Excerpt
The Warple Wurcus of Thussleberry Circus
I couldn’t believe my destiny. The colours, the motion, the sentiment. I’m older now, nearing death; a great time to write a memoir. But this is no ordinary memoir, for I was the first Warple-Wurcus. I was Scrimitass Sagorious.
By Adz Robinson 7 months ago in Fiction
Red Spindle, Burning Blue
The rebels moved like ghosts they were silent, pale shapes swallowed by the smoke-stained corridors of the Red Spindle. Their boots barely touched the scorched floor, gliding through flickering light and digital dust, remnants of a world that once pulsed with power. Faces masked, eyes sharp, they slipped between the skeletal remains of machines like whispers through a dying network. Fear kept them fluid. Training kept them quiet. But it was the hope, the fragile kind that clings to the edges of impossible missions that made them relentless. They had come for the myth at the core of the ruin. And every breath they took felt like it might be their last. Silent, fast, afraid. It was the year 2999 and they had survived. The Fold. The famine. The Kinetic Plague.
By Toni Du Plooy7 months ago in Fiction
The Bench on Sixth Street
I saw her again today. Not her, exactly. Just someone who looked like her — same dark curls tied in a loose knot, same way she tucked her coat around herself like the world was colder than it actually was. She sat down on the bench across from the bookstore on Sixth Street.Our bench.
By Firdos Jamal7 months ago in Fiction
The Cartographer
Amelia’s life was a meticulously organized map, every street, every landmark, precisely placed. As a cartographer, she thrived on order, on the certainty of lines and labels. Yet, lately, her own internal map felt increasingly blank, particularly the regions marked "childhood" and "family." A vague, persistent ache resided where memories should have been, a blank space she couldn't fill. Her grandmother, the last living link to her past, had recently passed, leaving behind a house filled with echoes and a single, enigmatic inheritance: a worn leather-bound journal.
By Momin Shah7 months ago in Fiction
Love and Pride
It was an old street in Lahore, lined with dusty rose-colored bricks and narrow lanes that seemed to whisper stories of years gone by. In a modest house on that street lived Zimal, a beautiful, headstrong, and stubborn girl. Her greatest flaw was her pride. Since childhood, she had been taught never to bow her head before anyone — no matter how close, no matter how dear.
By Aman Ullah7 months ago in Fiction
❤rian’s Night: When the Dark Almost Won❤
It was late at night. The wind whispered through the cracked window of a small room, lit only by a dying bulb. Arian sat on the edge of his bed, his hands gripping his face, his shoulders trembling — not from cold, but from the weight of everything he had tried to carry for too long.
By Abdulmusawer7 months ago in Fiction
Smiles on the Lips, Deceit in the Heart . AI-Generated.
Story: It all started on an ordinary morning when Sara first saw Ali at the college library. Between shelves lined with dusty books, her eyes caught a glimpse of him. Just a brief glance, but her heart skipped a beat. Sara silently promised herself she would never speak to him, but fate had already written a different story.
By Saeedullah Shan7 months ago in Fiction
