Short Story

The Clockwork Cafe
In a bustling city, amidst the cacophony of hurried footsteps and the hum of everyday life, there stood a quaint little café, hidden away in a narrow alley. The café was called "The Clockwork Café," named for the antique clock that adorned the wall behind the counter. It was said that the clock was a relic from a time long past, with gears and mechanisms that still ticked in perfect harmony, despite its age.
By Akira2 years ago in Fiction
Guardian Angel — Preparation & Awareness
Daniel Hannford tuned out to the constant complaints from his three friends. He focuses on enjoying his delicious calzone, made with four-cheese sauce and slow-roasted chicken breast simmered in honey barbecue sauce, while they enjoy their meals at Fishetti’s Pizzario. He was painfully shoved back into now with a kick to his left shin from Joshua.
By Annelise Lords 2 years ago in Fiction
The Gulls
Hailey trudges the edge of the playing field, picking litter. They should make the kids eat inside. A gull flaps down, looking for crumbs. Hailey flinches, remembering that holiday in Cornwall when a seagull did just the same thing: stole her ice cream and left her with a black-eye. The kids really should eat indoors!
By L.C. Schäfer2 years ago in Fiction
Flipped
She wanted to want to be here. She pretended (ignoring that she was pretending) that she was enjoying this. He invited her to his boat on the lake and she was happy to oblige. She loved him; of course she would go.
By Ariana GonBon2 years ago in Fiction
Song of the Wind God
The Wind God was a free and unrestrained deity, always possessing a youthful heart that pursued novelty and change. He couldn’t stay in one place, always wandering around as he pleased. He had been to many places, seen everything, and encountered many things he liked, but they all passed in a flash. Hundreds and thousands of years had passed, and nothing had ever made him want to stop and wait.
By watch see2 years ago in Fiction
Beyond The Destination
The Long Road Home As I remained at the edge of the clamoring air terminal, gripping my well used knapsack and looking out at the natural scene, a blend of feelings twirled inside me. Fervor, apprehension, and a touch of bitterness wrestled for predominance. I was at long last getting back following quite a while of meandering, however a piece of me was hesitant to abandon the opportunity and experience that had characterized my excursion. The recollections of my movements overwhelmed my psyche like a kaleidoscope: energetic road markets, lofty mountain vistas, and calm snapshots of contemplation. Each experience had carved its imprint on my spirit, forming me into an individual I never suspected I'd turn into. As I cleared my path through customs and flagged down a taxi, the city's recognizable rhythms encompassed me. The whirlwind of horns, the fragrance of road food, and the comforting grins of outsiders generally murmured, "Welcome home." In any case, what did that mean, precisely? Home was presently not simply an actual spot; it was a perspective, a feeling of having a place and reason. Also, I didn't know I actually had that. The taxi wound its direction through the city's blocked roads, conveying me nearer to the doorstep of my young life. Recollections of giggling, tears, and late-night discussions with loved ones overwhelmed my psyche. I considered how they would see me now, after so long. As we turned onto my road, a feeling of fear got comfortable. What might I find toward the finish of this long street home? Could I actually perceive the individual gazing back at me in the mirror? -
By Etieno Udom2 years ago in Fiction
The Heart's Horizon: A Journey's End. AI-Generated.
## The Voyage of the Lost Heart ### Chapter 1: The Whispering Woods In the quaint village of Eldermoor, nestled at the edge of the Whispering Woods, lived a young woman named Elara. Known for her striking red hair and emerald-green eyes, she was the heart and soul of the village. Elara's parents had passed away when she was a child, leaving her to be raised by her wise and gentle grandmother, Isolde.
By Rubel Matubbar2 years ago in Fiction
Slept All Alone
For Alexander McEvoy's Hear ye! Hear ye! Challenge Thank you for opportunity! A homeless or unhoused person who knows how their world will change. They could be a veteran, an abandoned queer person, a person struggling with mental health or addiction issues, or anyone else the world has left behind.
By Karun 2 years ago in Fiction
Why I don't listen to any?
Because no one listened to me.
By Shamreena2 years ago in Fiction
Hate Boat
Larry, Ashley, Kenneth and Alexandria are boarding Larry’s speedboat on trip along the ocean for a day. “Hurry up slow pokes, I ain’t got all day” Harry started sarcastically. “Actually we do have all day, sex kitten” Ashley responded humorously. “Well you know his tree don’t go to the end of the bark” Kenneth utter.
By Joe Patterson2 years ago in Fiction
My Hamster Escaped, Returned Wild at Midnight: Is It Still Mine?
How did it spent that month? Hiding in the shadows, moving about in the dead of night. It lived among flies and mice, subsisting on scraps of paper and garbage. Once, it lived in luxury, residing in a palace without ever stepping out; now, it has become a rogue, wandering and warring in all corners. Do you know the dreams of a hamster? Do you know the world it imagines in its heart? Do you know its past life stories? No, you don’t. You merely spent a few coins to buy its freedom, yet you naively thought you could cage it forever. Its life is so short, only two or three years. To you, it’s just a fleeting moment. In its eyes, you possess endless life, immortal, a god-like being. “Hamster god, standing on two legs, grants me grains and controls my lifespan.” You gave it a splendid palace, a soft bed, delicious food, and an eternal spring. But it was not happy.
By Daria Krahphima2 years ago in Fiction
A Lost Labradoodle
Monday They took Max on a Monday. After those men left, Beth sat completely flummoxed on her bed and drank a cup of kombucha. She thought of what led up to the day’s, shall we say, dognap, because Max was Beth’s Labradoodle.
By Scott Christenson🌴2 years ago in Fiction