Fable
The Drawing of My Life
When I was a child, I believed that pencils held magic. Not the kind of magic that turned frogs into princes or moved mountains—but the quiet kind. The kind that turned thoughts into pictures, emotions into shapes, and silence into color. I didn’t speak much as a kid. While other children chased each other on the playground or shouted answers in class, I sat in the corner of my own world, sketching stick figures and stars on the backs of my notebooks.
By Esther Sun9 months ago in Fiction
Love in Aisle Nine, Forever in the Parking Lot
It started with a flat tire and a cart full of groceries. I had just finished shopping at Walmart, running on little sleep and a lot of anxiety. Life wasn’t exactly kind that week—my car payment was overdue, my boss had cut my hours, and I was trying to figure out how to stretch $37 into a week’s worth of meals.
By Dr Gabriel 9 months ago in Fiction
The Silent Artist of the Alley
The alley was a forgotten seam in the city's bustling fabric. It wasn't the kind of place you'd linger, not with its overflowing bins, the perpetual scent of damp concrete, and the shadows that clung stubbornly even on the brightest days. Here, dreams often came to rust, and ambitions dissolved into the grime. Yet, amidst this forgotten corner, lived a man known only as Elias. He was the quietest soul in the loudest city, a man who saw what others overlooked, and heard what others dismissed. Elias was deaf, and he spoke only in the language of his hands.
By Mian Nazir Shah9 months ago in Fiction
Whispers of the Orchid Grove
In the heart of the ancient jungle where orchids glowed like lanterns and sunlight poured like golden rain, lived a young fox named Luma. She wasn’t the fastest in her litter, nor the bravest—but she was curious, more than any creature in her forest.
By ihsandanish9 months ago in Fiction
Energy
Johan reached out for a cheeky squeeze. Not to be confused with a squeaky cheese, by the way. Such as the one Martha had just trodden on, on her way back from Manson's bedroom. This caused a moment of panic, sure that Manson's little voice would pipe up from the nursery, or there would be the dreaded thud of little feet coming after her. Or a thin wail would gust from her 8own room where little Sinclaire was (for now at least) sleeping.
By L.C. Schäfer9 months ago in Fiction
In the Arms of the Night
The next morning, sunlight streamed through Mira’s window, casting warm patterns on the floor. Yet, despite the brightness of day, her mind kept drifting back to the night before — that profound quiet, the comforting darkness, the stars watching silently like ancient guardians.
By Esther Sun9 months ago in Fiction
The Peculiar Pet Pageant of Puddlebrook
The air in Puddlebrook wasn't just thick with anticipation; it was thick with the scent of damp dog, questionable birdseed, and enough nervous sweat to fill a small pond. It was the day of the annual Peculiar Pet Pageant, the town's most prestigious (and utterly ridiculous) event. The grand prize? The coveted Golden Leash trophy, a tarnished brass leash shaped vaguely like a sausage. And bragging rights, which in Puddlebrook, were far more valuable than gold. This year, the competition was particularly… spicy.
By Mian Nazir Shah9 months ago in Fiction
Strings of a Dream
In a small town nestled between golden fields and winding rivers, lived a boy named Ayaan. While most children of his age were obsessed with cricket, video games, or chasing kites across the rooftops, Ayaan had a different obsession—an old sitar that sat gathering dust in his grandfather’s storeroom.
By Dr Gabriel 9 months ago in Fiction
