Stream of Consciousness
Little House in the Woods
In reading the old journal that was on the shelf you start to look around. The journal is quite descriptive, and the first page describes the big rocks in the front yard. They are the tombstones of the couple that lived here. They were not young, but not old either. Who were they?
By Mark Grahamabout a year ago in Fiction
A Little Cabin
What a cute little house. I wonder who lives there. Let's knock on the door. The door creaks open as I knock. All it is, is one room with an old table and some shelves. There's a book on the shelf. I pick it up and begin to read. It's a journal of sorts.
By Mark Grahamabout a year ago in Fiction
Hobbitland
Welcome to Hobbitland! This is the land of Bilbo and Frodo Baggins what they call The Shire. Would you like to live in such a magical and beautiful place such as this? There are various skills that one must have; like the love of food and drink and helping others; the best way.
By Mark Grahamabout a year ago in Fiction
Flight Into the Sky: A Journey Between Worlds
Flight Into the Sky: A Journey Between Worlds By Ali ________________________________________ What happens when the walls of reality dissolve? A poetic short story exploring a man's metaphysical journey beyond the borders of sleep and time—into a celestial dimension where stars dance and silence sings. A tale of beauty, escape, and the painful return to a broken world. The Story He lay still upon his pillow, not yet asleep, not fully awake. His mind drifted like mist in the dusk, waiting patiently for sleep to take over and carry him into the unconscious. But this night—this one night—was different. Without warning, the walls faded. The ceiling disappeared. The darkness that usually fell with closed eyes did not come. Instead, there was... nothing. And within that nothing, everything was born. He felt no fear. No confusion. Only stillness. A serenity deeper than water, softer than silence. Then—like an arrow loosed from a divine bow—he rose. He soared. Upward, through unseen layers, past limits he never knew existed. And as he ascended, the world below shrank, melted, vanished. In its place: the stars. The planets. A boundless sky that welcomed him not as an intruder, but as one of its own. The stars pulsed with light—changing shapes, shifting colors. They danced, not wildly, but gracefully, in circles and spirals, as if moving to a music only he could hear. Yes, there was music. It filled the space around him, entered his ears without sound, his soul without warning. A celestial symphony—unlike anything on Earth. The planets revolved around him, radiating kindness and warmth. Their surfaces were not cold and lifeless, but alive—glowing, morphing, breathing. They acknowledged him, greeted him. And he, the earthbound dreamer, drifted among them like a star reborn. He lost all sense of time. There was no before. No after. Only now. And then... gently, softly, without resistance—he returned. He found himself back on his bed. The room was the same. The air was heavier. The world had come back. So had its burdens. The peace he had touched now felt like a distant echo, already fading. Around him, the ordinary weight of life began to settle: the gnawing anxieties, the sharp edges of duty, the stray dogs in the alley, the cruelty of man, the violence of greed, the endless race for control. He had returned to a world of competition and conquest—where only the strong survive, and kindness is mistaken for weakness. He opened his eyes fully. He was here. But not the same. He had seen something beyond. Felt a truth no eye had seen, no ear had heard, no heart had fully imagined. He had touched a higher note. And now? He would carry that music within him—quietly, secretly, defiantly. Because no matter how harsh the world becomes... He had flown. And he remembered. "Not all dreams fade. Some become the fire we carry through the cold."
By Ali Sadeek Ahmedabout a year ago in Fiction
Ready to Learn
Attention, Class! Are you ready to learn what we all need to know. Have you been in a classroom ready to learn as in this one? Books on top of the desks ready to go. Pencils and paper ready to go as well. Teacher states: "Let's get started Pop Quiz books on floor."
By Mark Grahamabout a year ago in Fiction
The Outhouse
Would you use this outhouse? It seems to be in good shape as these buildings go, but looking around what else could be using this building as the season shows? Dare to go and check. You never can tell what one may find in such an establishment as this one may look like.
By Mark Grahamabout a year ago in Fiction
After The Stars Fell By Hridya Sharma
I often wondered what love is. Is it truly the warm, fuzzy emotions that ooze out of true mirth of care and adore, or is it a product of prevalent capitalism that exists within our world? That makes it easy for the consumeristic and hyperagile construct to sell products to the humans as a marketing tactic, to slip in through the psyche of innocent minds, to create a buzz, to find their weaklings and exploit them for company profits and expansions. I still find myself wondering what love is, pondering over that thought. I searched on Chatgpt What do you think love is, What does love truly mean? Is there any premise in the age-old tales of true eternal love, or are they just some flipping pages of history that are known to mankind through the legends of time, through the sands of ripple effects that last through time? Does happily ever after truly exist? I scrambledly typed and asked the language model, aka AI genius.
By Hridya Sharmaabout a year ago in Fiction
The Teacher's Desk
Who remembers being called up to the teacher's desk? The desk was usually covered up with all kinds of papers that were done at one time or another. You wonder why you were called, and notice a drawer was open. Do you peek? A desk of secrets and questions and answers to seek.
By Mark Grahamabout a year ago in Fiction
The Student Desk
Do you remember sitting in a desk something like this one? Placing your head down and seeing all the doodles that other students wrote makes one think and then scratch their own message to pass along to other new students who will be sitting in this same seat maybe one day. Good memory.
By Mark Grahamabout a year ago in Fiction
