Stream of Consciousness
The Cold Embrace of Loneliness
The first day of June arrived with a sky so blue it looked painted by a child—too perfect to be real. Eliza stood at her kitchen sink, hands resting on the cool porcelain, watching the neighbour’s children chalk suns and hopscotch grids onto the pavement. Their laughter floated up like bubbles, bursting just before they reached her window.
By Liz Burtonabout a year ago in Fiction
Mastering the First Date: What to Wear, Where to Go, and What to Say to Leave a Lasting Impression
First dates are exciting—but let’s be honest, they can also be nerve-wracking. You're meeting someone new, possibly someone special, and every decision counts. From what you wear to where you go and what you say, each detail can shape how the date unfolds—and whether there’s a second one.
By Muhammad Saeedabout a year ago in Fiction
Salt and Vinegar Summers
The gravel crunched beneath her tires as the car rolled to a stop beneath the familiar canopy of pine. The air smelled of sap and sun-warmed wood, with just a trace of last night's rain lingering in the ferns. Sylvie sat for a moment with the engine off, her fingers curled loosely around the wheel. The silence settled around her like a held breath.
By Oula M.J. Michaelsabout a year ago in Fiction
The Gravity of Smoke. Honorable Mention in The Summer That Wasn’t Challenge.
🌒 Night has a different kind of gravity. In the basement of a dingy college pool hall, this gravity settles into the walls, thick as smoke and twice as heavy. It wraps around one’s shoulders, seeps into one’s hair, clinging to one’s clothes, and it slides into one’s lungs like an old sorrow.
By Stacey Mataxis Whitlow (SMW)about a year ago in Fiction
NOT ALL HOMES WELCOME YOU. Content Warning.
My friend Mr. Sinha had always believed in logic. A retired forest officer with a stern face and a steady voice, he laughed off the idea of ghosts and curses. When he bought a sprawling but decaying zamindar house in a remote Bengal village, he felt like he had found peace at last.
By Isabella Woodabout a year ago in Fiction
She Disappeared from Our School Overnight and No One Talks About It
You think stories like that are made up. I wish I could tell you mine. Her name was Lila Harper. We weren’t best friends or anything. But she sat right next to me in English class, third period, by the window. She always wore matching socks, doodled in the margins of her notebook, and hummed softly when the teacher wasn’t looking.
By Echoes of Lifeabout a year ago in Fiction
The Backroom of the Velvet Circuit. 🕴️
🎭Meet...The Gentleman! A dapper cloaked figure, dressed in a pinstripe suit and a black mask, sits at a poker table in a dimly lit, smoke-filled backroom, surrounded by anthropomorphic robots. The table is littered with stacks of chips and half-empty glasses of whiskey. The scene is lit with dramatic lighting and a gritty, vintage aesthetic. The style is inspired by art, with intricate details and a touch of nouveau elegance...Cinematic, filmic, a masterpiece.
By Novel Allenabout a year ago in Fiction
I Was Reborn in Flames but Never Left the Fire
Let Me Tell You a Story You’ll Never Forget I was born for the third time on a night of red skies and black screams. In my village, we do not fear death. We expect it. Welcome it, even. Because here, death is never the end. We are reborn through fire every hundred years. It's our curse. Or blessing. It depends on who you ask.
By Isabella Woodabout a year ago in Fiction
Whispers of the Tide: A Story Told in Shells
At first glance, the image is simple—serene, even. A ceramic bowl, resting gently on the damp sand, cradles an exquisite collection of seashells. They sit nestled together like quiet thoughts, each one shaped by time and tide. Beyond this peaceful arrangement, the shoreline stretches toward a glowing horizon, golden with the touch of evening light. A lighthouse stands distant and steady, a silent witness to the sea’s ever-shifting moods.
By Fazal Malikabout a year ago in Fiction
