Fable
🌙 “Grandma’s Last Petal”
---Story Begins I was eleven years old when my grandmother first showed me the flower. It lived in an old glass jar, the kind that used to hold honey years before I was born. The jar sat on the smallest shelf in her room — the one I wasn’t allowed to touch unless she was with me.
By Muhammad Kashif 2 months ago in Fiction
The Shadow Rooms of the Self
The spaces we avoid. That is the shadow self. This the space where archetypes hide and are stored upon a shelf. Memories locked behind closet doors, like a doll named Chuckie. We get to know our shadow selves, those of us are lucky.
By A.K. Treadwell 2 months ago in Fiction
THE LAST VOICE NOTE SHE LEFT ME
Her name was Ayla, and for three years, she had been the brightest part of my small, quiet life. We weren’t dating. We weren’t siblings. We were something in between—two broken kids who accidentally became each other’s lifelines.
By Muhammad Kashif 2 months ago in Fiction
The Ceasefire That Didn’t Hold
The Ceasefire That Didn’t Hold For three days, the border had been filled with fire, smoke, and fear. Then the ceasefire came — a thin thread of hope, fragile like glass. For the first time in seventy-two hours, the guns went quiet. Families returned from camps. Soldiers stepped back from their positions. Reporters lowered their cameras.
By Wings of Time 2 months ago in Fiction
Fishing at the Edge of the World
I was disappointed when I caught a star-tinged guppy at the edge of the Earth. A space whale, or at least something bigger than my hand, would have been nice to show my village. But that’s not how the day went, and looking back, I should have been thankful I didn’t die out there. I was young and naïve, thought I could do it all alone. Boy, was I wrong.
By Melodramatic Maladies of the Mystical Mind2 months ago in Fiction
When the Bones are Good
The door was heavier than I remembered, but the hinges were weak with rust. I leaned in, my body pressed up against the frame and shoved. I stumbled into the room clumsily, gripping the knob still so as not to crash down to the floor. There were tiles missing in the linoleum, and the white, floral white paper had taken on a dingy yellow stain.
By Theresa M Hochstine2 months ago in Fiction
