Adventure
Broken Safe Haven - Chapter 2
Click here to read Chapter 1 The light of the morning sun gently brought Katelyn into consciousness. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, then looked around the room. In her groggy state, the mess of the room felt emotionally draining. She sighed, then forced herself out of bed. A shiver made her realize she had slept in her swimsuit. Luckily, the men who came had left her clothes, though they were scattered about the room. She changed into some jeans and a punk rock t-shirt. She also changed the bandages on her feet. They were swollen and ached from the cuts she had endured the day before. Unable to get shoes on them, she settled for a pair of brown fuzzy slippers that looked like dogs.
By Eric Boring29 days ago in Fiction
Berganashio - Chapter 25. Top Story - December 2025.
Kunya awoke to the smell of breakfast that included chai and cinnamon flavored hot tea. "Good morning, Kunya!" The two merfarie princesses, Pori and Villi, greeted her. They sat comfortably around a small table. The morning sun was shining beautifully through the window panes. For a split second, the sun glinted off of the small bottle that hung around Pori's neck.
By Rowan Finley about a month ago in Fiction
The Boy Who Lost His Soul. Content Warning.
THE SEER’S RETRIEVAL: Archive 2025 "What follows is a work of Speculative Truth. Born from the analog grain of 1985 and developed in the high-definition suite of 2025, this story is a Sci-Fi frequency shift a narrative map of one mother’s journey to reclaim a lineage that the 'Hard Reality' tried to delete.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli about a month ago in Fiction
The Cinder’s Weight
The hearth has stopped its singing.white-ribbed and glowing with a soft, pulsing ache. I am watching the last flame— a tiny, blue-tongued ghost licking the underside of a charred knot. It is fragile, a translucent ribbon fraying against the weight of the coming dark. There is a specific silence that lives here For hours, it was a roar of gold and defiance, consuming the dry cedar of our history, the splinters of every word we ever threw into the heat to keep the room alive. But the wood is spent now. The logs have collapsed into a skeletal geography,
By Awa Nyassiabout a month ago in Fiction
