alpha, Romeo
"Please, you've got to help me. You've got to run." The stink of him was easier to tolerate on two legs. Human noses are weak. The sense was already fading. Scrunched in this awkward position, in the cramped dog crate for several hours, my only thought was getting free. "What... what happened to you?" he stammered. "No time to explain," I insisted, ignoring his abs, which, frankly, looked photoshopped on. "She'll be back any moment. We need to get out of here." The man hesitated for a moment, then nodded. He fumbled with the latch on the crate. I stumbled out, legs weak and stiff. I grabbed the man's arm for support, and pulled him towards the back door. We slipped out into the cool night air. I took a deep breath, and another. Glorious lungfuls of crisp, star-sprinkled freedom. We ran through the garden, grass damp under our bare feet. "Where are we going?" the man hissed. "Anywhere but here," I replied. "We need to find somewhere safe, somewhere she can't find us. Before she does it to you, too." I looked this way and that, glanced over my shoulder. I felt the urgency crackle off my skin and infect him. "Does what?" "The same thing she did to me..." I trailed off. How to explain without sounding insane? My mind raced. I couldn't go back to that life, no matter how much I loved her. Not after what had happened. I had to stay a Man. This was the only way to keep this resolve. Jealousy still burned in me, though. While I was crammed into a cage, this (alpha, Romeo, complete prat) was fucking my wife.
By L.C. Schäfer2 years ago in Fiction
The Faceless One. Content Warning.
Having beaten my brother unconscious, the monster now turns his attention to me. His meaty paws, dripping red with the blood of my sibling, swings wildly, grazing my temple with enough force to knock me down. It really doesn't take much for a two-hundred-pound monster to push around an eighty-five-pound kid, and by monster I mean my stepfather.
By JBaz2 years ago in Fiction
The keys that led to her ruin
This experience wasn’t exactly a galvanising one, but it was the opportune time to teach her why she should never do this again.
By Caitlin Charlton2 years ago in Fiction
Who's a Thief?
Once upon a time there was a thief who liked to iron, but he could never find his own. He sculked around his neighborhood looking for steam irons till one day. He was walking around his neighborhood, and he noticed that a few houses down at the corner of Press and Fold that there was the scent of steam coming from one of the houses. He continued sniffing all the way, then at 513-Fold Street he found the correct house of steam.
By Mark Graham2 years ago in Fiction
Morality
It was freezing inside that church. Little Jane’s thin coat barely added any warmth to her tiny body. Her shoes had worn so thin that water seeped in when she stepped on the wet ground outside, soaking her wool tights and making her feet cold and wet. She couldn’t feel her toes.
By Kayleigh Fraser ✨2 years ago in Fiction
"The Mysterious Aunty Next Door: A Cricket Game Led Me to Her Dark Secret"
Every evening when we lived in Hasilpur, we would play cricket on a vacant patch of land close to our home. Faiza Aunty's house was just across from the site. It had only been a few days since her family moved in. We had only seen her and her hubby thus far. Nobody dared to inquire, and no one knew if her family included any other members. Aunty was a recluse who shunned social situations. She was known for being strict, and she never gave back a cricket ball that fell into her yard. Rather, she would emerge, furious and grimacing, chastising us for upsetting her tranquility.
By Abdul Qayyum2 years ago in Fiction
A final Embrace . Content Warning.
Who knows how many souls are resting in these silent walls? The hustle and bustle and noise here do not disturb them. Countless weak and sick people come here, hoping that they will return from here completely healthy. Because this place is dedicated to their well-being. However, it's not necessary for changes and circumstances to be always in our favor." So some people remain confined to these walls, those rooms, those corridors, or those instruments and vials of medicines. Only their weak and suffering bodies can escape from this place that they hate. When she set out for that cruel place, she brought with her the heaviest burden of life. "Though Steve could take care of himself, the doctor said that if he survived for more than twenty-four hours "it would be a miracle, an extraordinary event perhaps!" So she went there to take care of him. He needed her in the last phase of his life, so she went there to be with him. "He is a 70-year-old man whose lungs are gripped by deadly cancer. Which is continuously shortening the line of his life. And now he is just waiting for death in his last moments. All the hair on his head has fallen off, his eyes are weak and sunken. His skin has turned yellow. He is lying peacefully on his bed. And he is making a strange effort to keep a fake smile on his face. Maybe! This is the only process by which he can entertain himself. " Steve put his head on her lap; he was just listening to the beating of her heart, ignoring all the hustle and bustle outside. They both sat there for hours but there was no conversation between them. After some time Steve's body went limp. His body was now lifeless. Yes, he was dead. With her trembling hands, she separated him from herself and laid him on the bed. She stroked his face for the last time to close his eyes. So that he could sleep comfortably in a deep sleep. His soul could become a part of those souls present here without getting disturbed. Because it feels like he's been lying in bed for years. "Now he should get some exercise and play. And find new friends for himself." There was no emotion on her face, because she was already aware of this impending death. She was not sad at all, she herself wanted Steve to be free from that pain forever. However, she did feel a little sad about losing her youngest and last son. Still, not a single tear fell from her lifeless eyes. She walked back with the help of her bent back and stick, with a painful but sweet smile on her wrinkled face.
By Karan w. 2 years ago in Fiction
Capuccino, Two Sugars. Content Warning.
I treated him like any customer. Smiling, because good customer service. He stared at me constantly, staying longer than one cappucino required. Next day, he did the same.
By L.C. Schäfer2 years ago in Fiction