Short Story
The Day her World Stopped . Content Warning.
Another day, the sun appears through the sky box between her shades, The sky loudly shouts, as she tucks away. For three years, she has stored herself away from everyone else. Protected by the walls that surround her, closed off from near and far from the danger she has seen before.
By Rilee Arey2 years ago in Fiction
Lawyer Storytelling: A Sacred Craft
Here, law professor Mark Cooney, with both substantial experience in personal-injury cases and many fiction and non-fiction publications, uses a client-intake setting to illustrate the extraordinary imagination and sensitivities of the best practitioners.
By Nelson Miller2 years ago in Fiction
### Silent Screams
Eyes heavy with exhaustion, Sara leaned against the counter of the 24-hour convenience shop. The neon lights outside buzzed softly, creating an unsettling glow across the empty street as the clock above the door approached two in the morning. With a groan, she glanced at her open textbook, the words appearing blurry. It was difficult for her to juggle late-night jobs with college classes, but she needed the money.
By Abdul Qayyum2 years ago in Fiction
The Sweet Gift
Briiiiiing, riiiinng, Briiing, riiing. A bicycle bell rang out quietly in the distance. Elena was walking along the dead street, back to her rented bungalow. Her bright yellow dress twirling as she danced along the dirt road, holding her white billowy sunhat in its place. She was heady with her new experiences in Michoacán, and a little intoxicated. This heavenly vacation had been on her bucket list, and she was more than elated to be here.
By Chelas Montanye2 years ago in Fiction
New Life
It was in the still of the morning, even now. Something had roused him from sleep, something that was now compelling him to leave the quiet gatehouse to cross the courtyard to the small barn that sheltered their horses at night. Petal needed him to be there. That's all he needed to know. He had not even needed to check the closed-circuit camera that his father had installed the week before, for him to be able to watch over her. Without a second thought, he had pulled on his work jeans and a thin t-shirt, slipped his feet into a pair of trainers--his mama called them "sneakers"--and slipped out of the house for Petal's stall.
By Kimberly J Egan2 years ago in Fiction
Daddy's French Toast
Every second Sunday of the month, my father makes French toast for breakfast. I don't remember when this tradition started, but it has been around since I was very young. In a bowl bigger than my face, he mixes eggs, milk, and lots of sugar with a whisk. When I was in kindergarten, my father put me in charge of mixing while he cut a thick loaf of bread into four pieces. I would stir with all my might, watching the sugar dissolve into the mixture. Secretly licking the contents of the bowl when neither my father nor my mother, who sat watching from the dining table, was looking became my little thrill.
By Eat with Happiness2 years ago in Fiction
The Last Level. AI-Generated.
In a world where virtual reality games are indistinguishable from real life, "Infinite Realms" was the pinnacle of immersive technology. Players felt the wind on their faces, the weight of their swords, the heat of a dragon's breath. It was a gamer’s paradise—until it wasn’t.
By Orang Punya2 years ago in Fiction
