Stream of Consciousness

The Healing Touch. Content Warning.
Nestled in the middle of a busy city, where people are frequently exhausted and disillusioned by life's unrelenting pace, was a peaceful oasis called "Tranquil Oasis." This modest massage business, hidden away from the bustle of the city streets, radiated a calm and comforting aura that drew in tired people looking for a break from the stresses of daily life. Leading Tranquil Oasis was Daran, an experienced masseuse whose hands had a near-mystical capacity to calm the body and the mind. Daran had developed a reputation as a healer, a moniker he proudly and humbly carried.
By Khan Aliabout a year ago in Fiction
The Call Came After Midnight
I was half-asleep when my phone rang. The screen lit up my dark bedroom, the name flashing across it like something out of a dream — or a nightmare.
By ETS_Storyabout a year ago in Fiction
“The Last Paper Crane”*
In a narrow lane where the sun barely touched the ground by midday, tucked between a tea stall and an old tailor’s shop, stood a small stationery store with peeling green paint and a wooden sign that read “Baba Jan’s Papers” in faded ink.
By meerjananabout a year ago in Fiction
User’s Guide to Disappearing (Terms, Conditions & Mild Trauma Apply)
Sometimes disappearing isn’t about running away. It’s about testing who notices you’re gone—and who never did. Consider this your survival manual, with a splash of sarcasm and a few bite marks.
By Jellyabout a year ago in Fiction
*The Bench by the Lake*
There was a lake on the edge of a quiet town, half-hidden behind sycamore trees and tangled ivy. It wasn’t on any tourist map, and no signs pointed to it. But those who found it—by accident or ache—often came back.
By meerjananabout a year ago in Fiction
The Red Mage and the Thief
The Emberlight Covenant The city of Jeuno rose from the cliffs like a dream of white stone, its spires tipped in banners that swayed in the salt wind. Bridges as narrow as a dagger’s edge arched over the chasms between towers and the streets hummed with the life of a hundred nations. Traders hawking wares from desert caravans and smiths hammering sparks into fresh-forged steel; wandering minstrels singing in tongues from the farthest reaches of Vana’diel.
By Cadmaabout a year ago in Fiction
The Almost of Her. Winner in The Shape of the Thing Challenge.
Zelma’s hair is the color of honey when the light hits it just right. Not the raw kind, but golden and warm, the kind you find in glass jars on corner store shelves, glowing under cheap fluorescent bulbs. Her skin reminds you of the color of the sun, almost like the warmest day yet crisp day in Autumn. But her face semi broad nose, full lips, almond eyes with matching mono-lids whispers a different story. People never know what to make of her.
By Cadmaabout a year ago in Fiction
When the House Fell Silent Without You
I used to think silence was a luxury. The kind that came at the end of a long day, after the dishes were done and the lights were low. The kind of silence that felt like peace.
By Habib kingabout a year ago in Fiction
The Day That Didn’t Hurt
For over a year, I had the date marked in my work calendar: July 27th, 2025. I assumed it would be solemn. Quiet. Sacred. On July 25th, I called Mom while curling my hair as part of my going out ritual. We talked about the usual things: my friends, how being 29 is fun and ridiculous in New York, how I feel more like myself than I have in a while.
By cameron crewsabout a year ago in Fiction
The Eagle and the Hen
The Eagle and the Hen Long ago, when the sky was closer and the clouds danced freely with the treetops, the animals lived as one family. There was no hunting, no fear. Just community. Among them were the eagle, Akroma, and the hen, Afia.
By Muhammad Younasabout a year ago in Fiction
An arrogant amorality - The Forest or the Trees.
Arrogant Amorality. A concept as chilling as it is compelling. An exploration of its symbolic anatomy within a mythic narrative.
By Novel Allenabout a year ago in Fiction
American Geisha
Chapter 1: When the Phone Rang When the phone rang, I imagined a job less explicit. The voice on the other end was gentle. Amicable. It introduced me to the world I was about to enter as if it were something simple. It wasn’t. The instructions were vague but well understood—and I agreed without hesitation.
By Cadmaabout a year ago in Fiction