Excerpt
Ashes, Ashes. Content Warning.
”I see you’ve been emailing Lila.” “What?” “Give me your goddamn phone.” “There’s nothing on there.” “I know. I read Lila’s instructions for covering your tracks in case ‘that army of bitches puts their heads together.’ The army of bitches put our heads together. When you finish explaining exactly how long you and Lila have been fucking, you can pack your shit and get out.”
By Harper Lewis16 days ago in Fiction
The Library That Opened Only at Midnight
No one noticed the library at first. That wasn’t unusual in Graybridge. People hurried through the town like they were late for something important, even when they weren’t sure what it was. Stores opened and closed. Cafés changed names. But the narrow street behind the old cinema remained ignored, lit by a single flickering lamp.
By Yasir khan17 days ago in Fiction
How We Stay Lit
Winter arrives without apology. It closes its hands around the hours, tightens the air until even silence shivers. The world grows careful. Footsteps soften. Voices lower. Everything essential learns how to last. In this season, warmth is no longer loud. It does not roar or demand attention. It survives in fragments— a candle steady on the sill, its flame no bigger than a thought, yet brave enough to stand against the dark. That small light gathers the room gently, pulling shadows closer, teaching them how to rest. It does not banish the cold. It negotiates with it. Small heat lives in the pause between breaths fogging the window, in the way hands linger around a cup long after the tea has cooled. It hums quietly in wool scarves, in coats that still remember yesterday’s body. There is warmth in presence, too— a shoulder leaned into at a bus stop, a shared silence that does not need words. Two breaths syncing, creating a fragile pocket of mercy inside the frost. Winter compresses the world, but small heat resists by expanding inward. It teaches patience. It teaches listening. It teaches that survival is not always grand— sometimes it is careful and deliberate, a decision made again and again to stay lit. A lamp left on in an empty room becomes a promise. A quiet reminder that someone will return, that absence is temporary, that darkness does not own the final word. How we stay lit is not by overpowering the cold, but by softening its edges. By holding space for gentleness when the season insists on hardness. And when spring finally loosens winter’s grip, it will not remember the storms first. It will remember the lights that stayed on. The hands that held. The flames that refused to go out.
By Awa Nyassi20 days ago in Fiction
Gentle & Healing
We learn how to care for others, how to show compassion, patience, and understanding—yet when it comes to our own hearts, we become harsh critics. Healing begins the moment we decide to speak to ourselves with kindness instead of judgment. Gentleness is not weakness. It is strength wrapped in softness. It is choosing peace over pressure and progress over perfection. ealing Starts With Awareness Many emotional wounds are not visible. They live quietly in our thoughts, shaped by past disappointments, unmet expectations, and words that once hurt us. Often, we carry these wounds without realizing how deeply they influence our daily lives. Healing begins when we become aware of our inner dialogue. Ask yourself: How do I speak to myself when I fail? When I feel tired? When I fall behind? If your inner voice is critical or unforgiving, it may be time to replace it with gentler words—words that heal instead of harm.
By Awa Nyassi21 days ago in Fiction
CRIMSON VOW
The first thing she heard was laughter deep slow and cruel echoing through concrete walls while cold water dripped on her face and the smell of iron and blood filled her lungs when Lyra Hale opened her eyes she realized she was tied to a chair in a dark warehouse surrounded by men who carried guns like toys and scars like trophies she did not scream because fear had already burned her voice away and when the footsteps approached her heart stopped because she knew that sound belonged to him Roman Vale the king of the Crimson Syndicate the man whose name ended lives without bullets the man she hated before she ever saw his face he stopped in front of her studying her like a broken weapon worth fixing or discarding and instead of threatening her he smiled and said she was not supposed to be there and that single sentence terrified her more than any knife because it meant she was now part of his world a world where people disappeared and love was a weakness Roman ordered his men to untie her not to free her but to see if she would run and Lyra stood on shaking legs staring into the eyes of the man who ruled the city through fear and silence and in that moment something dangerous sparked between hatred and curiosity because Roman Vale did not look at her like prey he looked at her like a challenge
By Diab the story maker 21 days ago in Fiction
