Holiday
Death or Love. Content Warning.
Under the burning twilight of a kingdom falling into chaos, a lone warrior named Ean strode through a scarred battlefield. His eyes, filled with fierce resolve, mirrored the raw intensity of his spirit—a spirit that had chosen the honorable death of fighting for a dream over the lingering pain of love.
By Edge Alexander8 months ago in Fiction
Juneteenth. Content Warning.
To me this is like Independence Day for people of color, and I do not mean to be racist. If I was around during the Civil War, I believe I would have been an abolitionist. Slavery was a bad idea, and no body should be enslaved to do others work no matter what kind of work. I know there were some White plantation owners (masters) that were good to their slaves, and they should be remembered even though slavery was an idea that they thought was right and yet wrong. Here is an acrostic that I think kind of explains 'Juneteenth'.
By Mark Graham8 months ago in Fiction
The Girl At Apartment 9 Ep.2 :The Motel & The Call
Eliza didn’t even look back as she wheeled her suitcase out of the building. Apartment 9 was no longer just a place—it was a breathing, watching thing. The hallway lights flickered behind her, one last time, as if it were waving goodbye. Or warning her.
By Gifty Korankye8 months ago in Fiction
A Goodbye letter from Austin
I stood at the edge of Lady Bird Lake, the fading sun casting a golden hue over the water, as if the city itself were trying to hold onto me just a little longer. Austin had always been more than a place on a map to me — it had been my compass, my chaos, my comfort. And now, I was saying goodbye.
By Dr Gabriel 8 months ago in Fiction
Lemonade Skies
The first thing Ava noticed when she stepped off the bus was the smell of lemons. Not strong, not artificial — just faint enough to feel real. The kind of scent that danced through the summer breeze and reminded her of freedom, even if she hadn’t felt it in a long time.
By Esther Sun8 months ago in Fiction
The Drawing of My Life
When I was a child, I believed that pencils held magic. Not the kind of magic that turned frogs into princes or moved mountains—but the quiet kind. The kind that turned thoughts into pictures, emotions into shapes, and silence into color. I didn’t speak much as a kid. While other children chased each other on the playground or shouted answers in class, I sat in the corner of my own world, sketching stick figures and stars on the backs of my notebooks.
By Esther Sun8 months ago in Fiction
The Bookstore Where Our Eyes First Spoke
The old bookstore on Elm Street was supposed to be torn down by spring. It smelled like dusty paper and warm cinnamon, with creaky wooden floors that whispered with every step. Leah had wandered in on a rainy Tuesday, hoping to kill time. She wasn’t expecting to find the last piece of her heart between the pages of a book—or in someone else’s eyes.
By The Waiting Tree8 months ago in Fiction
Memorial Day
So, another Memorial Day is upon us this month of May. It seems that we all seem to have fun on this first summer holiday. There are so many of us who plan some sort of family gathering that could mean barbecues of many kinds of picnic foods from the common hamburgers and hot dogs and potato salad and whatever seems to be of interest to share. There may be some who drink, but I hope they do wisely for this is a day to remember the fallen who gave their all to this country we love and live for.
By Mark Graham8 months ago in Fiction
