Stream of Consciousness
I Believe We’ve Met Before
It had been ten years since Pete returned home from a war that everyone said was mankind’s last. He knew as much as he wanted it to be true, human nature would find a way to nullify that bold statement. It always did. What he knew for certain was the life he had built for himself and his young family since he’d returned was far better than what he had imagined it would be ten years ago.
By Mark Gagnonabout a year ago in Fiction
Box of Discarded Moments. Content Warning.
Just a note, this is part of a queer character's backstory. There is brief mention of Domestic Violence and Depression. Yesterday I found a box under my bed, and when I opened it up, I found old photos that I forgot I had. It seems fitting that I found them at the start of summer, most of them were from previous childhood memories when I was on summer breaks from school.
By C.M.Dallasabout a year ago in Fiction
Hoof Prints In The Snow!
Christmas always brings memories of my early childhood. The memories are filled with the expectations that if I am a “good little girl,” I will get that red bicycle on training wheels as well as the doll that I always wanted. I use to believed that when I awaken and dashed out of my bed they would be sitting under our cedar tree that was decorated with homemade ornaments. However, Christmas after Christmas left me disappointed again.
By Frankie Berry Wiseabout a year ago in Fiction
When the Sky Opened
The sky had always been a constant presence—endless, predictable, a backdrop to the rhythm of everyday life. But one ordinary afternoon, everything changed. When the sky opened, it wasn’t just a meteorological phenomenon; it was a profound event that reshaped a community, altered lives, and stirred the deepest questions about our place in the universe.
By Muhammad Asimabout a year ago in Fiction
Her Other Life
The house was too quiet now. Quiet in the way of old tombs, where even the air forgets to move. Clara sat by the window, pale light of dawn staining her face in ashen hues. The cracked glass trembled against the wind, but the storm was inside her - raging, constant, endless.
By Aspen Nobleabout a year ago in Fiction
You were never really here
Early in the morning Gallopatrot might appear in a waking dream. Although never really here, Gallopatrot never really leaves. Gallopatrot is more than a ghost or a memory. Sometimes Gallopatrot disappears like sugar crystals in water, or the smell of perfume, or quarter-hourly chimes of a grandfather clock or the pain from wars that occur every day. Perhaps sensory fatigue or habituation caused by repeated exposure leads to a decrease in response to the stimulus of the dragon's presence. Yet Gallopatrot is the stuff of legends that lingers long after an era is gone.
By Katherine D. Grahamabout a year ago in Fiction
We Were Just Having Breakfast-Then the Water Took Us
By Zahir Ahmad Morning came gently to the Swat Valley, with golden light spilling over the hills and dancing across the rippling waters of the Snha River. The sound of birds calling through the crisp mountain air blended with the faint gurgle of the river as it wound its way around smooth stones and under swaying willows.
By Zahir Ahmadabout a year ago in Fiction
The Town That Forgot It Was Real
Hey, wanna hear something really strange? It’s not scary like monsters in the closet or ghosts in the mirror. It’s more like… weird. Mysterious. Like one of those dreams that feels super real, but when you wake up, you’re not sure what was dream and what wasn’t. This story? It’s about a girl named Elara who lived in a town that—well—you’ll see. Just promise you’ll stick with me, okay? Because things get a little twisty…
By Lucien Hollow about a year ago in Fiction
