Historical

The Cinder’s Weight
The hearth has stopped its singing.white-ribbed and glowing with a soft, pulsing ache. I am watching the last flame— a tiny, blue-tongued ghost licking the underside of a charred knot. It is fragile, a translucent ribbon fraying against the weight of the coming dark. There is a specific silence that lives here For hours, it was a roar of gold and defiance, consuming the dry cedar of our history, the splinters of every word we ever threw into the heat to keep the room alive. But the wood is spent now. The logs have collapsed into a skeletal geography,
By Awa Nyassi27 days ago in Fiction
Echoes Beneath the Waves:. AI-Generated.
The night was calm, the sea stretching endlessly under a sky scattered with stars. Passengers aboard the RMS Titanic believed they were sailing on a miracle of modern engineering, a ship so vast and luxurious that it was called “unsinkable.” Yet beneath the glittering chandeliers and polished brass, fate was already writing its cruel script.
By The Writer...A_Awan28 days ago in Fiction
THE ARCHITECTURE OF DARK: RITUAL WINTER
The world doe not die in winter, simply holds its breath. Where I live, the transition isn't a gradual slide, but a sharp snap. One morning, you wake up and the air has changed. It no longer smells of damp earth and rotting leaves; it smells of nothing at all. It is a clean, sterile cold that reaches into your lungs and reminds you that you are made of water and warmth—two things the frost wants to take back.
By Awa Nyassi28 days ago in Fiction
The Taj Mahal
The Taj Mahal I did not expect it to feel so quiet. Not silent, just calm in a way that made my chest slow down without asking. The Taj Mahal stood there as if it had been waiting, not for crowds or cameras, but for someone willing to look beyond the shine. White marble catching the light, not showing off, simply being present. I realised then this place was not built to impress the world. It was built to hold a feeling that refused to disappear.
By Marie381Uk 29 days ago in Fiction
The Final Entry: Arthur St. Clair’s Sacrifice
Arthur St Clair had always believed in maps. As a former Fellow of the Royal Geographical Society and, secretly, a senior cartographer, he had spent his life charting the world’s anomalies, ensuring the line between fact and folklore remained taut and unbroken. But the map he stared at now was failing him. It was a fragment of parchment tucked into his pocket, showing a single, faint, circular clearing near Oxford labelled only: The Rabbit Hole.
By DARK TALE CO. 29 days ago in Fiction
Winter Series 2025 - The Longest Night We Shared (Part I)
Winter does not arrive loudly. It enters quietly, slipping between conversations, dimming the edges of the world, asking us to slow down even when we resist. The longest night of the year - Solstice - is not only an astronomical event - it is an emotional threshold. A moment when darkness lingers long enough to make us listen.
By José Juan Gutierrez 30 days ago in Fiction
Life Lessons from Panchatantra Stories
Most of us grew up reading Aesop’s fables, but you may or may not have heard of the Panchatantra, a collection of ancient Indian stories. I learned the five tantras of the Panchatantra are: Mitra-bheda (The Loss of Friends), Mitra-lābha (The Gaining of Friends), Kākolūkīyam (War and Peace), Labdhapraṇāśam (Loss of Gains), and Aparīkṣitakārakam (Ill-considered Actions).
By Seema Patel30 days ago in Fiction
Akatsuki Members as War Justifications
The beauty of anime is really in the details, to some it might just seem as cartoons but for the open minds, there is so much hidden in the details. Here is an interesting twist in the popular anime Naruto you might have missed, for those who might not know the Akatsuki were the main villain group the heroes were fighting against and throughout the series they had to take them down one after the other. The writer of this show didn’t just create a villain group made up of thugs out for violence, he put much more thought into their character than you might have realized.
By real Jemaabout a month ago in Fiction
Roots and branches
My roots formed in uncelebrated places — In kitchens heavy with silence, In prayers said without witnesses, In hands that learned endurance Before they ever learned rest. They grew quietly, gripping soil That knew both hunger and hope, Teaching me early that survival Is a kind of wisdom.
By Awa Nyassiabout a month ago in Fiction
One Cigarette, One Memory
Sometimes, one cigarette is not just smoke. It is a memory, a face, a voice that never fully left. You take one deep puff, and suddenly she appears in your mind.
By Salman Writesabout a month ago in Fiction
The White Cliff and the Swift Dove
June 1942 · London The air-raid sirens tore through the London dawn. James Miller was in the vaulted basement of the British Museum, gently wiping the lens of a damaged theodolite. Three months into the Blitz, he had grown accustomed to the distant thunder; the steadiness of his hands had become a quiet form of defiance.
By Léo Youngabout a month ago in Fiction
Museum Obscura
There are museums that chronicle history, galleries that celebrate art, and storied vaults that guard the world's long-forgotten treasures. But beyond any map's edge, beyond an abandoned rail line and a stubborn curtain of fog, lies another kind of place altogether-the Museum Obscura.
By Muhammad Shahed anwerabout a month ago in Fiction