Young Adult

The Final Showing
My manager found an unlabeled film reel in the basement… and the movie showed our theater burning down. Hey everyone. This isn’t my story exactly — it’s my manager’s — but I was there for the aftermath, and it messed me up enough that I need to write it out.
By V-Ink Stories9 months ago in Fiction
[Theater Reddit] The Back Row of Theater 6 Is Never Empty
Posted by u/UsherInTheDark – 2 months ago So I work night shift at a small-town movie theater. We close around 1 a.m. after the last show, and it’s my job to do the final sweep: check all theaters, shut down the projectors, make sure no one’s left behind. I’ve been doing this for three years now — mostly alone, because no one else wants to stay that late.
By V-Ink Stories9 months ago in Fiction
The Film That Never Ends
Posted by u/ProjectionGuy94 – 4 months ago I’ve been a projectionist for a decade. Old-school — real film, not digital. I’ve worked in the same small-town theater since I was 23. There’s something peaceful about it: the hum of the machines, the rhythmic clatter of reels spinning, the flicker of light through celluloid. It’s like the heartbeat of the building.
By V-Ink Stories9 months ago in Fiction
Carols of the Damned
The Saint Cecilia Choir had seen better days. Once the pride of the town, their performances now drew only a handful of listeners. The director, Margaret Hensley, a once-renowned soprano, refused to let the choir fade into obscurity. “We just need something special,” she insisted. “Something that will remind people why they loved us.”
By V-Ink Stories9 months ago in Fiction
Saint Nicholas' Last Ride
The snow fell in ashen flakes, the sky above a perpetual gray that mirrored the despair of the world below. In the year 2147, Christmas was a relic, outlawed decades earlier by the Council of Unity. Declared a source of division and greed, the holiday and its traditions were erased from history books. But whispers of rebellion persisted—quiet murmurs of a time when people gathered, when joy and giving weren’t crimes.
By V-Ink Stories9 months ago in Fiction
Gift of Wrath
The holiday party was in full swing, with laughter and the hum of festive music filling the air. Emily, the office manager, had outdone herself this year. A crackling fire, garlands draped across every surface, and a massive Christmas tree glittering with golden ornaments dominated the room. In the corner, the Secret Santa table overflowed with wrapped gifts.
By V-Ink Stories9 months ago in Fiction
How I Stopped Overthinking and Finally Started Taking Action (And How You Can Too)
Overthinking used to paralyze me. I’d spend hours, days, sometimes even weeks, thinking about what I should do, how I should do it, and when to do it.
By Aman Saxena9 months ago in Fiction
The Static Hour #4
Yongkang walked out of the cinema. The afternoon sun beat down on the street, heat shimmering faintly on the flagstones. The air was dry and thick.
By Water&Well&Page9 months ago in Fiction
The Smallest Guest
Eleanor had always been meticulous about her garden, even in late November when most sensible plants had given up for the season. She was deadheading the last stubborn chrysanthemums when she saw him—a tiny figure no bigger than her thumb, huddled beneath a yellowing hosta leaf.
By Autumn 9 months ago in Fiction
A Night at the Haunted House
It was a crisp winter night. The full moon hung bright in the sky with a hazy glow around it, casting an eerie light over the dark neighbourhood. Luca, Lucia, Alis, Kile, and I, Helen, stood on the street in front of the gate in the waist-high stone wall leading up the path to the worn-down house that everyone said was abandoned and haunted. It was the infamous haunted house, known for its chilling tales and ghostly sightings, things moving without reason and lights going on and off with no one in the room.
By Hermione9 months ago in Fiction
Knew not confinement (Vignette ). Content Warning.
The word you might use to describe me would be: lesbian, a charting author, or something in between. I was drawn by the way she was moving on her feet, yet I knew that alone did not set her apart. She pushed quick shifts like a half breath that never became steps. Her shoulders were perched high, covering her neck with a kind of guarded confidence. The candy coloured crystals held in the jewelleries, blinked a glint in the light; They finished the question her lips wouldn't speak.
By Caitlin Charlton9 months ago in Fiction
The Attic’s Silent Guardian. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
When we moved into the old farmhouse on the outskirts of Abbott Valley, I expected creaky floors, strange drafts, and maybe the occasional mouse. What I didn’t expect was the feeling of being watched—not in a frightening way, but in a way that resembled someone keeping an eye out for us. Protecting us.
By Mohammad umar10 months ago in Fiction