Love
Five for Five?
1. Patricia and the schoolyard: I first saw her at Our Lady of Perpetual Agony when we were both about begin Grade One. Ms. Pappercock was a kind lady, and she looked upon me with some favour when she saw how well I could keep my handwriting within the lines of the notebooks she handed out. And that might have been the reason why she put Patricia next to me in the classroom after the first month passed. A lot of people thought this was odd, but I remembered that she organized the class according to the grades we received. Patricia and I (I mean, “me”) were both near the front of the class. Not quite Straight-A Sweeties – Ms. P.’s course – but pretty close. But the year was long, and there was a lot we could do to get those front seats.
By Kendall Defoe 2 months ago in Fiction
Knew not confinement (Vignette ). Content Warning.
The word you might use to describe me would be: lesbian, a charting author, or something in between. I was drawn by the way she was moving on her feet, yet I knew that alone did not set her apart. She pushed quick shifts like a half breath that never became steps. Her shoulders were perched high, covering her neck with a kind of guarded confidence. The candy coloured crystals held in the jewelleries, blinked a glint in the light; They finished the question her lips wouldn't speak.
By Caitlin Charlton2 months ago in Fiction
You Loved Me at the Wrong Time, and I Loved You When It Was Too Late
There are moments in life when timing feels like the most powerful—and the most ruthless—force in the universe. People talk about love as if it’s all about emotions: how deeply you feel, how much you care, how strongly your heart pulls you toward someone. But no one warns you about timing. No one tells you that two people can love each other with the same intensity, the same sincerity, the same ache… and still end up losing one another simply because they didn’t love each other at the same time.
By Muhammad Reyaz2 months ago in Fiction
Silent Room. Honorable Mention in The Forgotten Room Challenge.
All at once, the floorboards groaned their last. At first, this came as a relief, the scraping and scuffing of a cacophony of shoes and voices had been unrelenting. Peace, at last. No longer abused by the snotty-fingered child, or the slopping of tea and scrape of chair-legs. No longer marred and stained and used. Bones creaking, walls sighing, skirting boards never wiped. The occupants had been reckless, aging the room with crumbs, crayons and loud garish laughter. They had left dust and grime to congeal in hidden corners. Allowed a thin-armed spider to make a home in another. And the dog. It was perhaps the worst offender. Hair everywhere, nails scratching on oiled-wood, the drool, the dander, the wanton muck brought from outside.
By Rebecca Sunberry2 months ago in Fiction
The Forgotten Room
[By mazkaz] 1. The Old House on Willow Street Ayaan had not returned to Willow Street for almost twelve years. Life had carried him far away—toward college, work, and the noise of a busy city—but the silence of his childhood home continued to echo inside him. When his mother passed away, the house became a shadow he didn’t want to face. And now that his father was gone too, the house waited for him like an unanswered letter.
By Muzzakir Khan2 months ago in Fiction
After the Walls Went Quiet
After the Walls Went Quiet By Adrianna Gass The last time anyone stepped into the room, the house still breathed. It had been years since soft slippers brushed across the floorboards, years since lavender perfume clung to the drapes, years since a gentle voice hummed through the wallpaper like a song only the walls understood. But the room kept everything. It held its silence like a fragile treasure. It waited. It never learned she was gone.
By Adrianna D Gass2 months ago in Fiction
The Argument of Elements
The Almanac of Greenhaven Farm didn’t just predict the weather; it held court with it. For generations, the Rowan family had followed its cryptic, poetic advice. Its pages, penned by long-gone hands, said things like, “Sow the south field when the willow weeps gold,” or “A quarrel is coming when the crows fly backwards.” The weather it described was less a system and more a living, temperamental entity.
By Habibullah2 months ago in Fiction
