LUNA EDITH
Bio
Writer, storyteller, and lifelong learner. I share thoughts on life, creativity, and everything in between. Here to connect, inspire, and grow — one story at a time.
Stories (218)
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The Anonymous Tip
My name is Clara Edith and I had always thought my life was ordinary. I worked in a small office, kept to myself, and spent most evenings reading or walking through the quiet streets near my apartment. I liked the predictability, the simple routine, and the small sense of control it gave me. Then one rainy afternoon, everything changed with a single email.
By LUNA EDITH5 months ago in Humans
Voices from the Future
Jared had always been fascinated by old radios. He collected them, fixed them, and spent hours listening to static and forgotten stations. One rainy evening he found a small, dusty radio in the back of a thrift shop. It looked ordinary but had a strange symbol etched on the dial.
By LUNA EDITH5 months ago in Futurism
Weight of Names
The first time I noticed it, I thought I was imagining things. “Eli,” my teacher called, and something like a warm stone settled on my chest. It was small—just enough to make me pause, to make me wonder if I’d taken a deep breath without realizing it.
By LUNA EDITH5 months ago in Fiction
Alexander the Great
The desert wind stung Alexander’s face as he stared across the endless horizon. Behind him lay an empire that stretched farther than any man before him had ruled—from the sun-baked lands of Egypt to the icy peaks of the Hindu Kush. Yet, even here, at the edge of the known world, he was restless.
By LUNA EDITH5 months ago in History
The Last Letter in Room 6B
When Claire rented the tiny apartment in the old brick building on Oak Street, she wasn’t looking for charm—just cheap rent and a place close to work. The peeling wallpaper, creaky floors, and drafty windows didn’t matter. What mattered was that it was hers.
By LUNA EDITH5 months ago in Horror
My Grandma’s Secret Life as a Cold War Spy
The Grandma I Thought I Knew Growing up, my grandmother was my anchor. Her little kitchen smelled like cinnamon and safety. Light streamed through lace curtains, catching dust motes in midair like tiny floating stars. Her hugs weren’t just embraces—they were shields, the kind that could melt away a bad day before I could even explain what had happened.
By LUNA EDITH5 months ago in Confessions
The Art of Doing Nothing
For most of my life I believed that productivity was about constant motion. I thought the more I worked the more I achieved. My days were full of lists. My lists had sublists. I filled every hour with some kind of task. If I sat still for too long I felt guilty.
By LUNA EDITH5 months ago in Lifehack
Lost Diary of a Historian
It began on a rainy Thursday in October. My work as a young historian often kept me buried in the archives of the old city library. Rows upon rows of dusty shelves. Fragile pages that crumbled at a touch. On that day I was searching for shipping records from the early nineteenth century. My research was focused on trade routes. Nothing extraordinary. Or so I thought.
By LUNA EDITH5 months ago in History
The Split Identity
The first time Elara saw her it was on a news broadcast. A grainy security camera image flashed across the screen showing a woman slipping out of a jewelry store just before the alarm blared. The anchor said the suspect remained unidentified but had been linked to a string of high profile thefts. Elara leaned closer to the screen. The woman had her face. Not similar not close not mistaken. It was Elara. Same hair same eyes same calm unbothered stare. But Elara had been at work that day typing reports under fluorescent lights and sipping stale coffee. She turned off the television and sat very still. The next day three people gave her odd looks on the subway. One man flinched as if he recognized her then quickly looked away. Elara clutched her bag tighter and got off two stops early. She tried to shake it off until she came home and found her apartment door unlocked. Nothing was stolen but something was wrong. The mirror above her dresser was tilted and her closet smelled faintly of perfume she never wore. She began to sleep with the lights on. A week later she followed a hunch to the train station downtown. She waited in the crowd heart pounding. And then she saw her. The woman was across the platform wearing Elara’s face but dressed in black with a long coat and sunglasses. Elara followed her through the crowd out onto the street and into an alley. She watched from behind a dumpster as the woman met a man and handed him something small and silver. They did not speak. The man walked away. The woman turned and looked directly at her. I know you are there she said. Elara stepped out. You are me she whispered. The woman smiled but there was no warmth in it. No she said I am who you could have been. They stood in silence. What do you want Elara asked. To finish what I started the double said. Then she turned and walked away without another word. Elara did not call the police. What would she say. That she saw herself stealing and vanishing into alleys. That she was being haunted by a version of herself with no past and no record. She started noticing more things missing from her life. Emails she did not send. Receipts she did not remember. People greeting her on the street like they knew her. One morning her boss called her into his office. I do not know what kind of game you are playing he said but if you disappear again without notice you are done here. She nodded even though she had not missed a single day. She began to lose sleep. She stopped answering her phone. She started checking the locks five times each night. Then the final straw. She woke up in her bed and smelled smoke. Not fire but the acrid trace of something burned. In the kitchen her stove was still warm. And in the middle of the table was a note written in handwriting exactly like hers. Stop pretending. Elara stared at the note for a long time. Then she tore it into pieces and flushed it down the sink. The next night she did not go home. She waited in the shadows outside her own apartment. At midnight she saw her double approach unlock the door and step inside like she lived there. Elara followed her in. This is my life she said. The woman was calm as always. No it was your life. You buried everything that made you dangerous everything that made you strong. I did not want to hurt people Elara said. You did not want to make choices the woman replied. They circled each other in the living room. Two reflections without a mirror. You cannot live both lives Elara said. Exactly the woman said. Then she lunged. They struggled crashing into furniture glass shattering on the floor. One of them reached for the fire iron by the fireplace. One swing. Silence. In the dim light one woman stood over the other. Breathing hard. Blood running down her temple. Later she buried the body in the woods behind the old train yard. No one would find it. No one would believe it. She went back to the apartment and cleaned the blood until the floor gleamed again. Then she stood in front of the mirror and looked into her own eyes. I am Elara she said. Just once. Then she smiled. There were things to do. Lives to reclaim. And no one left to stop her.
By LUNA EDITH5 months ago in Criminal
