Fantasy

The Last Human
The coffee maker still worked. That was something. Lorna stood in the kitchen of a house that wasn't hers—hadn't been anyone's for three years now—and watched the dark liquid drip into a chipped mug. Outside, vines crawled up the sides of skyscrapers. A deer grazed in what used to be Times Square. The planet was healing, they would have said, back when there was a "they."
By Parsley Rose 4 months ago in Fiction
The Apparition of Recognition. AI-Generated.
The gilded cage of her existence, though adorned with smiles and nods, had long been transmuted into a prison. Each year refined the artifice, polished the sepulchre, until no trace of her true self was permitted to emerge. The wound—that wound inflicted by that man—bled unseen, festering in silence, its venom consuming marrow, thought, and spirit alike.
By Carolyn Patton4 months ago in Fiction
The Devils in Heaven
It is usually thought that when good children die they go to heaven and become angels. But if anyone imagines that they live there with nothing to do but fly around, and play hide-and-seek in the clouds, he is very much mistaken. The angel children have to go to school every day like the boys and girls on earth, three hours in the forenoon and two hours in the afternoon. They write with gold pencils on silver slates, and instead of the A B C books, they have story books with all sorts of gay-colored pictures. They do not study geography, for a knowledge of the earth would be of no use in heaven, nor do they learn the long and terrible multiplication table, because they live in Eternity. The school teacher is Doctor Faust. He was a magistrate on earth, but on account of certain affairs that caused him a good deal of trouble and were very much talked about, he was required to teach school for three thousand years before he could have a vacation. On Wednesday and Saturday afternoon there is no school, and the children are permitted to play by themselves in the Milky Way; but on Sunday, which is the grand holiday, they can go outside of heaven and play in the big meadow. There they enjoy themselves more than all the rest of the week put together. The meadow is not green but blue, and thousands and tens of thousands of silver and golden flowers are all aglow with light and men call them stars. In the afternoon of the great holiday, St. Peter takes care of the children, while Dr Faust rests and recuperates from his labours during school hours. St. Peter, who is always on guard at the gate of heaven, sees that there is no boisterous playing, and no running away or flying off too far; if he discovers any straying or wandering, he at once blows on his golden whistle the call to “come back.”
By Alpha4 months ago in Fiction
Liana and Grace
Liana and Grace were as different as dusk and dawn. If one favored deep blue, the other lived in soft gold. Both were resolute women—warm, strong, and unyielding. Liana occupied the upper floor of a quiet brownstone on Willow Street, in the small neighborhood of Oakridge, Chicago. Grace lived on the level below—between the ground and the middle of the house.
By Atiqbuddy4 months ago in Fiction
The Library at the End of the World
The key doesn’t fit but the door opens anyway. It sighs through its hinges like it’s been waiting a long time. Dust hangs in the still air, soft as ash, turning gold where the light finds it. The sun looks wrong here, too tired to be real. The glow feels like an old photograph that’s been fading for years on a windowsill no one looks at anymore.
By Fatal Serendipity4 months ago in Fiction
Darkmoor's Shadow
She knew she was much too old to be listening in at keyholes. And she knew she was much too old to be trying to peer through them either. It was one thing to be caught eavesdropping, it was quite another to be caught so obviously. However, Alina Darkmoor couldn’t tear herself away.
By M. A. Mehan 4 months ago in Fiction
Fate. Top Story - October 2025.
Despite seeing nearly five hundred years on its dusty dais, the meticulously crafted copy of Allgerion’s Catechism—the prophecy within foretelling that the first and only child of the seventh son of Avangarde and the third daughter of Mah’reel would usher forth the salvation of their world—was in a remarkable state of preservation.
By Matthew J. Fromm4 months ago in Fiction
The Double Echo of the Douglas
The Pivot: 03:07 A.M. The city slept beneath a heavy blanket of November. Alexandru leaned over his desk, surrounded by sketches, old books, and the faint hum of his computer. He was a young man of 28, with tired eyes but a feverish spark of genius. The object of his passion, his five-year obsession, was The Architect’s Hourglass—an urban legend among those passionate about space and time theory, which claimed to hold the key not only to perfect perspective but also to the understanding of all choices, made or unmade.Alexandru’s project, a predictive modeling algorithm for urban density, was ready. In six minutes, he was due to submit the application to a prestigious global competition that could change his life, offering him unlimited funding for research.The phone, resting on the edge of the desk, vibrated. A call from an unknown number, at 03:07.Alexandru looked up. Six minutes. If he answered, he would break his absolute state of flow, risking the loss of concentration on the final details. If he ignored it, he would miss a potential essential contact.
By alin butuc4 months ago in Fiction
The Torenza Passport Mystery: Real Nation, Fake Story, or a Digital Illusion?
In early October 2025, the digital world found itself gripped by a story so strange, so seemingly impossible, that it blurred the line between reality and imagination. A short video surfaced on TikTok, showing what appeared to be an ordinary scene at New York’s John F. Kennedy International Airport. Yet, within seconds, viewers realized there was nothing ordinary about it. The woman at the center of the frame, calmly standing at the immigration counter, handed over her passport to an officer. The cover bore a single word that would ignite a global firestorm of speculation — “Torenza.”
By Wellova 4 months ago in Fiction
The unexpected.
The unexpected. Ending of a peaceful evening It had been a pleasantly spent evening, alone at last, no demands for attention, no call to be a servant dispensing an endless supply of cocktails. The two dogs lay in front of the fire, peacefulness dominated every aspect of my spirit and body, even my usually overactive mind was still. The dogs were, as usual, the first indication of disturbance to our tranquillity, they both pricked up ears and eased themselves onto all 4 paws. Neither barked but both were looking towards the door to our garden. I thought it may be an over inquisitive fox getting too close to the glass, but then the silence seemed to thicken. There was no noise, in fact it was a sort of super silence, as if any noise would be swallowed up and killed. A strange atmosphere invaded our evening, and my world was never to be the same ever again.
By Peter Rose4 months ago in Fiction
The Mirror That Spoke
When I moved into the old house on Willow Street, I wasn’t looking for a mystery. I just wanted peace — somewhere quiet enough to forget the city, the noise, and my ex-fiancé’s shadow that still lingered in my apartment walls.
By Malaika Piolet4 months ago in Fiction
The Walking Dude
Author’s preface: Though I like to give Stephen King a hard time, see here for a good example, generally speaking I am a fan. I happen to think the Dark Tower could have been the greatest horror/fantasy series of all time if not for the disastrous Susan Delgado and the most cliched Deus Ex Machina ending of all time. Yes, I get it, time is a circle, everything happens over and over. That was clever series ending the first few times someone thought of it, but after ten thousand other examples it just looks lazy. Sort of like, I couldn’t think of anything better so here you go. Almost makes me wish he would have gone the George Martin route and just not ended it. The Stand is another one of my favorites and though it is far from perfect either, as a microbiologist of course I was gonna be favorably disposed to the main plot device and even after so many books, movies, and tv shows, have done the super virus thing to death, King’s version of a slowly falling to pieces world still resonates with me as one of the best, if not the best description of what such a thing would actually feel like to live or die through. This story is a sort of tribute to one of the main characters from that book and other Stephen King stories, the mysterious walking dude. I don’t find him a particularly compelling bad guy, wearing jeans and a jean jacket is about the least scary thing one can do, unless one is trying to frighten the fashion police. Walking is also one of the least intimidating or evil modes of transport, other than perhaps taking ubers everywhere, but I do find him interesting for other reasons. I have also wondered what it would be like to meet him, or a slightly altered version of him in my own world.
By Everyday Junglist4 months ago in Fiction