Fable
The Locket Under the Oak
The oak tree had always been a silent witness. Its leaves ruffled with tales that no one dared to hear, and its roots dug into the ground like ancient veins. It was simply "the haunted tree" at the woods' edge to the Willowbrook residents. But to 16-year-old Lila, it was a sanctuary—a place to escape her foster parents’ sharp words and the loneliness that gnawed at her bones.
By Md Johirul Islam10 months ago in Fiction
Jack Blunderbuss and The Giant Weed-Stalk Conspiracy . Content Warning.
It was plain to see I wasn’t making any headway on the "Little Red Case." Too many dead ends, too much blood, and a town that had collectively agreed to shut the hell up. The whole place smelled like damp moss and unresolved trauma.
By L.K. Rolan10 months ago in Fiction
The Starlight Spoon
Once upon a time, in a town settled between velvet slopes and whispering woods, there lived a small young lady named Lila. She had a head full of twists, eyes like morning dew, and a heart that accepted enchantment. Lila adored making a difference her grandma, who was the town pastry specialist and made the fluffiest cloud-cakes and the wealthiest honey-buns in all the arrival.
By MD Tarek Aziz 10 months ago in Fiction
The Cross and the Claw: A Christian Child's Encounter with the Lion
A Tale of Faith, Courage, and an Unlikely Friendship in the Wild Once upon a time, in the heart of Africa, there was a small village surrounded by vast forests and endless golden plains. In that village lived a young Christian boy named Samuel, no older than ten. Samuel had always been a curious and brave child, raised by his widowed mother who taught him the values of kindness, faith, and the strength of prayer.
By Sajjad Khan10 months ago in Fiction
The Lion and the Wolf: A Tale of Two Kings
Born to Rule, Destined to Collide Long ago, before man carved roads through forests and cities through plains, the world belonged to beasts. Among them, two kings ruled distant lands—one under the blazing sun, the other beneath the silver moon.
By Rahmat ali 10 months ago in Fiction
The Dead 5
She was walking on before him so lightly and so erect that he longed to run after her noiselessly, catch her by the shoulders and say something foolish and affectionate into her ear. She seemed to him so frail that he longed to defend her against something and then to be alone with her. Moments of their secret life together burst like stars upon his memory. A heliotrope envelope was lying beside his breakfast-cup and he was caressing it with his hand. Birds were twittering in the ivy and the sunny web of the curtain was shimmering along the floor: he could not eat for happiness. They were standing on the crowded platform and he was placing a ticket inside the warm palm of her glove. He was standing with her in the cold, looking in through a grated window at a man making bottles in a roaring furnace. It was very cold. Her face, fragrant in the cold air, was quite close to his; and suddenly he called out to the man at the furnace: "Is the fire hot, sir?"
By Favour Nyimbili10 months ago in Fiction
The Dead 4. AI-Generated.
"A new generation is growing up in our midst, a generation actuated by new ideas and new principles. It is serious and enthusiastic for these new ideas and its enthusiasm, even when it is misdirected, is, I believe, in the main sincere. But we are living in a sceptical and, if I may use the phrase, a thought-tormented age: and sometimes I fear that this new generation, educated or hypereducated as it is, will lack those qualities of humanity, of hospitality, of kindly humour which belonged to an older day. Listening tonight to the names of all those great singers of the past it seemed to me, I must confess, that we were living in a less spacious age. Those days might, without exaggeration, be called spacious days: and if they are gone beyond recall let us hope, at least, that in gatherings such as this we shall still speak of them with pride and affection, still cherish in our hearts the memory of those dead and gone great ones whose fame the world will not willingly let die." "Hear, hear!" said Mr. Browne loudly.
By Favour Nyimbili10 months ago in Fiction
The Dead 3
A murmur in the room attracted his attention. Mr. Browne was advancing from the door, gallantly escorting Aunt Julia, who leaned upon his arm, smiling and hanging her head. An irregular musketry of applause escorted her also as far as the piano and then, as Mary Jane seated herself on the stool, and Aunt Julia, no longer smiling, half turned so as to pitch her voice fairly into the room, gradually ceased. Gabriel recognised the prelude. It was that of an old song of Aunt Julia's—Arrayed for the Bridal. Her voice, strong and clear in tone, attacked with great spirit the runs which embellish the air and though she sang very rapidly she did not miss even the smallest of the grace notes. To follow the voice, without looking at the singer's face, was to feel and share the excitement of swift and secure flight.
By Favour Nyimbili10 months ago in Fiction
