Young Adult

The Sound of Rain That Never Falls. AI-Generated.
No one in Hollowbridge could remember the last time it had rained. The clouds gathered every evening, dark and heavy, but no drop ever touched the ground. People called it The Dry Storm, a strange curse that made thunder echo but never bless the soil.
By shakir hamid11 months ago in Fiction
UPDATE: The hotel laundry that runs itself after midnight
Hey everyone, It’s been about a week since my last post. I honestly didn’t plan on updating — I thought maybe I’d just scared myself too much, or imagined half of it. But things have gotten worse. Way worse.
By V-Ink Stories11 months ago in Fiction
[FOUND FOOTAGE UPDATE] About that hotel laundry post… the one that ran itself after midnight
Hey, I didn’t think I’d ever post here, but this feels important. I work at the same [REDACTED] Inn the last guy posted about — the one with the laundry that supposedly “runs itself after midnight.”
By V-Ink Stories11 months ago in Fiction
A Knock at the Door - The Ones Who Came to Utopia
The night was still until the knock came. It wasn’t the kind of knock you hear on a wooden door. This one rang out metallic, hollow, like iron struck from inside. Adam froze where he stood, his friends gathered around the empty building near the parking lot.
By Mingling with the Moon 11 months ago in Fiction
The Lesson of the Talking Donkey
The Lesson of the Talking Donkey Adeed was as clever as he was mischievous. His mind was sharp, quick to learn, and full of ideas—but his heart was often filled with mischief. He was known throughout the neighborhood not for his intelligence, but for his troublemaking. Even grown-ups avoided arguing with him, for his tongue was sharper than any elder’s stick. Children feared his pranks, and the villagers jokingly called him “the father of devils.” When he grew bored of teasing people, Adeed would grab his slingshot and head toward the orchards, hunting little sparrows and breaking bird nests just for fun. No creature was safe from him—if a pigeon built its nest in his home, it wouldn’t last a day. His mother and grandfather scolded and even beat him many times, but nothing could reform him. His grandfather kept chickens on their farmland, but Adeed made sure even they knew no peace. Every few days, one of them would mysteriously disappear. Together with his cousins—Hassan, Zamin, and his brother Arsalan—he would secretly steal a hen, take it to a nearby roadside hotel, and have it cooked into spicy curry. Their mother, Inayat Bibi, had raised those chickens lovingly. She sold their eggs to earn a little money for the household. But her earnings kept shrinking, and no one could figure out why—except Adeed, of course. If some unlucky donkey happened to cross his path, Adeed would find a new game to play. He thought animals were made for human amusement, and he believed it was fine to hit them as he pleased. One hot afternoon, Adeed returned from his academy feeling dull and restless. “What should I do for fun today?” he thought. “I’ve played enough with birds—maybe I should try something bigger.” Thinking and planning, he dozed off—and drifted into a strange dream. --- The Dream In his dream, he found himself in a wide open field. A weak, bony donkey was grazing quietly nearby. A wicked grin spread across Adeed’s face. “So, you’re my next target,” he whispered. “Let’s see how much fun I can have with you.” He crept toward the donkey, grabbed its neck, and tied its mouth tightly with a rope. The poor animal didn’t resist; it simply stood still, trembling slightly. Adeed climbed onto its back, laughing. “Ah, this feels good! It’s been so long since I had a proper ride,” he shouted, pulling the rope and kicking the donkey’s sides. But the donkey could barely move. It limped forward slowly, too weak to carry him. Adeed grew angry. “Faster, you lazy thing!” he yelled, hitting it with his foot. When that didn’t work, he jumped off, broke a branch from a nearby tree, and began beating the helpless creature. The donkey cried out in pain, its thin legs shaking. Adeed kept whipping it mercilessly, ignoring its agony. Blood streaked down the donkey’s back, yet he continued riding it, proud of his cruelty. Finally, the donkey turned its head and looked into Adeed’s eyes. For a brief moment, Adeed froze. There was sorrow in those eyes—real, human sorrow. And then something unbelievable happened. The donkey spoke. --- The Donkey’s Words In a weak, trembling voice, the donkey said, “You think I’m the donkey, Adeed—but it’s you. You have strength, speech, and reason, yet you use them for cruelty. Tell me—who’s the real animal here?” Adeed’s mouth fell open. He stammered, “You… you can talk?” The donkey nodded. “I had to. You left me no choice. My master threw me out because I’m old and weak. I’ve been starving for days. Instead of pity, you beat me for your amusement. If you only knew what pain feels like, you’d never harm another creature. We may not speak your language, but we feel everything—the hunger, the fear, the pain.” The donkey sighed, turned away, and slowly disappeared into the mist of the dream. Adeed stood alone, ashamed and speechless. But before he could reflect further, another figure appeared—Tasadduq, a rough village potter, storming toward him with a stick in hand. --- The Punishment Without a word, Tasadduq swung his stick, landing a few harsh blows on Adeed’s back. “You lazy fool!” he shouted. “You broke the rope, ran off, and left the work unfinished! Who will carry these pots now? Your father? Get moving before I teach you a real lesson!” Adeed was furious. “How dare you hit me!” he yelled. “Do you know who I am? My uncle’s a police officer. I’ll have you arrested!” But Tasadduq only laughed bitterly. “You’ll do no such thing. From now on, you’ll carry double the load!” He beat Adeed again until his back and legs stung with pain. Adeed cried and begged, “Stop! Please stop!” Then, as Tasadduq forced him to carry a heavy load of clay pots, he stumbled and fell. His vision blurred. The pain was unbearable. He shouted, “Oh God! Have I turned into a donkey?” He tried to shake his head, but the pots crashed to the ground, shattering into pieces. Tasadduq roared in anger, chasing him with the stick. Adeed ran blindly, tears streaming down his face. He turned a corner—and hit his head hard against an electric pole. --- The Awakening With a loud gasp, Adeed woke up. He was back in his bed, sweating and trembling. His mother, Inayat Bibi, stood beside him. “Bravo, my son!” she said sarcastically. “It’s nine o’clock already, and you’re still asleep! Did you make a deal with the devil last night to stay in bed all day?” Adeed blinked in confusion, looked around, and touched his head. “So… it was all a dream?” he murmured. “Thank God.” Still shaken, he walked out into the courtyard—just in time to see his cousin Hassan chasing a chicken with a stick. Adeed shouted, “Stop! What are you doing? Don’t you feel any shame? These poor creatures can’t even defend themselves! How would you feel if someone treated you like that?” Everyone froze, surprised by his sudden outburst. From that day on, Adeed changed completely. He stopped teasing animals, began feeding birds, and even helped his grandfather care for the chickens he once tormented. The villagers were amazed. “What happened to Adeed?” they whispered. “How did the devil’s son turn into an angel overnight?” They didn’t know the truth—that sometimes, the greatest lessons come not from teachers or books, but from dreams… and from the stick of a furious potter named Tasadduq. --- Moral: Cruelty toward the helpless is the greatest sin. Even a single moment of compassion can turn a tormentor into a human being again.
By Ubaid 11 months ago in Fiction
Matilda
Silence struggled to take hold over the constant clinking of silverware against ceramic plates. Ron had said a brief prayer, which came out as more of a mocking than a devotion. Rub-a-dub-dub, thanks for the grub. The silly phrase danced around within Emily’s brain as she savored bite after bite of the cheesy chicken and crispy Brussels sprouts. Even though she and Ron had played a little bit too much with the potatoes, they were still smooth, creamy, and delicious. The spinach was perfectly tender and well salted. Being Emily’s favorite vegetable, Ron made sure that her plate had an extra scoop.
By Kale Sinclair11 months ago in Fiction
Parallel Paths
Have you ever wondered how your life might have been different? Wondered what-if..., or 'if I had just...'? Looked back at a decision, large or small, and considered what would have changed if you'd chosen differently? Life is like a river, filled with forks and branches and offshoots of what might have been.
By Natasja Rose11 months ago in Fiction
The Robot. Honorable Mention in Parallel Lives Challenge.
The skeletons in my closet are just old versions of me. The ones I starved so I could survive, locked behind the door with them in darkness. Fear led me to believe that staying confined was noble if it kept you from drifting away from the people you love, but there is one past version of me that just won’t die.
By Aura Starling11 months ago in Fiction
The Elevator in the Winchester building on Winslet Street
We were born on the 3rd of October, in the hospital on Fourth Street, and our mother's called us Edward. We lived a block away from each other our whole lives. He lived on Strathman Avenue, a stones throw away from Portman Avenue where I lived until I was ten years old. When my family moved, I changed schools to the Catholic college in the east of town.
By Jaimie11 months ago in Fiction
Across The Merderet. Runner-Up in Parallel Lives Challenge.
I sped off to the recruiting post in Galena. Even though my birth certificate at St. Michaels said that Joseph F. Higgins was Born 1927 not 1926 like I told the recruiter, I wasn’t going to let that one year stop me. Hell or high water I was going to be a paratrooper.
By Matthew J. Fromm11 months ago in Fiction
The Other Way Home
On a wet April evening when the city had dimmed itself to a bruise, Lina stepped into a mirror and met the life she hadn’t chosen.
By Cadma11 months ago in Fiction
The Quiet that Remembers. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
Where the River Splits... Some nights, Lena dreams she is two women standing in the same rain. One stands at the kitchen sink, wrists submerged in cloudy dishwater, eyes fixed on the window as the sky turns the color of bruised fruit. Her wedding ring glints each time she moves.
By Ana Carter11 months ago in Fiction