Young Adult

The Light Switch
The door slammed shut behind me, and the darkness swallowed everything whole. I hadn't meant to come inside. The old Caldwell house had been abandoned for thirty years, its windows like hollow eyes watching the neighborhood. But my phone had died mid-walk, and when the October rain started sheeting down, the partially open front door seemed like an invitation rather than a warning.
By Parsley Rose 11 months ago in Fiction
#5 Heart Over Ego, Always...
Krista Cornellion expertly maneuvered her elfin lavender Volkswagen Beetle into a parking spot nestled on the church premises, near several oak trees that resembled awaiting linebackers with humongous afros, as her cellphone rang.
By Tiffany Gordon11 months ago in Fiction
The Café That Waited for Love
The rain had been falling since morning, soft and unhurried, like the city itself had decided to move in slow motion. Inside Café Loraine, the windows fogged from the warmth of espresso and conversation, turning the world outside into a watercolor blur.
By Atif khurshaid11 months ago in Fiction
Homegoing
8:00 p.m. Saturday night, October 11th, Greensboro, North Carolina. Destiny is waiting for her friends Trevon and Giselle to come pick her up for the homecoming party at North Carolina’s A&T university, her alma matter. “So how long are y’all gonna be out?” Destiny’s mother Vera asked. “Ma you know homecoming is all day, all night” Destiny replied. “Yeah, but we ain’t hardly seen you all or all night since you been home.” Destiny’s father Charles added as he walked in on the conversation. “Daddy you know I’ve been tryna catch up with everybody since I got back Thursday. I’ve missed everyone since I moved after I graduated 2 years ago”
By Joe Patterson11 months ago in Fiction
Stars Behind My Eyelids
I held my breath for what seemed like an eternity. As I clamped my eyelids shut, stars started to form in the darkness — kaleidoscopic and mesmerising. Everything slowed to a dreamlike drift, and my heartbeat’s rapidly escalating pace threatened to fling the swollen organ across the dancefloor.
By Paul Stewart11 months ago in Fiction
The Farmer Who Spoke the Language of Animals
The Farmer Who Understood Animal Language BY: Ubaid Once upon a time, in a peaceful little village surrounded by green fields and gentle hills, there lived a kind-hearted farmer named Abdul Rehman. He was an ordinary man with one extraordinary gift — he could understand the language of animals. None of the villagers knew about this rare ability; it was a secret he kept to himself. One quiet evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the birds returned to their nests, Abdul Rehman went to his barn to feed his animals. The soft rustling of hay mixed with the warm scent of straw filled the air. As he spread the fodder, he suddenly heard two familiar voices — his bull and horse — talking to each other. Curious, Abdul Rehman paused and listened carefully. The bull spoke first, his voice heavy with sadness. “Ah, dear horse,” he sighed, “you live such a royal life! Every day, your coat is brushed and oiled until it shines like silk. You get fine chickpeas to eat, and when the master rides you, the people admire you from afar. But look at me! I toil all day under the hot sun, plowing the fields while the whip lashes my back. And when I return home, all I get is a bundle of dry, tasteless hay.” The horse neighed proudly and said, “Oh, my poor friend! Don’t be so sad. If you do exactly what I tell you, you too can live a life of comfort and rest — just like me.” The bull’s eyes lit up with hope. “Tell me quickly, dear horse! What should I do to enjoy such an easy life?” The horse smirked and whispered, “It’s simple. Tomorrow, when the servants come to take you to the field, don’t let them touch you. Act wild — show them your horns, kick the ground, lie down, refuse to eat, and even foam at the mouth. Pretend to be terribly sick. Then they’ll think you can’t work anymore, and they’ll let you rest. You’ll get to eat fresh green fodder all day while I do the hard work.” The horse laughed at his own cleverness, unaware that Abdul Rehman had heard every word. The farmer smiled faintly to himself and thought, So, this proud horse thinks he’s clever. I’ll make sure he learns his lesson soon enough. The next morning, the servants came to take the bull to the fields. But the bull, following the horse’s advice, began acting exactly as he had been told. He snorted, rolled on the ground, refused to move, and even faked illness so well that the frightened servants ran straight to the farmer. “Sir!” they cried. “Your bull is sick! He’s lying down and won’t eat a thing!” Abdul Rehman pretended to be deeply concerned. After inspecting the bull carefully, he sighed and said, “Poor thing. He must be exhausted from all his hard work. Let him rest for now. The fields still need plowing — so from today, the horse will take his place until the bull gets better.” The horse’s eyes widened in disbelief. He tried to neigh in protest, but it was too late. The servants harnessed him to the plow and led him to the field. Under the blazing sun, the proud horse struggled with the heavy plow. His shiny coat became dusty and dull, and his body ached all over. By the end of the day, he was drenched in sweat and trembling with exhaustion. Now the horse understood what the bull had endured every single day. He whispered to himself, “Oh, what a fool I was! I gave him terrible advice — and now I’m paying for it.” A week passed. The farmer, still curious, decided to test his animals again. He placed both the bull and the horse in the same stall and scattered some fresh grass before them. Hiding behind a wooden post, he listened once more. The bull, looking cheerful and well-fed, said to the weary horse, “Oh, thank you, my friend! Your advice was golden. I’ve been resting all week, eating fresh, juicy grass. This is the life of a king!” The horse’s heart sank. He realized the bull had no intention of returning to work. Thinking quickly, he said in a serious tone, “Dear bull, I’m sorry to say this, but I overheard the master talking today. He said you’ve become useless and plans to sell you to the butcher soon. That’s why he’s been feeding you the best food — to make you healthy before he sells you.” The bull’s eyes grew wide with fear. He began trembling like a dry leaf in the wind. “Oh, no! What should I do now? Please, my friend, save me!” The horse replied wisely, “If you want to live, stop pretending to be sick. Tomorrow, act strong and healthy. When the master sees you fit and fine, he’ll keep you for the fields.” From his hiding spot, Abdul Rehman couldn’t help but laugh out loud. The clever horse had learned his lesson well — and now he was using his wit for good instead of mischief. The next morning, when the farmer visited the barn, he found the bull standing tall and healthy, ready to return to work. Smiling, Abdul Rehman said, “Ah, my strong friend! It seems you’ve recovered. Let’s get back to the fields.” From that day forward, the bull worked happily without complaint, and the horse never again gave foolish advice. The farmer continued to listen quietly to his animals, learning something new about wisdom and honesty every day. And so, the story of Abdul Rehman’s barn became a lesson for all — “Bad advice may harm others, but it always returns to punish the giver.”
By Ubaid 11 months ago in Fiction
The Chaudhry’s Haste
The Chaudhry’s Haste BY: Ubaid. Once upon a time, in a peaceful little village, there lived a Chaudhry—a landowner known for his calm temperament and traditional ways. In his grand haveli lived his trusted servant, a hereditary helper known as Miraasi. Both master and servant belonged to a community famous for their slow-paced lives. They were people who never rushed through anything; their motto could easily have been, “Why do today what can be done tomorrow?” One lazy afternoon, the Chaudhry was sitting on his charpoy, enjoying a plate of freshly fried pakoras. When he was done, he began absentmindedly reading the newspaper that had been used to wrap them. His eyes caught a headline that made him pause mid-bite: “Department of Agriculture Introduces New Hybrid Wheat Seed — Promises Double the Yield!” The Chaudhry’s eyes widened. Double the yield? That sounded like fortune knocking right on his mud-brick gate. He immediately called a meeting with his servants to discuss this “modern miracle.” Under the shade of a large banyan tree, the council of villagers gathered. They sipped tea, stroked their beards, and shared their thoughts in long, drawn-out conversations. The discussion went on not for hours or days, but for months. They debated the pros and cons, consulted elders, and even asked the village maulvi if modern seeds were halal. Finally—after a full year of “careful consideration”—they reached a decision. “Yes,” said the Chaudhry solemnly, “we shall buy the new seed for our next crop.” As the next sowing season approached, the Chaudhry called his loyal servant Miraasi. “Go to the city,” he instructed, “and bring the finest hybrid wheat seed available.” Miraasi, though reluctant to leave his comfortable routine, obeyed his master’s command. He packed a small bag, climbed aboard a creaky old lari (truck), and began the long, bumpy journey to the city. When he finally arrived, tired and covered in dust, he decided that before buying the seed, he needed rest. So he went to stay with one of his relatives in the city. The warm hospitality, delicious food, and city lights were too tempting to ignore. One week turned into one month, and one month quietly rolled into a whole year. Miraasi enjoyed the comfort, made new friends, and often told stories of how he once served the great Chaudhry of his village. Every time someone reminded him of his mission, he waved his hand lazily and said, “Don’t worry! There’s always next season.” Back in the village, another year passed. When the season for sowing returned, the Chaudhry suddenly remembered his servant and the promised miracle seed. “Where is that good-for-nothing Miraasi?” he shouted, slapping his thigh in frustration. “The time to sow the fields is upon us, and he hasn’t returned!” This time, the Chaudhry decided to act fast. He sent another servant to the city with strict instructions: “Find Miraasi and bring him back—no delays!” After a long search through crowded bazaars and tea stalls, the servant finally found Miraasi lounging comfortably at his cousin’s house, eating roasted corn. “The Chaudhry is furious!” the servant cried. “He says you’ve delayed too long!” Startled, Miraasi leapt up. “Oh, heavens! I completely forgot the seed!” He rushed to the market, bought a sack of the hybrid wheat, and began his journey home. The return trip was long and tiring, but he imagined how pleased the Chaudhry would be to see him finally arrive with the precious seed. When the village came into sight, dark clouds gathered in the sky. By the time he reached the haveli, it was pouring rain. The courtyard had turned into a muddy swamp. Still, Miraasi struggled through, balancing the heavy sack on his back. Just as he stepped through the main gate, his foot slipped. With a loud thud, he fell face-first into the mud. The sack burst open, and the precious wheat scattered into the dirty puddles, ruined. The Chaudhry, hearing the commotion, ran out in alarm. Seeing his servant lying there, covered in mud and guilt, he rushed forward to help. But before the Chaudhry could offer his hand, Miraasi raised one muddy arm and said in a dramatic tone, “Please, Chaudhry sahib… don’t trouble yourself. Your haste has destroyed us!” The Chaudhry froze. For a moment, he didn’t know whether to laugh or weep. His face turned pale as realization hit him. All this time, he had prided himself on his patience, yet the one time he decided to act “quickly,” everything went wrong. The irony was bitter—and the moral painfully clear. From that day on, the Chaudhry learned to value balance: neither endless delay nor reckless haste brings success. Wisdom lies in knowing when to act. As for Miraasi, he took the incident as a sign that slow living was, indeed, the safest way. Whenever someone asked him about the seed incident, he’d chuckle and say, “See what happens when people rush things?” --- Moral: Haste makes waste. Patience and prudence are the true companions of success.
By Ubaid 11 months ago in Fiction
Killer Tunes
Just can’t figure out what other folks have got against forests. Don’t go into the woods alone, I can hear them say, because you don’t know what you will find in them that could hurt you. Like that doesn’t happen in just about any place you might happen to go? I’ve been camping and hiking pretty much since the Middle Ages — I trust the woods. I know to be cautious in them. I won’t be found in the woods, half-eaten, put it that way.
By Eric Wolf11 months ago in Fiction
Globophobia. Top Story - October 2025.
**I'm taking another writing course and one of the prompts that the teacher asked us to write about was using a random phobia from this website. He prompted us to write a story about said phobia that was picked at random. This is what I managed to come up with.**
By Chloe Unfiltered11 months ago in Fiction
Fox Hunt; Chapter 11
The camp is surprisingly quiet. Those I do happen to see as I dodge between the barracks don't seem too interested in anything around them, and the few nurses and doctors I see with them are too focused on them to notice me. I know I'm nearing the other side of the camp when I spot the fence between the barrack rows. Once I was there, I could slip out over the fence and be gone without anyone here being any wiser. And without any serious exposure. Three more barracks and then I'm in the clear. I check to make sure no one is paying any attention before I start across the next gap.
By Katarzyna Crevan11 months ago in Fiction
File 17: Sue Pea – “The Lonely Child”
SUBJECT DESIGNATION: Sue Pea – “The Lonely Child” CLASS: Type III Emotional Manifestation (Juvenile / Isolation-Bound Entity)
By V-Ink Stories11 months ago in Fiction
File 16: Jarvis – “The Jar Collector”
SUBJECT DESIGNATION: Jarvis – “The Jar Collector” CLASS: Type III Material-Fetish Entity (Containment / Hoarder Variant) CONTAINMENT STATUS: Secured within Portrait Frame #024, “Preserved Obsession”
By V-Ink Stories11 months ago in Fiction