Classical
The Girl Who Spoke to the Stars. AI-Generated.
In a small, quiet town that smelled of damp earth and lavender, there lived a girl who everyone simply called Fairy Girl. It wasn't because she was particularly ethereal or wore wings; it was because of her eyes. They were the colour of twilight, and when she looked at you, it felt as though she saw not just you, but the constellation of quiet wishes you carried deep inside.
By fairy girl3 months ago in Fiction
Unexpected knock at the Door
The first knock was so soft Alexander almost dismissed it as the cabin settling, or a pinecone dropping from the eaves. It was 3:07 AM. He was in his armchair, a biography of a forgotten president splayed open on his chest, the fire in the hearth reduced to a bed of pulsating coals. The silence up here on the mountain was absolute, a thick blanket he’d come to both cherish and fear.
By Muhammad Anas 3 months ago in Fiction
When One Voice Turns Into a Roar — and a City Listens
It began as a whisper. In the narrow alleyways of Nizamabad, the kind where crooked balconies lean over laundry lines and stray cats dart between shadows, a solitary voice rose before dawn. A young woman—barefoot, ragged vest, eyes blazing—stood atop a faded crate in the market square and screamed:
By Alexander Mind3 months ago in Fiction
The Last 7 Seconds. Honorable Mention in A Knock at the Door Challenge.
Thump. Thump. Thump. The gentle tapping pulled my attention from my sleeping husband. I straightened my back with a ricocheted crack and groaned. After a quick survey of the room, I continued trying to get Percy out of his chair.
By Theresa M Hochstine4 months ago in Fiction
When the Stars Forgot to Shine
The night it happened, the world didn’t notice at first. The stars simply… didn’t come. No one could explain it. The moon hung lonely and pale in the dark sky, surrounded by emptiness. Astronomers called it a “temporary celestial blackout.” Poets called it “the night heaven turned its face.” But to Mira, it felt like a reflection of her own fading light.
By Muhammad zahoor4 months ago in Fiction
A Knock at the Door
The knock, when it came, was so soft that Elara almost mistook it for the wind nudging a branch against the eaves. She paused, her knitting needles freezing mid-stitch. The little cottage was silent, save for the crackle of the fire in the hearth. It was a deep, introspective silence she had cultivated for years, a buffer against the noise of a world that had moved on without her.
By Evanthia Giannou4 months ago in Fiction
The Weight of Light
The first time Saira noticed the crack in her reflection, she was washing dishes at 2 AM, unable to sleep again. In the kitchen window’s dark mirror, where her temple should have been, there was a diamond-shaped opening — not a wound, but a window. Through it, a solitary streetlamp stood against midnight blue, its amber cone of light falling on empty pavement like a held breath.
By Prompted Beauty4 months ago in Fiction
