Classical
After The Stars Fell By Hridya Sharma
I often wondered what love is. Is it truly the warm, fuzzy emotions that ooze out of true mirth of care and adore, or is it a product of prevalent capitalism that exists within our world? That makes it easy for the consumeristic and hyperagile construct to sell products to the humans as a marketing tactic, to slip in through the psyche of innocent minds, to create a buzz, to find their weaklings and exploit them for company profits and expansions. I still find myself wondering what love is, pondering over that thought. I searched on Chatgpt What do you think love is, What does love truly mean? Is there any premise in the age-old tales of true eternal love, or are they just some flipping pages of history that are known to mankind through the legends of time, through the sands of ripple effects that last through time? Does happily ever after truly exist? I scrambledly typed and asked the language model, aka AI genius.
By Hridya Sharma9 months ago in Fiction
Beneath the Tree That Watched Us
The Tree on the Hill On the edge of a quiet village named Kalwara, stood a tall, old peepal tree, alone on a small hill. Its branches were wide, its bark dark and cracked like an ancient face, and its leaves sang with the wind. The villagers called it “The Watching Tree”, because no matter where you stood on the hill, it felt like the tree was looking right at you.
By Muhammad Hayat9 months ago in Fiction
Zomba The Beautiful Girl
Zomba used to be a beautiful girl. Once she went to a neighboring village to celebrate Reh a festival of the Idu Mishmi tribe. There she had a lot of fun. She kept enjoying herself for two-three nights without sleeping. Because of this she became very tired. When Zomba returned home tired, sleep was not coming out of her eyes. So she kept sleeping continuously day and night, leaving all work. Zombas stepmother could not tolerate her lying like this all day. She got angry and tried to wake her up, but she did not wake up. Then her stepmother got very angry and she took hot coal from the burning stove and burnt her private parts. Now Zomba could not even urinate.
By Nikita Angel9 months ago in Fiction
The Bone Collector’s Daughter – II: Whispers from the Crypt. Content Warning.
Part 1: The Bone Collector’s Daughter – I: The Inheritance of Shadows III: Whispers from the Crypt The days bled together after the prince’s offer. Vera wandered Blackthorn Hall like a ghost herself, her fingers trailing over the relics of her father’s obsession. The skulls seemed to watch her now, their hollow gazes heavy with secrets.
By The Lost Books - "Libri Perditi"9 months ago in Fiction
Beneath the Raven’s Wings
The Raven’s Kiss The first time I saw her, she was standing at the edge of the Wood, where the mist curled like phantom fingers around the ancient oaks. Her gown was the color of a moonless night, her lips darker than spilled wine. She did not speak—only smiled, and in that smile, I felt the weight of centuries.
By The Lost Books - "Libri Perditi"9 months ago in Fiction
The End of Injustice
The End of Injustice There was a small colony of fishermen on the seashore. One day when the fishermen were going to catch fish, they saw an old man standing in the water. He was waving his hands and saying, Do Not go, stop, a storm is coming, you will drown
By Nikita Angel9 months ago in Fiction
Major Abbot and the Obsidian Labyrinth
Major Thorne Abbot wasn’t a man easily rattled. Decorated war hero, archeologist, and reluctant legend, he had stared down mercenaries, outwitted smugglers, and once fought a jaguar with nothing but a flare gun. But standing at the edge of the Yucatan jungle, staring into the maw of a collapsed temple entrance, he felt something he hadn’t in years—hesitation.
By Muhammad Sohail9 months ago in Fiction
