Stream of Consciousness
A Voice Without a Face
Paul had always battled sleep. Each night, he tossed and turned, his mind a flickering projector of unfinished tasks, missed deadlines, and "what ifs" that marched in endless loops. His bed, rather than a sanctuary, had become a battleground between rest and racing thoughts. On this night, however, something felt different.
By Anthony Chanabout a year ago in Fiction
The Nights at the Library
Usually, I do not get called out to work at this particular library too often. But this night I am to report to the university Curriculum library (is where education majors can sign out old textbooks to complete various course projects using old schoolbooks) and start their yearly perpetual inventory. For those you do not know a perpetual inventory is where librarians and if there are assistants count all the books in said library to make sure all the books were returned. This is one tedious job duty, but if one really loves books no matter the content the job is not that bad, and it gives one a sense of accomplishment.
By Mark Grahamabout a year ago in Fiction
The Letter I Was Never Meant to Read
By Nadeem Shah I found the letter by accident. Tucked inside the back of my mother’s worn-out recipe book, behind a page smudged with gravy stains and faint ink scribbles about nutmeg, was an envelope that didn’t belong. It was brittle, yellowed with age, and sealed with a faded wax stamp I didn’t recognize.
By Nadeem Shah about a year ago in Fiction
The Night at the School Library
I usually do not get called to substitute for this school library too often for they have a list that they rotate substitutes. Usually, I worked two or three nights a month at this location. The duties are about the same as for the public and college libraries for I still reshelve some books back on the shelves, but for the most part I am basically just running the vacuum over the carpet and dusting the furniture and shelves. As I was in the far back corner, I heard that all familiar phrase just like my other nights.
By Mark Grahamabout a year ago in Fiction
The Mirror Room🕯️. AI-Generated.
After her grandmother's death, Clara inherited an old Victorian house. It stood silent and dust-laden, the air thick with forgotten memories. But one room was unlike the rest—small, square, and lined wall-to-wall with mirrors. Her grandmother called it the Reflection Room.
By ElaheMindStoriesabout a year ago in Fiction
The Letter I Was Never Meant to Read
By Nadeem Shah It was tucked inside the back of an old shoebox—between brittle birthday cards and a black-and-white photo of a woman I didn’t recognize. I wasn’t supposed to find it. But fate has a cruel way of revealing things when you’re least prepared.
By Nadeem Shah about a year ago in Fiction
Back to School
Who remembers reporting to school on that first day of school? Walking into those freshly waxed hallways and classrooms, catching up with some friends that you haven't seen all summer. Then, the bell rings and you head to your homeroom and find your seat and seek out your schedule to see what kind of year you are going to have with happiness or trepidation. All the days as it has done for years starts out with the Pledge of Allegiance followed by a moment of silent meditation followed by morning announcements. Welcome back, everyone and let's have a great year!
By Mark Grahamabout a year ago in Fiction
