Fan Fiction
The Christmas I Almost Forgot. AI-Generated.
I used to love Christmas. When I was a kid, it meant sugar cookies shaped like stars, my mother’s off-key carols, and Dad pretending the tree lights only worked when we all yelled “magic” together. Those were the days when Christmas filled our small house with warmth — the kind that had nothing to do with the fireplace. But this year was different. It was my first Christmas since moving out on my own, and honestly, I wasn’t feeling it. Work had been brutal, my bills were stacked like snowdrifts on the kitchen counter, and I hadn’t even bothered to put up a tree. The only light in my apartment came from the flicker of my laptop screen. The world outside glowed with holiday spirit — wreaths on every door, families walking arm in arm through the snow — but inside, I felt empty. On Christmas Eve, I told myself I didn’t mind spending the night alone. I heated a microwave dinner, wrapped myself in a blanket, and tried to convince my heart that this quiet was peace. But around nine o’clock, there was a knock at my door. When I opened it, I saw Mrs. Harris — my elderly neighbor from down the hall. She stood there in her red coat, holding a tray covered in foil, her white hair peeking out from under a knitted hat. “Merry Christmas, dear,” she said, her breath puffing small clouds in the cold hallway. “I baked too much again.” I blinked, caught between surprise and guilt. “Oh, you didn’t have to—” “Nonsense,” she said, pressing the tray into my hands. “No one should be alone on Christmas Eve. Come have cocoa with me.” I wanted to decline. I was tired, and truthfully, I’d forgotten how to make small talk. But something in her eyes — kind, insistent, warm — made me nod. Her apartment smelled like cinnamon and pine. A small artificial tree blinked from the corner, every branch hung with mismatched ornaments — some handmade, some cracked, all loved. We sat at her table drinking cocoa so sweet it made my teeth ache. She told me about her late husband, about the Christmas they spent stranded in a snowstorm with nothing but canned beans and laughter. She spoke of years when the house had been full of family, and others when it was just her and a radio playing Bing Crosby. “I used to hate the quiet,” she admitted. “Until I realized the quiet makes room for remembering.” I didn’t know what to say, so I listened. Somewhere between her stories, I started to feel something shift — the faint stirring of the Christmas spirit I thought I’d lost. When I got back to my apartment, I set her tray on the counter and noticed she’d tucked a note under the cookies. It read: “Christmas doesn’t live in decorations or gifts. It lives in kindness shared.” I stared at those words for a long time. Then I looked around my apartment — the empty space, the undecorated walls, the silence that no longer felt peaceful but hollow. Without really thinking, I pulled an old box from the closet — the one my mom had packed when I moved out. Inside were a few ornaments, a tiny string of lights, and a small ceramic angel my dad had given me the year before he passed away. I plugged in the lights. The glow was faint, uneven — but it was something. The next morning, Christmas Day, I knocked on Mrs. Harris’s door. She answered in a festive sweater covered in reindeer. “Merry Christmas,” I said, holding up a small bag. Inside were two mugs and a loaf of banana bread I’d managed to bake from a mix I found in the back of my cupboard. “Breakfast?” Her eyes lit up. “Only if you promise to stay awhile.” We spent that morning drinking coffee and laughing over old stories. She told me about her grandchildren; I told her about how my dad used to pretend Santa got stuck in the chimney every year just so we’d leave extra cookies. For the first time in a long while, I felt connected — not to the holiday, but to the people who make it matter. Now, every year since, I make a point to knock on someone’s door. Sometimes it’s a neighbor, sometimes a coworker who can’t make it home. I bring cookies, cocoa, or just conversation. Because Mrs. Harris was right. Christmas doesn’t live in the gifts or glittering trees. It lives in the small, ordinary moments when we decide to show up for someone else. That’s the kind of magic my father used to talk about — the kind that only works when you believe enough to share it. And now, I always do.
By Muhammad umair17 days ago in Fiction
đź“ş The Glow That Followed Me Home
The television looked like a miracle under store lights. It stood there, floating on a wall of black glass, colors spilling out like fireworks. Oceans glimmered. Faces looked carved from light. Every demo loop felt cinematic, like the future had arrived early and decided to hang out near the soundbars.
By Karl Jackson17 days ago in Fiction
Swimming in Icy Water. AI-Generated.
Stars: The Shining Lights of the Universe Stars are one of the most fascinating objects in the universe. They are huge balls of gas that shine brightly in the sky. From the tiny points of light we see at night to the massive stars studied by scientists, stars have amazed humans for thousands of years. In this article, we will explore what stars are, how they are born, how they live, and why they are important to life on Earth.
By Bilal Mohammadi17 days ago in Fiction
Behind the Wheel. AI-Generated.
The car was more than metal and leather; it was a moving space where two very different lives quietly met every day. For Rashid, the driver, it was his workplace, his shelter from the sun, and sometimes his only place of peace. For Mr. Kamran, the owner, it was a symbol of success, a vehicle that carried him between meetings, decisions, and a life that never seemed to slow down.
By Taslim Ullah17 days ago in Fiction
Haymitch's tale
Chapter 1 I wake up to cold drops of water landing on the indent of my right eye. I squeeze my eyes tighter shut and wipe it off with the back of my hand, after I do that I open my eyes to see the grey ceiling leaking again, I move my head to the right side of my pillow and roll onto my side so the water won’t hit me anymore, I can feel my brother’s head down at my feet, with his keens pressed against my back and his feet kicking me every now and then in between my shoulder blades, he crawled into my bed last night from the thunderstorm we got around midnight, he had squirmed around and kicked me in the shoulder blades a couple times for about an hour before he fell back asleep with his arms hugged around himself and his legs wrapped up into like a pretzel.
By Kathy Colbert17 days ago in Fiction
Santa Claus' Post-Hallmark Staycation
When Santa Claus entered his bedroom, he smiled. Jessica had fallen asleep in front of the television. His wife of centuries (his dimples appeared as he remembered that her white locks hid the crimson of her youth) had fallen asleep watching some Hallmark movie. He turned off the television as he turned towards their bed. As he hung up his coat, a plan began to coalesce, one that brought a suppressed chuckle. But first, sleep; he was crashing from the sugar high of the night's ride and was already beginning to slow.
By Jamais Jochim18 days ago in Fiction
The Silent Pulse. AI-Generated.
The heart monitor beside bed number seven never made a mistake. Its rhythm was calm, disciplined, almost perfect. Dr. Ayaan often paused there longer than necessary, staring at the green line that rose and fell with mechanical honesty. According to science, the man lying beneath the white sheets was fine. Yet Ibrahim’s silence told another story.
By Taslim Ullah18 days ago in Fiction
