Karl Jackson
Bio
My name is Karl Jackson and I am a marketing professional. In my free time, I enjoy spending time doing something creative and fulfilling. I particularly enjoy painting and find it to be a great way to de-stress and express myself.
Stories (330)
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💔🌙 When the World Tilted Sideways 🌙💔
There are certain losses that don’t arrive with thunder or drama. They drift in quietly, like night fog swallowing familiar roads, leaving you unsure where the edges are. Losing a soulmate feels like that kind of darkness. It’s not just losing a person. It’s losing a translation of yourself that only they ever understood. This is the story of a person who walked through that shattering moment the moment the universe blinked and someone irreplaceable fell out of it.
By Karl Jacksonabout a month ago in Humans
The Room Where She Wasn’t Supposed to Hear 🌒👂
Lina Keller never thought of herself as the type people whispered about. She drifted through life with the soft-footed grace of someone who always tried not to take up too much space. At work she blended in quietly but efficiently. In friendships she offered more listening than speaking. In her own mind she was pleasant and polite and forgettable in a harmless way.
By Karl Jacksonabout a month ago in Fiction
🌙 I Want the Best for You
There are moments in life that glide in so quietly you barely notice them at first. Then one day you turn around and realize they’ve rearranged the entire architecture of your heart. That was you for me. You slipped into my world without fireworks or grand entrances, just this steady presence that felt like a warm chair pulled up close in winter. And maybe that’s why it took me so long to recognize what was happening. You never demanded attention. You simply held it.
By Karl Jacksonabout a month ago in Fiction
The Friend I Tried (and Failed) to Hide 🌑🕊️
I’ve always lived my life like it came with instruction manuals. I follow rules, I read labels, I sort my socks by color. If you’d asked my family to describe me, they would’ve said words like dependable and organized and maybe just a little too predictable.
By Karl Jacksonabout a month ago in Fiction
🔄 The Habit My Old Self Would Never Believe
If someone had told the old me — the version who lived on autopilot, who avoided change like it was a contagious illness, who clung to comfort zones like they were lifelines — that one day I’d be the kind of person who woke up before sunrise on purpose, I would’ve laughed so hard I’d choke on my own disbelief.
By Karl Jacksonabout a month ago in Fiction
🌅 When My Certainty Broke Open
There are days when you wake up feeling carved out of conviction. Like every thought in your head has solidified overnight into something unshakeable. That was me. I rolled out of bed wrapped in one fierce belief, and it marched beside me like an impatient shadow.
By Karl Jacksonabout a month ago in Fiction
🌩️ The Storm I Thought I Understood 🌤️
I walked into that day carrying a conviction so heavy it almost had a heartbeat. You know the kind. The belief that feels welded to your bones. The sort you would argue for even if the ground dissolved beneath you. Mine was simple.
By Karl Jacksonabout a month ago in Fiction
⚖️ The Trial of Nothing at All 🕳️
The summons arrived like a bad omen. Folded into a crisp white envelope, slipped under Rowan’s apartment door sometime between the dawn traffic and the neighbor’s dog barking at ghosts. The paper was heavy, official, the kind that made your stomach flip even before you read a single word. At the top, in blocky lettering that looked far too confident in itself, were the words:
By Karl Jacksonabout a month ago in Fiction
🎄 Snowfall, Strangers, and the Holiday They Never Planned
Introduction Some holidays creep up softly, without fireworks or grand expectations. They slip through the season like shy guests, waiting to see if you’ll notice them. And sometimes, the universe nudges two unlikely souls into sharing a day neither intended to share.
By Karl Jackson2 months ago in Fiction
🍵 The Last Warm Cup
The kettle clicked on with a sound that cut through the quiet apartment like a whispered reminder. Oliver stood barefoot on the cold kitchen tiles, staring at the stainless steel pot as if it held the answer to a question he’d been afraid to ask for years. Steam began wisping upward in slow swirls, rising as silently as the memories he’d tried to bury beneath the noise of everyday life.
By Karl Jackson2 months ago in Fiction
🌘 The Room That Remembers You
The room is unfamiliar. I don’t know how I got here. The first thought slides through my mind like a notification popping up during a livestream you absolutely didn’t ask for. One second I’m blinking at a cracked ceiling tile, the next I’m sitting upright on a narrow bed with sheets so white they feel suspicious. Sterile white. Dream-sequence white. “You’re-about-to-make-a-bad-decision” white.
By Karl Jackson2 months ago in Fiction
✨ The Echoes Beneath the Bridge
Maya could trace the old river bridge in her sleep. That weathered blue span had been the backdrop for every childhood memory, every whispered story from her dad, every quiet hour she spent sitting on its railing with her feet dangling and her thoughts wandering. The bridge meant home and history and comfort. But most of all, it meant truth.
By Karl Jackson2 months ago in Fiction
