Fable
The Wandering Mind of Willow
In a quiet meadow surrounded by silver birch trees and soft rolling hills, there lived a rabbit named Willow. He was not like the other rabbits who spent their days hopping around collecting food or playing in the sun. Willow was different. He had a habit—some called it strange, others charming—of getting lost in his thoughts.
By Fazal Malik7 months ago in Fiction
Wings of Joy
In a meadow kissed by golden sunlight, nestled between whispering trees and a winding stream, lived a butterfly named Zara. She wasn't just any butterfly — her wings shimmered with the colors of sunrise and sunset, with flecks of silver and blue that sparkled when she flew. But it wasn’t just her beauty that made her special. Zara was known across the valley for something even more wonderful — she loved playing with flowers, all the time, every day.
By Fazal Malik7 months ago in Fiction
Wings of Kindness
Once upon a time, in a lush green forest nestled between tall mountains and flowing rivers, there lived a tiny ant named Aroo. Aroo was small even by ant standards, but his heart was full of curiosity and kindness. He spent his days collecting food, exploring tree roots, and greeting all the creatures he met along the way.
By Fazal Malik7 months ago in Fiction
The Royal Legacy of King Barkley
Once upon a time, in a faraway realm hidden beyond icy mountains and ancient forests, there reigned a noble king unlike any the world had seen. His name was King Barkley, a Golden Retriever of majestic stature and unmatched wisdom. With his gleaming golden coat, kind eyes, and a crown that shimmered in the sunlight, King Barkley ruled the Canine Kingdom of Arvendale, a land where dogs of all breeds lived in peace, honor, and unity.
By Fazal Malik7 months ago in Fiction
Love in a Library Aisle
The city of Prague had always been a haven for dreamers and thinkers. Its narrow cobbled streets and ancient buildings whispered stories from centuries past. But for Emma, a 29-year-old translator, the city’s charm often felt distant and muted. She found solace only in the old city library — a grand building with high ceilings and walls lined from floor to ceiling with books that smelled of history and secrets.
By Aman Ullah7 months ago in Fiction
It is a sticky situation: The Great Molasses flood in Boston
It is one of the most weird and at the same time tragic disasters of bizarre annals. On January 15 the same year, there occurred in the North End of Boston, a recorded event which stated as quite colorful on the surface of things, a 2.3 million gallons wave of molasses intimidated on the streets fatally claiming 21 lives, injuring 150 and destroying buildings in their line of passage.
By Saddique Khan7 months ago in Fiction
The Last Firefly Summer
The summer of 2075 was supposed to be my last in Willow Hollow. The town was dying, just like the rest of the world. The air was thick with dust, the rivers were dry, and the trees were more brown than green. They said the planet was giving up, that we’d burned it out with our machines and greed. I was sixteen, and all I knew was that I didn’t want to leave. Not yet. My name’s Lila. I lived in a crumbling house with my dad, who spent his days fixing broken tech for the few families still hanging on. The city folks had already left for the domes—giant glass bubbles where the air was clean and the food was fake. But Willow Hollow had something the domes didn’t: fireflies. Every summer, they’d light up the meadow behind our house, tiny stars dancing in the dark. Dad said they were a miracle, a sign the world wasn’t done fighting. I believed him. That summer, everything changed. It started with Rusty, the robot Dad built from spare parts. Rusty wasn’t like the shiny bots in the city. He was clunky, with mismatched arms and a screen for a face that flickered when he talked. Dad made him to help with chores, but I thought of him as my friend. He’d follow me to the meadow, his joints creaking, and ask questions like, “Why do humans like glowing bugs?” I’d laugh and say, “Because they’re hope, Rusty.” One night, the fireflies didn’t come. The meadow was dark, silent except for the hum of Rusty’s circuits. I sat on the grass, my stomach twisting. “They’re gone,” I whispered. Rusty tilted his head, his screen glowing faintly. “Data suggests environmental collapse. Fireflies require clean water, stable temperatures.” His voice was flat, but it felt like a punch. I didn’t want data. I wanted my fireflies. The next day, I heard the news. Willow Hollow was being evacuated. The last transport to the domes was coming in a week. Dad started packing, his hands shaking as he boxed up tools. “It’s safer there, Lila,” he said. But the domes felt like giving up. I wanted to fight, like the fireflies did. I snuck out to the meadow every night, hoping for a glow. Rusty came with me, scanning the grass with his sensors. “No biological activity,” he’d say, and I’d glare at him. “Stop being so smart,” I’d snap. But one night, he didn’t scan. He just sat beside me, his metal hand brushing the dirt. “Lila, why do you stay?” he asked. I didn’t have an answer, not really. “Because this is home,” I said finally. “Because I believe they’ll come back.” On the last night before the transport, I was desperate. I ran to the meadow, my sneakers kicking up dust. Rusty followed, his screen flickering. “Lila, probability of firefly return is 0.03%,” he said. I ignored him and dropped to my knees, digging through the dirt like I could find hope buried there. That’s when Rusty did something weird. He knelt beside me and pressed his hand to the ground. A soft hum came from his chest, and his circuits glowed brighter, pulsing like a heartbeat. Then I saw it—a tiny green spark in the grass. A firefly. Then another, and another, until the meadow was alive with light. Emerald, sapphire, amber—they danced around us, brighter than I’d ever seen. I laughed, tears stinging my eyes. “You did this?” I asked Rusty. His screen flickered, almost like a smile. “I accessed dormant nanobots in the soil. Programmed them to mimic firefly bioluminescence. For you.” I stared at him, this clunky robot who’d given me a miracle. “Why?” I whispered. He tilted his head. “Because you believe in hope. I calculated it is worth preserving.” For the first time, I hugged him, his metal cold against my cheek. The next morning, we boarded the transport. I carried a jar with a single firefly—not a real one, but one of Rusty’s nanobots, glowing softly. Dad didn’t ask questions. He just squeezed my hand. As the dome gates closed behind us, I looked back at Willow Hollow, a dusty speck under a purple sky. The fireflies were gone again, but I wasn’t afraid. I had Rusty, and I had hope. In the dome, I started telling stories. Not just about fireflies, but about the world we could rebuild. Kids listened, their eyes wide, and even the adults leaned in. Rusty sat with me, his screen glowing. “You are changing probability,” he said one day. I grinned. “Good.” That summer, I learned something. The world might break, but hope doesn’t. It’s in the stories we tell, the friends we keep, even the ones made of metal. It’s in the fireflies, real or not, that light up the dark. What’s your firefly? What keeps your hope alive? Tell me below.
By Muhammad Abuzar Badshah 7 months ago in Fiction
I Married a Ghost. Last Night, He Served Me Divorce Papers. AI-Generated.
The divorce papers appeared at 3:07 AM. One moment: empty pillow. Next moment: parchment thick as graveyard soil, smelling of bergamot and decay. Ink the color of dried blood spelled out *Silas Alistair Thorne v. Elara June Finch*. A wax seal pulsed with cold blue light.
By Wondermind7 months ago in Fiction
The Midnight Bargain: When My Brother's Voice Cracked a Decade of Silence. AI-Generated.
3:17 AM The phone’s vibration drilled into the silence like a bone saw. I fumbled blindly, squinting at the screen. The name flashing there—*Jake*—felt like a ghost punching me in the throat. Ten years. Three thousand six hundred fifty days of radio silence. And now this. 3 AM. The hour of emergencies and drunks.
By Wondermind7 months ago in Fiction
