Fable
The Picture Game Ritual
The Picture Game, also known as "The Picture Game Ritual," is a paranormal ritual designed to capture images of spirits or entities. Participants in this ritual attempt to photograph ghosts or other supernatural beings that may be present in their surroundings. The game is played by using a camera to take pictures in complete darkness, and it's said that spirits may reveal themselves in the images taken.
By V-Ink Stories7 months ago in Fiction
"Whispers in the Leaves"
Long ago, there was an old oak under a meadow with rolling hills and golden grass in the background, quiet as hell. Age wore off its thick, bushy trunk and extended branches like large, open arms.... The leaves were inhabited by birds, squirrels, and insects. Through generations, the tree had been keeping watch over the land, enduring thunderous storms, burning summers and gentle springs in winter. It maintained peace without disturbance.
By Osman Ahmed7 months ago in Fiction
The Last Librarian of Babel
The streets were silent, save for the hum of surveillance drones gliding above the crowd, their mechanical eyes scanning every face below. Posters with bold red letters plastered the walls: KNOWLEDGE IS DANGEROUS. FORGET THE PAST. LIVE FOR THE FUTURE.
By Sting Stories7 months ago in Fiction
The Window
She was the single window in the old blue-almost-green house, already a little washed out by time in that monotonous village, where everything seemed to be slowly losing its colour. So she was surprised that her windowsill didn’t get a bit more attention from the people inside the house.
By Erika Lorenna7 months ago in Fiction
The Day the Rain Stopped Forever
The Day the Rain Stopped Forever For as long as anyone could remember, it had always rained. It wasn’t the kind of rain that raged with thunder or flooded the streets. It was soft and steady—more like a mist that never ended. Umbrellas were as common as shoes. People didn’t even comment on the rain anymore. It was simply the way the world worked. Gray skies. Damp clothes. The smell of wet earth everywhere.
By Fazal Hadi7 months ago in Fiction
Hearts against the Storm
Two weeks later, the world had changed — or maybe we had changed enough to see it clearly. The headlines were still buzzing. Investigations were underway. Arrests had been made in the land fraud case tied to my uncle’s death. My father's political allies had started to disappear like shadows under sunlight.
By Mehmood Niaz7 months ago in Fiction
Hearts against the Storm
The night was colder than usual, with a restless wind scraping across the empty roads as I rode toward the old farmhouse. I had no backup. No phone. Just the folded copy of the evidence Hamza had given me, tucked in my inner coat pocket. And a flicker of hope that somehow, this meeting — this trap — might be the end of it all.
By Mehmood Niaz7 months ago in Fiction
Hearts against the Storm
The sun had barely risen over the horizon when I opened my eyes in Hamza’s small apartment. The air was still, heavy with tension. Alya lay beside me on the mattress, curled up, clutching the shawl Hamza had given her the night before. I could see the bruise on her arm — Azeel’s mark. My blood boiled at the sight.
By Mehmood Niaz7 months ago in Fiction
Hearts against the Storm
The SUV disappeared into the dust of the road before I could even take a step. I stood there frozen, the world spinning around me. Alya had been crying. Her eyes had locked with mine. She wanted me to stop him. To save her. But I was too slow.
By Mehmood Niaz7 months ago in Fiction
