Fable

Start Again
Introduction How many times do we start again, and it is the same as last time but different? We go to sleep at night and wake up each morning, and often follow the same routines.
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred 8 months ago in Fiction
The Secret
In a world where everything is interconnected, some whispers remain hidden in the shadows. These whispers often speak of societies that operate in secrecy, their agendas obscured from the prying eyes of the public. Today, we delve into the intriguing tale of a secret group known as **The Veiled Collective**.
By Karl Jackson8 months ago in Fiction
The Horse and the Donkey
A Lesson in Sharing and Helping Others Once upon a time, on a long dusty road between two small villages, a horse and a donkey walked side by side.
By Mahayud Din8 months ago in Fiction
The Lion and the Clever Jackal
I. The Reign of the Mighty In the golden heart of an ancient savannah, beneath skies that burned with the fire of the setting sun, there ruled a lion named King Barafu. His name, whispered through the winds of the tall grasses, struck awe into the hearts of every creature. He was a lion of immense strength, sharp judgment, and an unchallenged legacy. His roars echoed across the plains like thunder, and none dared defy his authority.
By Mahayud Din8 months ago in Fiction
Time is Money 💰
In the city of Chronovale, time wasn’t just measured—it was currency. Every citizen wore a sleek, silver wristband that ticked down their life’s seconds, each tick a coin spent on survival. Rent, food, love—everything cost time. The wealthy hoarded years, their wristbands glowing with surplus, while the poor scrambled, their bands dimming toward zero. Elias Kane was one of the latter, a street artist whose wristband flickered at 3 days, 7 hours, and 42 minutes.
By TrueVocal8 months ago in Fiction
Her Smile Was the Last Clue
The Girl Who Smiled at Rain It all began in the quiet town of Willowbrook, where the rain fell almost every afternoon, and the streets smelled of old books and roses.
By Muhammad Hayat8 months ago in Fiction
The Room Was Locked from Inside… Yet She Was Gone
A Vanishing Act That Baffles All Logic It was supposed to be an ordinary night. Just another evening of laughter echoing through the halls of the cozy suburban home, a house where family challenges and daily vlogs captured a lifestyle many dreamed of. But when the morning came, something was terribly off. Her room, where she was last seen, was locked from the inside. No broken windows. No signs of struggle. No trace of a break-in. And yet, she was gone.
By olxia10 8 months ago in Fiction
The Book That Sings
In a world overflowing with books, very few have the rare ability to do more than tell a story. Some entertain, some inform, and some quietly change us. But once in a while, there comes a book that does something more extraordinary—it sings. Not with literal notes or lyrics, but with a melody woven from words that linger in the heart long after the final page has turned.
By Dipayan Biswas8 months ago in Fiction
The Serpent Queen
The river was known to run as though it had a mind of its own. It had to, in order to save itself. Poisonous black dust plumed overhead, settling atop the swift moving waters as the currents fought to go backwards against all odds, snagging whichever poor, unfortunate soul decided to jump into its tepid streams.
By K.H. Obergfoll8 months ago in Fiction
Theriocentricity
“Ahh Rupert, welcome! Welcome! Come in. Set that down.” Rupert did as he was commanded and set down the saucer adorned with a single glass of Port. He should have known–Lord Hood only ordered Port when he wanted to play the game. The study was stuffy, a poor imitation of a bygone era. Mahogany bookshelves lined the walls, almost certainly never opened, intermixed with mounted heads of wild lions and zebras, almost certainly killed by someone else.
By Matthew J. Fromm8 months ago in Fiction
The Keeper of Forgotten Colors
The world had forgotten color when Elara was a child, the Fade stealing hues like a thief in the night. Skies turned to ash, forests to charcoal, and eyes saw only gray. Paintings crumbled, flowers withered, and the word “blue” became a myth. Elders spoke of a time when rainbows arced and sunsets burned, but to Elara’s generation, it was folklore. Yet Elara, now twenty-three, was different. She remembered. In a crumbling lighthouse on a jagged cliff, she became the Keeper, weaving colors from memories in a world that had none.Each night, Elara climbed the lighthouse’s rusted spiral stairs, her hands stained with impossible shades. In a room of shattered mirrors, her loom—a relic of bone and wire—hummed with power. She wove blue from her mother’s shawl, its sapphire folds swaying as she sang lullabies. Red came from the apple she’d stolen at seven, its juice sharp on her tongue. Gold flared from sunsets she’d chased across cliffs, their warmth lingering in her chest. Every thread cost a memory, erased forever. Her mother’s voice faded, then the apple’s taste, then those sunsets’ glow. Elara gave them willingly. The world needed color more than she needed her past.Below, the town of Graysill scoffed. “Colors?” fishermen muttered, kicking gray pebbles. “Delusions.” But children left offerings at the lighthouse—pebbles smeared with charcoal, chalk, anything resembling hue. Elara collected them, her heart aching for their hope. One stormy night, a girl slipped inside. Kiv, ten years old, with slate-gray eyes, stared at Elara’s glowing threads. “You’re real,” she whispered. “Can you make green?”Elara’s breath caught. Green was her last untouched memory: her father’s laugh, fishing on a lake under emerald pines. “It costs me,” she said, voice like sea fog. Kiv stepped closer, her small hand brushing Elara’s. “Then let me help.”No one had offered before. Elara hesitated, then taught Kiv to weave—not with threads, but stories. Kiv spoke of a kite she’d flown, its tail a ghost of green in her mind. The loom sparked, green shimmering, but Kiv’s eyes stayed gray—she couldn’t see it. “Keep telling,” Elara urged. Kiv’s voice grew bold: meadows where she’d run, limes she’d tasted, a jade pendant her mother once wore. The green thread thickened, vibrant, alive, curling like vines in the air.Rumors spread. Children crept to the lighthouse, then adults, each carrying fragments—memories of crimson roses, violet storms, amber dawns.
By TrueVocal8 months ago in Fiction
My Fiance will Take our Baby and Marry His Ex. AI-Generated.
I’d been in a secret relationship with Slade Forsyth for three years when we found out I was pregnant. For the first time, I made him so happy he finally proposed to me.
By Margie J Drennon8 months ago in Fiction