Excerpt
The Cinder’s Weight
The hearth has stopped its singing.white-ribbed and glowing with a soft, pulsing ache. I am watching the last flame— a tiny, blue-tongued ghost licking the underside of a charred knot. It is fragile, a translucent ribbon fraying against the weight of the coming dark. There is a specific silence that lives here For hours, it was a roar of gold and defiance, consuming the dry cedar of our history, the splinters of every word we ever threw into the heat to keep the room alive. But the wood is spent now. The logs have collapsed into a skeletal geography,
By Awa Nyassi26 days ago in Fiction
Berganashio - Chapter 23
Larkin was restless. He tossed and turned in his bed. Cotton and Bry had both fallen asleep very quickly. Bry had grown very accustomed to snuggling up close to Cotton’s woolly albino fur. Indeed, it felt as an extravagant blanket. Cotton felt calmer than he’d ever felt in the last several days in the presence of the merfarie children.
By Rowan Finley 26 days ago in Fiction
Whispers of the Turning Seasons (part 16). AI-Generated.
The sheriff’s office felt smaller than ever. Evelyn sat alone in the interview room, elbows on the cold metal table, head buried in her hands. Everything was spinning— the woman, the child, the photos, the impossible familiarity.
By Ahmed aldeabella28 days ago in Fiction
Winter Series 2025 - When the Sun Forgot Us for a Moment (PART II)
That morning, the Sun hesitated; it did not announce itself with disaster or spectacle. There were no sirens, no collapsing networks, no urgent alerts vibrating in pockets. Light simply arrived differently, spreading across the city with an unfamiliar patience, lingering on rooftops and sidewalks as if it were deciding whether the day truly needed to begin. People noticed the change not with panic but with intuition. Coffee cooled untouched. Footsteps slowed. Conversations stretched into pauses that felt intentional rather than awkward, as though time itself had loosened its grip just enough to let the world inhale.
By José Juan Gutierrez 29 days ago in Fiction
Auroras Beyond the Last Forest - Mysteries of the North Pole
The journey toward the North Pole did not begin with coordinates or maps, but with a forest older than memory itself. The Taiga Forest stretched endlessly beneath a sky that never fully darkened, its snow-laden trees standing like quiet witnesses to centuries of travelers who had come seeking answers rather than destinations. This was not a forest that resisted passage - it tested intention. Every step forward felt deliberate, as if the land itself required certainty before allowing anyone deeper. It was here that the travelers gathered - not heroes in the traditional sense, but beings shaped by curiosity, patience, and winter’s discipline. Among them walked humans wrapped in layered wool and belief, forest spirits whose footsteps left no imprint, and small luminous fair folk - fairies - whose wings refracted the pale light into soft prisms. Even the wind seemed aware of them, slowing its breath as they advanced northward.
By José Juan Gutierrez 29 days ago in Fiction
The Bolivia Mystery
Kaira brushed the unruly strands of her strawberry hair back behind her ear before putting both hands back on the table. She leaned heavily over the maps and ancient pieces of text spread out over the thick oak desk. Her coffee cup sat in the upper corner, leaving rings on the edges of the papers and at different points in the cup where the remaining contents rested for hours at a time.
By Leah Suzanne Dewey29 days ago in Fiction
Nightmare Man Monologue
I didn’t start off as a villain. Can I really be called a bad guy if I only kill off worse bad guys? I mean, I don’t think even Mother Theresa could have argued for the men I killed. The world is certainly better off without them. Though I suppose it isn’t unreasonable to say the world might be better off without me, too. But I don’t think that’s possible anymore.
By Leah Suzanne Dewey30 days ago in Fiction
The Shift
“I hope it’s not meaningless to apologize because I am so sorry,” I whispered. Her heated breathing faltered for a moment but she said nothing. Soundless tears dripped heavily from my eyes but I followed her instructions and continued walking out of the house.
By Leah Suzanne Dewey30 days ago in Fiction
The Lovers' Folly
The midst of a battlefield is a terrible place for a revelation. That was the second thought I had when cannon fire began echoing across the plains from atop our battlements. The first was the ball in my throat knowing we were firing on the approaching army of Prince Caerwyn.The revelation? Despite all the hurt, and the pain, and the loss, I was still damnably in love with him.
By Vic Mousseauabout a month ago in Fiction
Eleven Words. Content Warning.
I can still hear her spitting my name at me like it’s poison, the absolute worst thing you can call anyone, “Lila!” The harshness of her voice slamming down my first syllable, bitterness saturating the timbre of her voice, which for once in my experience lost its contrived Minnie Mouse saccharine. I literally felt her venom through the distance. In truth, it was the shortest, lamest dress-down in the history of the world. She didn’t even call me a whore, and you can bet all of your cryptocurrency that if I found out another woman had been entertaining my husband, she would need therapy by the time I finished with her. But my husband has no need to seek extracurricular experiences, and we have honesty and trust in our marriage, to the degree that when Sharon called (Sam had called me earlier and given me a heads up, warning me that she would be “horrible”), I put her on speakerphone so Matt could hear every word she said. Most of them were Lila. We were on the call for 51 seconds, and she spat my name at me eleven times. I can’t think of a single time that I’ve used someone’s name that many times in conversation with them, even the marathons that leave me staring at the clock in disbelief. Anyway, not only was she hissing and spitting my name like a rabid squirrel, but she failed to take verbal ownership of Sam, didn’t refer to him as her husband, so I knew in the moment that it was curtains for that marriage and probably could have spared him a ton of unnecessary grief and effort trying to reassemble something shattered beyond repair. You see, it wasn’t just that he cheated, it was that he cheated with me.
By Harper Lewisabout a month ago in Fiction
