Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Confessions.
The Quiet Power of Presence: Trust, Desire, and the Weight of Being
I can still feel the chill of that evening, the way it made my skin keenly aware of itself. I leaned against the balcony railing of a small apartment, watching the streetlights flicker below, glowing softly through the dimming dusk. He was there, a few steps away, his gaze on the streets as if he could read the rhythm of life beneath him. There was nothing performative in his posture, no dramatic gesture to draw attention. Yet the way he existed in that space—calm, grounded, and unassuming—pulled me in. I became painfully aware of how his presence shaped the air around him, shaping me in subtle, unnameable ways.
By SATPOWER17 days ago in Confessions
The Unspooling Hour
The dust motes in the weak afternoon light danced, suspended, just like everything else in this goddamn house. Especially me. The air itself felt thick, like old velvet. My eyes, they just slid back to it, always back to the grandfather clock in the corner. Heavy oak, dark with age and neglect, its face a cracked porcelain moon. Most clocks, they tick forward, right? Mark the passage, the relentless march. Not this one. This one, the second hand, it dragged itself counter-clockwise. Minutes, hours, days, peeling back like old wallpaper. It wasn’t a trick of the light, wasn’t my tired eyes. It was real. A quiet defiance of everything. A promise, maybe. Or a cruel joke, I still haven't figured that out, even now, with the taste of ash in my mouth. My fingers trembled on the armrest, the worn fabric shedding little threads. Little pieces of everything.
By HAADI17 days ago in Confessions
Word of the Day: ホチキス. Top Story - December 2025.
I don't know the word for Staples. I remember I used to think that Hochikisu was an Onomatopoeia for a stapler rather than a brand name. I am pretty sure I already have this title as a theme, which is making me feel many sort of ways as Vocal is harassing me about payments currently.
By Kayla McIntosh18 days ago in Confessions
Chronicles of a Ho-peless Romantic
I wanted to think I had everything under control. I was being responsible and Intentional. Obviously very mature and mindful. I wasn’t dating because I had met a man who was everything I wanted. Almost charming, intelligent, and insufferable, emotionally confusing and unavailable...and tall. Just perfect. He was lingering and just available enough to ruin my life a little. But not available enough to be my boyfriend cause that would be too efficient. Naturally, he became part of a roster I never asked for and absolutely did not want.
By Jeanette Molina18 days ago in Confessions
From Office Chair to Cafe Chair
After 18 years on various office chairs, I am out of work on choice, spending time at cafe chairs, testing what life could be out of corporate life and in a zone with more free time to find my new callings, my “ikigai” that would hopefully start generating money.
By The unrestrained exhale18 days ago in Confessions
The Shard Keeper
It's just glass, really. But I call them flowers. Crystal flowers. Thousands of them, tucked away in this shed out back, where no one ever looks, where no one ever *will* look. They shimmer, you know, when the weak afternoon sun hits that crack in the corrugated steel, throwing slivers of light across them. They sparkle, each one cut, ground, polished, a sharp, perfect bloom. And each one, a goddamn lie.
By HAADI18 days ago in Confessions
The Legacy of Shadows: Twilight of Honor in the Kingdom of Goals. AI-Generated.
In this December 2025, the sun hammered down on the marble pavements of Casablanca like a merciless king asserting his rule. The air was thick, salted by the nearby sea, already carrying that excitement that quickly turns to madness. The Africa Cup of Nations had arrived in Morocco with promises of glorious rebirth, but as always, it dragged along its share of dark tales—whispered in the plush corners of luxury hotels. It's a saga as old as football itself, but in Africa, it takes on the tones of a Shakespearean drama: a sport born in the dust of neighborhood streets, forever haunted by the ghosts of scams and cheating.
By Laurenceau Porte18 days ago in Confessions
Charity Never Fades”. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
in a small village surrounded by fields and dusty roads, there lived an elderly woman named Asha. Her house was a tiny mud hut with a leaking roof and cracked walls, but it was always clean. Asha had lived a hard life. She had lost her husband many years ago and had no children to support her. To earn a living, she woke up early every morning, collected wild flowers from the nearby forest, and sold them beside the road.
By M Saif19 days ago in Confessions
When Speaking Up Changes Everything
There is a moment in many lives that goes unnoticed by others but feels monumental inside. It’s the moment when you decide to speak—really speak—after years of staying quiet. Not the casual kind of speaking, but the kind that risks discomfort, rejection, or loss. The kind that tells the truth instead of preserving peace. When that moment arrives, everything begins to change—not always instantly, not always easily, but undeniably.
By Aiman Shahid19 days ago in Confessions
The Iron Confession
The rhythm of the rails. That's what gets you. Not the click-clack, not even the grinding steel, but the steady, relentless push forward. Each jolt a small, sharp reminder that you’re moving, that you chose this, that there's no going back. The car was empty. Practically empty. Just me, hunched over a window streaked with rain and grime, and some old man snoring two rows back, his face hidden by a newspaper from yesterday. Or maybe the day before. Doesn't matter. He wasn't looking at me. Nobody was.
By HAADI19 days ago in Confessions
