writermehran
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Stories (5)
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The Last Light of Winter
The Last Light of Winter When darkness surrounds, hope can still flicker. The village of Elden was wrapped in a blanket of snow, silent except for the soft whispers of the wind. Winter had arrived early that year, catching everyone off guard. Houses were shuttered, chimneys smoked, and the villagers moved with careful steps on ice-laden streets. Life, once vibrant and full of laughter, now felt muted, as if the cold had frozen the very spirit of the town. Children huddled inside their homes, staring out at the white expanse beyond, imagining adventures they could not yet undertake. Elden seemed to have paused, waiting for something unknown to awaken it again.
By writermehran12 days ago in Education
The First Leap
The First Leap The young seabird stood alone at the edge of the cliff, the vast ocean stretching endlessly beneath him. The wind brushed against his feathers, teasing him, inviting him, daring him to move. Below, the sea shimmered in shades of green and blue, alive with motion and sound. To his family, flying was as natural as breathing. To him, it was a terrifying mystery.
By writermehran14 days ago in Families
The Ritual of Winter
The Ritual of Winter When the cold demanded remembrance Winter arrived without warning, as it always did in the northern valley. One morning, the world simply woke up quieter. The river slowed its chatter, the trees stood bare and solemn, and the sky stretched pale and distant, like a breath held for too long. Snow did not fall immediately. Instead, the cold announced itself first, slipping silently into stone, skin, and memory, reminding everyone that winter was not just weather—it was presence.
By writermehran15 days ago in Fiction
The Last Flame
The Last Flame Hope was fading, but one flame still burned The night was unusually silent. The sky stretched wide and dark, scattered with stars that looked like forgotten wishes hanging above the earth. In the center of the village, a fire burned tall and fierce, its flames rising straight into the air as if the ground itself was trying to speak to the heavens. The crackling sound of burning wood echoed softly through the empty streets.
By writermehran16 days ago in Art
Small Heat
Small Heat A story about patience, suSmall Heatrvival, and the quiet power of slowing down The man built the fire carefully, feeding it only what it needed. Not too much. Not too fast. The flames stayed low, almost shy, glowing softly beneath the old metal kettle. This was small heat—the kind that didn’t demand attention, the kind that worked slowly but faithfully.
By writermehran17 days ago in Chapters
