Classical

Rust Beneath the Skin. Content Warning.
The year was 1899, and the sea pressed itself endlessly against the coast of Whitcombe, a village where salt clung to the air and iron settled deep into every man’s bones. Fishermen cursed the waves even as they depended on them. Wives scrubbed clothes raw on the stones, while children hauled baskets of coal to homes already blackened with soot. And among them moved Clara Whitcombe, daughter of the late foundry master, who wore gloves even in the height of summer.
By E. hasan6 months ago in Fiction
Roman Rance: The Unyielding Storm
Roman Rance was born on the fringes of the Empire, in a small settlement where the stone walls of Rome’s power were more rumor than reality. His father was a soldier who never returned from campaign, and his mother a weaver who taught him the rhythm of patience, but it was in the wild fields and ruins near his home that Roman truly grew. He was a boy who fought the wind, shouted against storms, and swore that he would one day be more than just another forgotten name.
By Princess Ladly6 months ago in Fiction
The Wedding Photographer
The Routine Assignment Rohail was passionate about photography. Covering weddings was his everyday job. Bright lights, decorated halls, and smiling faces were always a part of his camera reel. For him, every wedding felt the same bride, groom, happiness, and the noise of celebration.
By Farooq Hashmi6 months ago in Fiction
Honor. Top Story - August 2025.
All he had in his life was honor. In the corner of his small bedchamber, a smoldering ancestral votive with notes of incense, jasmine, and wildflower fought the stench of the world beyond. It was a futile effort. Moonlight reflected off his sword reverently held between two wooden pedestals. It was his father’s blade, cooled with honor by blood of the Emperor’s enemies.
By Matthew J. Fromm6 months ago in Fiction
"The Bench by Willow Lake"
I still remember the exact spot where she used to sit. Every morning at seven, she’d arrive at the bench by Willow Lake—always with her coffee in a chipped white mug, the one with a tiny bluebird painted on the side. I never asked her name. We were just two strangers bound by routine and silence, yet in those quiet mornings, we became something more—two souls stitched loosely by time and presence.
By Israr khan6 months ago in Fiction
LE SERPENT "The Snake"
At the dawn of the last century, everyone in Dijon knew Madame la Présidente de C—. She was the belle of the town: all dimples, lace, and painted smiles, with that same little serpent slithering across her lap like a favored lapdog. She would pet it in public, let it curl against her breasts as though it were her child—or her lover.
By Tom Baker6 months ago in Fiction
The Painter’s Last Color
Part 1: The Color of Silence The world knew my grandfather, Silas Vance, for his colors. His "Vance Ultramarine" was said to capture the exact moment before dawn breaks. His "Heart's Crimson" pulsed with a life of its own. Critics wept before his paintings, claiming they felt the artist’s very soul.
By Habibullah6 months ago in Fiction
The Clock Stopped at 3:07
The night it started, I thought it was just a coincidence. I had fallen asleep on the couch, the TV still on, when a sharp click jolted me awake. I glanced over at the old clock on the wall—the one my grandmother left me. Its second hand had frozen, pointing straight at the seven.
By ETS_Story6 months ago in Fiction
The Power of AI: How Artificial Intelligence is Shaping the Future of Humanity
The Power of AI: How Artificial Intelligence is Shaping the Future of Humanity --- A New Era of Intelligence Artificial Intelligence (AI) is no longer the stuff of science fiction—it’s here, woven into the fabric of our daily lives. At its core, AI is the simulation of human intelligence by machines. It can learn, adapt, and even make decisions, sometimes faster and more accurately than people. What was once imagined in futuristic novels is now a reality: machines that recognize faces, translate languages, diagnose diseases, and even create art. The rise of AI represents a turning point in human history, comparable to the invention of electricity or the internet.
By Muhammad Ibrahim6 months ago in Fiction
"The Passenger Who Wasn’t There"
It was raining the night it happened, one of those slow, steady rains that makes the road shine like black glass. I was driving home from work, tired, half-listening to the radio when I saw her.
By ETS_Story6 months ago in Fiction
He Wrote a Thousand Love Letters, But One Saved Her Life
I never thought paper could hold someone’s soul. But it did. At least, his paper did. His letters did. His name was Arman. Mine is Elora.
By MD Hamim Islam6 months ago in Fiction
The Love Thief. Top Story - August 2025.
As the sun lies down to sleep, figures dance across green fields dotted with daffodils. Twisting and turning, they meet in the evening’s cool breeze. Staring into each other’s eyes, they feel the weight of the universe bear down on their hearts. The shaking in their knees makes them shiver in the summer air. They enter each other without care as they stare into each other’s souls. In love with each other’s drawing gaze, as time scrolls by, it turns to a haze.
By Atomic Historian6 months ago in Fiction