Autobiography

The Clock That Broke During Stillness
One afternoon, the clock stopped while everyone stood quietly, watching nothing in particular. No one noticed immediately. Hours passed uncounted. When movement returned, the clock shattered. People realized time had no meaning without attention. From then on, they measured days by awareness, not numbers.
By GoldenSpeech29 days ago in Chapters
The Weight of Unsent Words
The kitchen light hummed, a lonely yellow against the deep indigo outside. Arthur’s knuckles, gnarled and scarred from decades of fixing things that always seemed to break, pressed hard against the cheap linoleum of the table. Before him, a single sheet of paper, already crinkled at the edges, lay under the pale glow. The ballpoint pen, a freebie from the local hardware store, felt heavy in his trembling hand. It was past midnight. The air hung thick with the smell of stale coffee and the ghost of regret.
By HAADI29 days ago in Chapters
The Horizon That Never Promised Arrival
The horizon stayed distant—not as failure, but as invitation. Life was not about reaching it, but walking honestly toward it.
By GoldenSpeech30 days ago in Chapters
The Rain That Fell Differently on Each Person
Some felt warmth. Others cold. Some cried beneath it. Others laughed. The rain did not change—perception did. Reality, it seemed, is filtered through inner weather.
By GoldenSpeech30 days ago in Chapters
The Shadow That Waited
Shadows stopped following people who avoided themselves. They waited patiently instead. Reunion was inevitable.
By GoldenSpeechabout a month ago in Chapters
The Mirror That Aged Backward
This mirror showed people as they would be once they understood themselves. Some saw peace. Others saw solitude. The reflection was not destiny—it was direction.
By GoldenSpeechabout a month ago in Chapters
The Weight of the Falling Sky
Elias had been staring at the ceiling for hours. Not even a whisper from the old house, usually groaning and settling like a tired beast. Just the drip-drip of the faucet in the kitchen, a sound he’d meant to fix for weeks, now magnified to a thunderous percussion in the dead quiet. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, the cold floorboards a shock against his bare feet. Three o'clock. Or four. The glowing numbers on the digital clock blurred into a red smear. Sleep was a stranger tonight, a distant cousin who never bothered to visit.
By HAADIabout a month ago in Chapters
The Festival of Invisible Crowns
Every spring, a hidden town held a peculiar festival. Children crafted invisible crowns out of air and imagination, placing them gently atop people they admired. Teachers, bakers, gardeners, cleaners—everyone walked around wearing honors only children could see. One year, a quiet girl crowned a stranger who often swept the streets early in the morning. He smiled, saying he had never been thanked before. Word spread, and soon adults began treating each other as if the invisible crowns were real. The festival taught them a truth: respect doesn’t need to be seen to be felt.
By GoldenSpeechabout a month ago in Chapters
The Room That Held Forgotten Echoes
In an old manor, a room collected echoes not when they were spoken, but long after. Laughter from decades past bounced softly through its air. Whispers of old love drifted like dust. People entered with reverence, hearing fragments of lives that had touched the walls. The room taught them that nothing truly disappears—emotion imprints itself on the world.
By GoldenSpeechabout a month ago in Chapters
The Weight of a Future I Never Chose. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
CHAPTER ONE — The House That Never Wanted Me I can’t obviously remember the day I was born, but I remember the story they told me about it—
By N.S. Kusabout a month ago in Chapters
The River That Refused to Flow
An ancient river once decided to stop moving. Villagers panicked, thinking it had died, but a wandering philosopher said it had entered contemplation. For weeks, its surface mirrored the sky with perfect clarity. Birds learned to navigate by it. Children discovered constellations in it at midday. When the river finally flowed again, it carried reflections instead of water—memories of the stillness it had gathered. Those who drank from it claimed they remembered things they hadn’t lived yet.
By GoldenSpeechabout a month ago in Chapters
The Horizon That Remembered
The travelers claimed the horizon was only an illusion, yet one wanderer insisted it was alive. Every morning, he walked toward it, and every evening it retreated. One dusk, as the sky turned silver, he finally understood: the horizon mirrored his desires. When he sought answers, it expanded. When he sought peace, it softened. When he stopped seeking altogether, it faded into the quiet. In that disappearance, he realized the truth—some distances only exist to guide us toward ourselves.
By GoldenSpeechabout a month ago in Chapters