Stream of Consciousness
lucid. Content Warning.
There once was a family that had been struggling to reconnect. Arguments, silence, resentment—they had drifted apart, each locked in their own little world of pain. Hoping to mend their fractured bond, they decided to go away on a short holiday. A chance to reset. To be a family again.
By Sabrina Verweyabout a year ago in Fiction
Welcome to Hyperphantasia
Welcome to hyperphantasia. Or perhaps hyper imagination? It doesn’t really matter what label you call it, but I often thought that other people could imagine a scene play out right in front of your eyes on command. Sitting in the office chair staring at the work screen, then suddenly a tiny human-like figure morphs into existence on your desk and is now karate chopping the mechanical pencil in front of you, but you casually continue on with your work, sound familiar? It happens to me all the time. Can you almost smell the coffee from the made-up tavern where a six-foot elven merchant behind the counter is brewing, talking to other patrons while you write the next scene of the book no one is going to read until you stop self-doubting the work you do? Hmm? I can. Or how about playing out scenarios in your head where the imagery is so real that you accidentally trigger fight or flight responses, do you do that? This may sound cliche, but I really wish I had given in to the imagery and pursued my first love of the arts. But here is something that is interesting. Can you turn it off? Can you shake the imagery out of your head? I can. It is weird how it occurs, too. Let us take the original scenario of you sitting on your office chair, then the miniature manlike figure starts karate chopping the mechanical pencils in front of you. Then let us say that a pink cat calmly struts its way towards the little martial artists and then spontaneously morphs into a nine-tailed kitsune; all the while, a small army of undead creeps behind our two new heroes. Before the action kicks off, you notice that you misspelled a word you were actively typing while fully engaged with your work. No missed sentences, no confusion on what was going on with your job, nor any missed strides with the potential epic fight scene happening in real time in front of you, in full color, with dialogue! You tell yourself, okay, time to turn this off, then poof. The imagery is gone, and you seamlessly continue on with your day. Interesting, is it not? What is frustrating is that a lot of the time, I can’t focus a narrative out of it. It has happened plenty of times, but the majority of instances, it is full-on randomness, until I give it complete control. If I focus my energy on what imagery is playing out in front of me, I can carve out a story. The problem? As a storyteller, I can imagine the most intense of scenes and the more serene of scenes, but my skills as a writer are still coming around. This is where frustration kicks in. You see, I never nourished this imagery, and I never thought about what I could do with this “theater of the mind” in the form of expression or even attempt a career out of it. I was too traditional in the first half of my existence. And I confidently say, “first half” because I am a firm believer that life doesn’t really have a definition of when something starts or ends. I mean, of course, there are basic things like adolescence and developmental stages, but I’m talking about this thing we made up called “careers.” It sucks that I am now trying to tap into my imagination and explore the creative side of existence because this is fun, but the fact of the matter is that it doesn’t matter when you start embracing your thing; as long as you embrace it. But for me, trying to funnel these fantastical characters and all of their quirks onto paper so that others may enjoy, I’m still working on that. But in the meantime, I’ll keep karate chopping mechanical pencils and convert that into stories.
By Anthony Diazabout a year ago in Fiction
“Love from the Edge: A View That Changed Everything”
There are moments in life that etch themselves into your memory—not because of the place, but because of the emotion that fills your heart in that exact second. I never expected a rusty, forgotten railway bridge to become a page in our love story. But there I was—perched at the edge of steel and wood, staring into the rushing water beneath, while the wind danced through my hair, whispering her name. Love, they say, finds you when you least expect it. For me, it found me with the roar of a river and the quiet ache of distance. The Silence that Spoke Volumes The first time I visited this place, I came alone. It wasn’t a destination; it was an escape. Life was loud, and my heart was tired. I needed silence—not the kind that makes you feel lonely, but the kind that heals. This bridge had no name, just stories etched into its bolts, and a view that could hush even the noisiest thoughts. I sat down, feet dangling freely, and for the first time in months, I felt something close to peace. That’s when I thought of her. We hadn’t spoken in weeks. Not because of anger, but because sometimes love takes a backseat when life demands too much. But in that moment, with the river raging below and the mountains standing proud in the distance, her face came back to me—smiling, eyes lit with dreams, her laugh echoing louder than the rapids below. A Message in the Wind I picked up my phone and snapped a photo—this photo. No captions, no explanation. Just an image. Me, looking at the world, wondering if she was thinking of me too. To my surprise, her reply came not in words, but in a single heart emoji. And suddenly, that silent message said everything we’d left unsaid. Bridges and Beginnings The next time I visited, I wasn’t alone. She came with me, hesitant at first, but curious about this place that meant something to me. She laughed when she saw how high it was, playfully scolding me for sitting so close to the edge. I told her this place taught me how to breathe again, and she understood more than words could express. We didn’t talk much that day. Instead, we sat together—her hand in mine, watching the water rush beneath us, daring gravity, daring fear. And somehow, that stillness became our beginning again. Love Isn’t Always Loud Romance isn’t always candlelight dinners or extravagant gestures. Sometimes it’s a shared silence, a look, a hand resting gently on another’s. That day, on that bridge, with the wind tousling her hair and her eyes locked on the horizon, I realized: love isn’t about possessing someone. It’s about finding someone who helps you feel like yourself. She didn’t need to fix me. I didn’t need to impress her. We just needed to be—together. From a Picture to a Promise This picture became our memory. She framed it on her nightstand. I made it my phone’s wallpaper. Not because it was perfect—but because it was real. It reminded us that even when life pulls us in different directions, we have a place—a literal point on a map—where we found our way back. And now, every time life feels overwhelming, we return. Sometimes alone, sometimes together. But always with hearts a little fuller than before. The River Knows That river below us—restless, rushing, relentless—feels like love. Never still, always moving, carving its path even through stone. Love isn’t safe. It isn’t quiet. It demands courage. It asks you to sit at the edge, to trust someone with your heart while the world races beneath you. But when you find the right person, that edge doesn’t feel like a danger. It feels like a promise. To the One Who Reads This Maybe you’re reading this and thinking about someone you miss. Maybe you're remembering a place that holds your story. Or maybe you're still searching for your bridge, your river, your moment. Here’s what I’ve learned: don’t wait for the perfect time. Don’t wait until you have all the words. Sometimes, all it takes is a photo—a moment frozen in time—to remind someone that they still matter. Send that message. Take that trip. Sit at the edge and feel the wind. You never know how one view, one person, one breath can change everything. Final Thoughts This image is more than scenery—it’s a memory, a metaphor, and a milestone. It tells a story not just of romance, but of renewal. If you’ve ever loved someone quietly, fiercely, or from a distance… this one’s for you. Because sometimes, the most romantic stories aren’t shouted from rooftops. They’re whispered from the edge.
By Fazal Wahidabout a year ago in Fiction
Beyond Reflection
I still remember that morning when I looked in the mirror and it felt like a stranger was staring back at me. The sun was bright, streaming through my window, and I should have felt alive, confident, whole. But instead, all I saw was a dull face with tired eyes—a reflection that didn’t match the events inside.
By Echoes of Lifeabout a year ago in Fiction
