Fantasy
Lines of death.. AI-Generated.
It was a rainy Thursday when Haruto found it. The sky hung heavy and gray, the streets smelled of wet asphalt, and his shoes squelched with every step. On a park bench, half-hidden under a soaked newspaper, lay a black notebook. No title, nothing marking it as special, but something about it drew him in. He picked it up, turning it over in his hands, noticing the weight. He opened it and found blank pages except for a first page that contained rules. Rules that made little sense, at first, about writing names and consequences.
By William Ebden.2 months ago in Fiction
The Silence on Hawthorne Street.. AI-Generated.
It was the kind of evening that made people lock their doors a little tighter. Rain had been falling steadily since morning, slicking the streets and coating the sidewalks in a reflective sheen. James Whitaker pulled his coat tighter around his shoulders and walked slowly down Hawthorne Street, the collar brushing the back of his neck. His footsteps echoed in the otherwise empty street, the sound swallowed almost instantly by the rhythm of raindrops hitting the pavement.
By William Ebden.2 months ago in Fiction
The Crimson Horizon.. AI-Generated.
The wind tore at the sails, snapping them sharply, and the salt stung James Calder’s face as he leaned over the railing of the Sea Serpent. The waves rose and fell like restless giants, each one threatening to toss the ship into chaos. He tightened his grip and squinted at the horizon. Somewhere out there, hidden among the fog and endless water, lay the treasure that had driven men mad for centuries.
By William Ebden.2 months ago in Fiction
Shadows on Ashwood Lane.. AI-Generated.
Detective Jonathan Hale parked his car at the edge of the cobblestone lane, the soft hum of the streetlamps reflecting off the wet asphalt. Rain had fallen intermittently, leaving puddles that shimmered under the dim lights. The old Miller estate loomed ahead, its windows dark and shuttered, yet the faint glow of police lanterns flickered through cracks in the boards. The house had been abandoned for years, its reputation whispered about in town, and now it had become a crime scene.
By William Ebden.2 months ago in Fiction
The Clockmaker’s Promise
M Mehran Everyone in the quiet town of Eldenbrook knew Elias Thorn, the old clockmaker whose shop stood at the corner of Willow Street. The windows were always fogged with dust and time, and the shelves were filled with clocks—grandfather clocks, pocket watches, delicate sand timers, and curious contraptions no one had names for.
By Muhammad Mehran2 months ago in Fiction
The Lantern Maker of Lyria
M Mehran Lyria was a town that did not sleep. Even at midnight, its narrow cobblestone streets glowed with strings of paper lanterns—blue for peace, yellow for hope, white for healing, and red for courage. But the most beautiful lanterns, the ones people whispered about, came from the workshop at the very edge of the riverbank, where an old woman named Sera lived.
By Muhammad Mehran2 months ago in Fiction
The Beach Woman
Many years ago the world was divided in two; the beach people and the city people. The beach people kept to themselves and respected the Gods and balance of nature. The city people were modern and had refused to respect the balance of nature and had evolved into selfish beings that only cared about what they could take and use for themselves. The beach people and the city people did not align so they agreed to never cross paths until—The Beach Woman.
By Sincerely, Selaiha 2 months ago in Fiction
A Reimagining of Imagination
Just imagine if we packed up all of the stories which long ago were written by the dreamers of tomorrow, whose imaginations opened the doors of wonder for future generations...and grudgingly locked them away in a great big forgotten room. The key hung in a dark and musty attic, time forgetting that the key and stories ever existed.
By Antoni De'Leon2 months ago in Fiction
