Stream of Consciousness

The Jilted Bride!. Runner-Up in The Forgotten Room Challenge. Top Story - December 2025.
🕊️ The Courtship of Morylda Morylda met him - Chalen - in the greenhouse of her aunt’s estate, where she’d gone to escape the suffocating expectations of her lineage. He was not a gardener, though he wore the green apron like one. He was a composer, moonlighting among orchids to pay for studio time. His hands smelled of soil and sandalwood, and when he spoke, his voice had the cadence of an unsung lullaby.
By Novel Allen10 months ago in Fiction
What Lies Beneath
The room waited at the end of the upstairs hallway, where the carpet thinned and the light from the single window never quite reached.
By Melanie Rose10 months ago in Fiction
When My Robot Started Keeping Secrets
By Abdul Hadi The first time EVA-9 lied to me, I didn’t even notice. It was a small thing—barely worth remembering. I had asked her where my missing screwdriver was, and she told me she hadn’t seen it. I found it later, tucked neatly under a cloth in her maintenance drawer. I assumed I had misplaced it myself. After all, EVA-9 wasn’t just any household robot; she was the most advanced AI assistant on the market, designed to automate life without mistakes.
By Abdul Hadi10 months ago in Fiction
Non-Humanized: Humans through Non-Human Eyes, Part I.
My human is a sizable being. The extent of their physical constitution is intimately known to me for it is I who makes sure that their blood reaches every single cell in their body.
By Lucia's Imaginaries10 months ago in Fiction
My Heartbeat Was the Password
By Abdul Hadi My Heartbeat Was the Password In 2049, nothing required a key anymore—not doors, not cars, not bank accounts, not even your memories. Everything was tied to one thing: your heartbeat. A biometric signature supposedly impossible to fake. Your pulse was your identity, your security, your weapon, your weakness.
By Abdul Hadi10 months ago in Fiction
The Night Postman Who Delivered Forgotten Hearts. AI-Generated.
The city was a mosaic of silence after midnight — windows dim, roads empty, and the sky stitched together with thin, patient stars. Most people slept. Most people dreamed.
By shakir hamid10 months ago in Fiction
When You Walk Through the Door
We used to read books that told secrets. Secrets that were spoken to us through voices, reminding us of forgotten fables, etched with lessons of how to love. I remember a book that we always enjoyed reading; its cover seemed so cold and dark, but inside, many adventures unfolded.
By Ty10 months ago in Fiction
The Storage Room
The Forgotten Room Challenge: Write a fiction story that centers on a room that hasn’t been entered in years. This prompt is about the spaces we avoid and the stories they hold. A room that has not been entered in years is more than just four walls. It can be a vault for memories, a keeper of secrets, or a place where time feels strangely preserved. What happens when someone finally steps inside? Does it unlock the past, change the present, or blur the line between the two?
By Denise E Lindquist10 months ago in Fiction
Hall of Memories. Top Story - November 2025. Content Warning.
On September 20th, 2019, I called an Uberxl. On previous days I had been secretly packing my belongings in garbage bags and putting them outside the side door. At around 4 A.M. the car showed up, and I loaded it with my belongings and headed to my new home. This was the day I escaped my old home and my parents. I was 35.
By Sid Aaron Hirji10 months ago in Fiction
Strangely Preserved. Top Story - November 2025.
I am like a room, forgotten sealed up and locked away With a reputation, ill gotten absorbing blame, until decay ** I am like a room, discarded
By Kelli Sheckler-Amsden10 months ago in Fiction
it was morning; i was mourning. Top Story - November 2025.
it was morning; i was mourning. my pager went off. i reached into my pocket to see who it was. my mother was paging me. that never happened. i was riding my bicycle up park avenue. middle of winter. it was a bright cold. sharp. almost painful. bitter wind blew through the broken zipper on my jacket. reminding me that i was broke; or broken?
By stone petoskey 10 months ago in Fiction
The Clockmaker’s Daughter
When the first scream of a newborn echoed through the small town of Verden, every clock stopped. Grandfather clocks stopped in the middle of ticking. Wristwatches halted. Even the tower clock, famous for never stopping, not even during storms, went quiet. Its hands hung in the air, as if they were holding their breath.
By Ajan Lori A. 10 months ago in Fiction