Young Adult

The Mountain and the Squirrel
Auther name (Hazratullah) High in a distant land, where the air was clear and the wind carried the sound of eagles, there stood a mighty mountain. Its peak rose so high that clouds often rested on its shoulders, and its sides were marked with rivers, forests, and sharp stones. To many creatures, the mountain seemed eternal, unshakable, and proud. It had witnessed storms, earthquakes, and the rise of countless seasons, yet it remained strong, towering above everything around it.
By Asmatullahabout a year ago in Fiction
Beauty from A Distance
Catalina always thought the boutique window was a kind of stage. The mannequins stood stiff and lifeless, yet somehow alive under her careful hands. As a young single mother, she didn’t have the luxury of chasing dreams in Paris or New York. Her runway was Main Street, her stage lights the morning sun, and her models—well, they were silent figures dressed in the colors of her imagination.
By Rebecca Daughertyabout a year ago in Fiction
The World Forgets Devonne. Content Warning.
Devonne woke to silence. Not the ordinary silence of dawn, but a silence so heavy it pressed against his ribs. He rose from bed and stepped into the hallway of his apartment—only to stop short. The corridor wasn’t his. Instead of the narrow passage with peeling wallpaper and a single dangling bulb, the hallway stretched endlessly in both directions. And the doors—there were far too many. Identical brown doors lined each side, every one stamped with his apartment number: 24. He blinked hard, rubbed his eyes, but the numbers didn’t change. “Yvonne?” he called, his voice too loud in the stillness. His sister had been staying with him for weeks, hiding from something she never named. But the silence only gave his voice back to him in a warped echo: Yvonne? Yvonne? Yvo—nne—nne. The sound crawled along his skin. He tried the nearest door. Inside was his bedroom—perfectly replicated. Even the socks he had dropped last night lay on the floor. But when he opened the next door, the socks had shifted. Another door, and they had moved again. A fraction to the left. A fraction to the right. As if his life were being replayed, frame by frame, slightly altered each time. The hallway bent back on itself, looping into impossible curves. Scuff marks from an old accident appeared again and again, repeating like a scratched record. His phone was useless. The screen glitched, the numbers of the clock sliding downwards like melting wax. Then the humming began. At first faint, like a refrigerator buried in the walls. Then louder. Deeper. It vibrated in his chest, in his bones. It wasn’t mechanical. It was alive. Devonne swallowed. “What do you want?” The humming deepened—content, almost amused. He pressed forward, clinging to the thought of Yvonne: her sharp laugh, the way she drummed her fingers when impatient. He would not—could not—leave her here. But the hallway wasn’t empty anymore. People appeared. A woman in a yellow raincoat passed without looking at him. A man carried grocery bags filled not with food but with screws, feathers, teeth. They muttered to themselves in doubled voices, every word repeated a heartbeat later. Then came familiar faces. His old schoolteacher. A neighbor from childhood. Even his father, who had been dead for years. Devonne’s chest tightened. “Excuse me—have you seen Yvonne?” The neighbor smiled politely, but her words cracked and stuttered: “Yv—onne? No one by that—by that—by that…” The syllables fractured and dissolved. They didn’t see him. Their eyes slid over him, as if he were nothing but a smudge on glass. By the time he reached a town square—its fountain spilling black ink instead of water—he understood why. In the ink’s reflection, his face was fading. Not invisible—blurred. His features were dissolving, outlines smudged into suggestion. He raised a hand to his cheek and felt skin, but in the reflection, there was only a blank patch of air. The world itself was losing him. “Yvonne…” His voice was almost a prayer. The ink rippled. And there she was. Across the square, Yvonne stood with her hair plastered to her face, her dress dripping black liquid that stained the stones beneath her feet. Her eyes locked on him with recognition—and horror. “Devonne?” Her voice fractured into echoes. “You shouldn’t have followed. You’ll unravel.” He stumbled toward her, desperate. But the square stretched as he moved, the distance between them elongating like rubber. “Stay with me!” he shouted. “I’ll bring you back!” Yvonne shook her head slowly. “I’m not me anymore. I’m… scattered. Every time I remember you, I lose another piece of myself.” Her image flickered, twisting—child, woman, stranger, all superimposed at once. The humming swelled into laughter, vast and delighted. Devonne clutched his head. “Why us? Why here?” The presence didn’t answer in words. The buildings buckled. The sky cracked like porcelain. Something immense and unseen erased another piece of him. His memories stuttered. His name slipped from his own mind like water through a sieve. Yvonne stretched out her hand, trembling. But her fingers never reached him. “Go back. Forget me. If you stay, it’ll take all of you.” “No,” Devonne gasped. “I won’t leave you here.” Her broken smile cut him to the bone. “You already are leaving me.” He looked down. His hands were gone. Not invisible, not fading
By E. hasanabout a year ago in Fiction
Who's the real Monsters?
Back in the vents I made a straight shot for Aunt Patty's office. She'd have a contingency plan for everyone here, including the Colonel himself. Sifting through the files I saw two with the name of Armstrong. Checking on Henry Armstrong III first to see if I can use him against the Colonel.
By Lucy Torralbaabout a year ago in Fiction
Princess Melayna
Page 1 Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. No one knew why it happened—only that it began on the day a very special girl was born.
By Marcus Hillabout a year ago in Fiction
Stockroom Secrets 22. Content Warning.
Mum and I just looked at each other, both unsure as to what we should do or say next. In the end it was mum who came to her senses first and went to him, dropping to her knees and wrapping her arms around the man I knew she still loved.
By Mark 'Ponyboy' Petersabout a year ago in Fiction
Stockroom Secrets 21. Content Warning.
It was just as the ambulance officers were looking me over in the back of their van and the police were questioning my boss and workmates that my mother arrived, speeding up the ramp and coming to a screaming stop beside the police car, before climbing out and hurrying across to the ambulance.
By Mark 'Ponyboy' Petersabout a year ago in Fiction
Blind Date: Two Years Later
Ben and I left the bar and went to a Chinese restaurant. We shared a large Shrimp Lo Mein and chicken wings; two egg rolls and two fortune cookies came with the meal. We talked throughout the meal, getting better acquainted. When the evening ended, he paid for the meal, like he promised, drove me home, and even walked me to my apartment.
By JMabout a year ago in Fiction
The Golden Diary
The attic had always been a forbidden place in the house. Dusty, dim, and filled with relics that no one cared about anymore, it seemed like a graveyard of forgotten objects. Yet, one late afternoon, curiosity pulled Zara toward it. The wooden stairs creaked beneath her feet, as though warning her to turn back. But she didn’t. Something in her heart told her that there was a story hidden there, waiting for her.
By Vocal Member about a year ago in Fiction
The Girl Who Sold Her Dreams Online
The first time Aria uploaded a dream, she told herself it was just business. Nothing more. She had always been poor—living in the broken apartments at the edge of the city, where the neon lights from the inner districts never reached. Her mother was sick, her younger brother was always hungry, and her job at the food stall barely paid enough to cover the rent.
By NOOR UDDINabout a year ago in Fiction
The silent miles. Content Warning.
The rain came in sheets, blurring the world into streaks of gray and silver. Noah gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles whitened, eyes fixed on the thin line of headlights cutting through the mist. Beside him, Anna’s hand pressed to her belly, her breath uneven, panicked. “It’s okay,” he said, voice rough from shouting over the storm. “I’ve got you. We’re almost there. Just hold on.” “I—I can’t,” she whimpered. “I don’t think I can…” He reached over, gripping her hand. “Shh, shh. You’re fine. I’m right here. Just breathe with me. In… and out…” The world outside the windshield was a smear of rain, asphalt, and dim light, but up ahead — faint but unmistakable — the hospital loomed. Its white lights cut through the darkness like a beacon. Noah felt a surge of relief. Almost there. And then the road stretched. He gritted his teeth. “It’s just a curve,” he muttered, pressing harder on the accelerator. The tires hissed on the wet asphalt. The hospital remained where it had been — the same distance ahead, the same shape, the same sterile glow. And yet, the road continued. Mile after mile, endless black ribbon curling into mist. Anna gasped. “Noah…the hospital....i-it’s not moving. We’re not getting any closer.” He swallowed hard. “Of course we are. We just have to keep going.” But every curve, every straight stretch, every flickering streetlight, led them back to the same horizon. The hospital never grew larger. It never drew nearer. It was always there, distant, impossible, tantalizingly close yet unreachable. “Noah,” Anna said, her voice breaking. “Please… I don’t want this…” “I know,” he said, forcing a reassuring smile. “You’re doing great. I’ve got you. I promise, you’re safe with me. We’ll—” The tires skidded on a slick patch. He corrected the wheel, breathing fast. “We’ll get there. Just a little farther. I won’t let anything happen to you.” They drove on. --- Hours and hours— Noah couldn’t tell how many— passed. The road was empty save for the rain and the occasional flicker of broken signs. Their headlights bounced off wet asphalt and fog, but nothing else existed. Trees leaned at impossible angles, their branches scratching against the windshield like skeletal fingers. The hospital’s lights remained the same, constant, unchanging. Anna leaned against him, shivering. “Noah… the baby…” “I know,” he said, stroking her hair. “You’re safe. We’ll make it. Just a little farther. Keep breathing.” But as he drove, a creeping fear settled in his chest. Every mile felt heavier. The steering wheel vibrated like a pulse in his hands. The headlights reflected in the rain like twin eyes watching him, mocking him. And the hospital — oh, that relentless, impossible hospital — it never changed. --- He tried everything. He accelerated, pressed harder on the gas, but the road did not shorten. He braked, tried to pull over, but there was no shoulder, no ground, only endless asphalt curling into darkness. He swerved, yelled, begged, but the hospital remained the same distant light, the same sterile promise.
By E. hasanabout a year ago in Fiction
A Perfect Night. Content Warning.
“Oh!” Followed by a crash as pieces scatter across the table and floor. I wince, clutching my cup against the sudden loud noise. Everyone else clustered around the table throws their arms up as Travis jumps up. “Mystery shot!” he announces over the blasting pop music coming from the TV mounted to the wall behind him.
By Phoenixica24about a year ago in Fiction