Fan Fiction
Before You Delete This Message
The message sat unsent in her phone, glowing faintly in the dark. “Hey, it’s me. I just wanted to say I’m sorry…” Her thumb hovered over the send button, trembling. The cursor blinked like a heartbeat. She stared at the screen, thinking of everything she could have said, everything she should have said before it all fell apart.
By Muhammad Kashif 2 months ago in Fiction
The Man by the Bridge
The morning it all began was ordinary in that half-hearted, fog-draped way that only a Tuesday could be. The streets still wore last night’s rain, slick and glimmering under pale sunlight. Cars whispered by. Pigeons strutted like they owned the sidewalks. And somewhere between a yawning coffee shop and the river bridge, Nathan Reeves’ life quietly tilted toward something else entirely.
By Karl Jackson2 months ago in Fiction
A Glimpse of Heaven
I never expected to see heaven. Not in any way I could have imagined. Life had been a series of gray mornings and quiet disappointments, and I had long stopped believing in miracles. Yet, that day, when everything around me seemed ordinary, I caught a glimpse of something extraordinary.
By LUNA EDITH2 months ago in Fiction
The Longest Heatwave
It was the hottest day of the year, the kind of heat that made the asphalt shimmer and the horizon bend like a mirage. Cicadas screamed from the oak trees, and even the wind refused to move. The people of Willow Creek were used to southern summers, but this one felt angry — like the sun had a personal grudge against the town.
By Karl Jackson2 months ago in Fiction
The Pumpkin Spice Protest
The first leaf of autumn hadn't even hit the pavement before the world went mad. Pumpkin spice lattes, pumpkin spice candles, pumpkin spice dog treats. To Agatha, owner of The Crusty Loaf bakery, it was an assault on the very dignity of the season. Autumn was for robust sourdough, for apple-cinnamon scones with real diced apple, for hearty rye breads. It was not, she declared to her empty shop, for "flavoring perfectly good coffee with what tastes like a candle shop fire."
By Habibullah2 months ago in Fiction
The Smoke That Whispers Back
No one in Riven Hollow talks about the fire anymore. They rebuilt, repainted, pretended. The smell of smoke still lingers when the wind comes down from the ridge, but folks just say it’s pine sap or woodstoves. They don’t mention the other smell that rides with it — something sweet and wrong, like burned sugar and blood.
By Karl Jackson3 months ago in Fiction
The House That Remembers Me
The first time I saw the house, it wasn’t really there. I mean, it was there—white porch, cracked shutters, those big oaks that lean like tired old guards—but it felt like a memory pretending to be solid. Like déjà vu wearing fresh paint.
By Karl Jackson3 months ago in Fiction
The Memory Engineer
No one ever came to the Memory Engineer to remember. They came to forget. And that was the part that broke him most. Elias Dorne worked in a workshop that didn’t look like the future, though it lived in one. It was small, tucked between glass towers that hummed with drones and advertisements. His space smelled of oil, dust, and static electricity. The kind of smell old dreams might have if they could decay.
By sunaam khan3 months ago in Fiction
Every Mirror Shows A Different Universe Waiting
I once believed a mirror only showed one thing: my reflection. I thought it only showed my present self, the version of me that already exists. But as I grew older, as life changed me, as I began to understand how much potential lives inside a human soul, I realized something deeper.
By LUNA EDITH3 months ago in Fiction
