James Taylor
Stories (36)
Filter by community
We Fell in Love Between Rainstorms. AI-Generated.
The first time I saw him, it was raining so hard the city looked like it was dissolving. I ducked into a tiny bookstore on the corner — one of those old, narrow ones that smelled like paper and dust and comfort. I was shaking rain from my coat when I heard a voice behind me say, “Perfect day to get lost in a book, huh?”
By James Taylor3 months ago in Journal
A Cup of Coffee Between Strangers. AI-Generated.
It started with a spilled cup of coffee. A Tuesday morning, gray and sleepy, the kind of day that begged you to stay in bed. I was running late for work, clutching my notebook and caffeine like a lifeline. The café was crowded, the line long, and I had already resigned myself to another chaotic morning when someone brushed past me.
By James Taylor3 months ago in Journal
The Day the World Went Quiet. AI-Generated.
It happened on a Tuesday — the kind of Tuesday you forget as soon as it ends. Until you don’t. I woke up and the world was... silent. Not metaphorically — literally. No cars outside. No dogs barking. Not even the hum of the refrigerator that usually filled the space between my thoughts.
By James Taylor3 months ago in Fiction
The Clock That Moved Too Fast. AI-Generated.
I realized this on the morning of my thirteenth birthday. I woke up, groggy and disoriented, only to discover that the hour hand had jumped three hours ahead while I slept. I rushed to school, late by my own watch but early by the world’s. Nobody seemed to notice.
By James Taylor3 months ago in Fiction
The Coffee Shop Stranger. AI-Generated.
I always went to the same coffee shop on Tuesdays. Not because I liked the coffee — it was mediocre at best — but because it was quiet, and it felt like a tiny corner of the world where I could disappear without anyone noticing.
By James Taylor3 months ago in Fiction
The Bench Beneath the Willow. AI-Generated.
I first saw her sitting beneath the willow tree in the park, the kind of tree that drooped gracefully over the pond, casting long shadows like protective arms. She had a book open on her lap, and her hair caught the sunlight in a way that made it seem like the branches themselves were holding her there.
By James Taylor3 months ago in Fiction
The Letters Between Us. AI-Generated.
I found the first letter in the mailbox on a Tuesday, though it had clearly been written months before. It was in his handwriting — small, careful, and deliberate — the way it always had been when he was trying not to spill too much of himself at once. I didn’t recognize the postmark; he had moved to another city a year ago.
By James Taylor3 months ago in Fiction
The Summer We Forgot the World. AI-Generated.
It started the summer I was sixteen, the kind of summer that felt infinite and impossible to measure. I met him on the pier, the sun low in the sky, painting everything gold. He was leaning against the railing, sketchbook in hand, humming softly to himself, completely absorbed. I must have stared for too long because he looked up and smiled, as if he’d been expecting me all along.
By James Taylor3 months ago in Fiction
The Last Train to Somewhere. AI-Generated.
I met her on the train to nowhere. Not literally nowhere — it was an old commuter line that ran past fields, rivers, and small towns that felt forgotten by time. But at that moment, it felt like nowhere, like a place where the world had slowed just enough for two people to collide quietly, without warning.
By James Taylor3 months ago in Humans
