Microfiction
What Remains of the Day
Before I knew about what remains of the day, I could hear the whistling of the forests’ songs linger; the presence of what was once a society now evanesced along the lapless hills before becoming a memory. My ears cringe with fear as the ringing blurs deep inside that memory, like a flashback, it eclipses my singeing flesh, raw with pink-white palette melting and contorting. I feel the fine blades of grass that used to dance with flurry, now choked in broken, arid earth. My soles sink, bringing up colorful bits beneath the soil. Just past, I watch the crooked streams flow with a prismatic film, left behind by the coughing plant upstream; its trails of smoke escape from the crimson high towers afar, away from the people, but unavoidable to the pleasant, pedestrian life that rummages through the crumpled leaves, or that which drinks from the stream.
By Thomas Bryant2 months ago in Fiction
The Room Within a Room
The house itself was one of those long ago forgotten mansions that lay empty for at least a dozen years and reminded Henry of something akin to one of those creepy old houses they used in those old horror movies from the 60's where some old caretaker who should have died years ago still resides.
By Timothy E Jones2 months ago in Fiction
The Cozy-Tok Tyrant
The mission was “Cozy Core Autumn.” Elara had spent three hundred dollars and six hours building the perfect set in the corner of her apartment. A chunky knit blanket, artfully draped. A vintage copy of Jane Eyre. A ceramic mug from a local potter, filled with a cinnamon-dusted latte that had taken four tries to foam correctly. Three strategically placed pumpkin spice candles, because the algorithm loved odd numbers.
By Habibullah2 months ago in Fiction
The Duelist. Top Story - November 2025.
The rays of a dying red sun flashed against the onrushing blade. The grey beards say the key to dueling lies in size, speed, reach, righteous fury, whatever the person in front of them pays them to say. Matteo knew better than any it was none of these and had an undefeated record on these sands to prove it.
By Matthew J. Fromm2 months ago in Fiction
The Boy Who Spoke to Shadows. AI-Generated.
The Boy Who Spoke to Shadows Rayan was eight when he first noticed the extra shadow. It appeared on a quiet November night — the kind where the cold crept under doors, and the moon shone bright enough to make the whole room glow silver. He had woken from a dream he couldn’t remember, his heart beating too fast, his throat too dry.
By shakir hamid2 months ago in Fiction
The Library That Remembered Her. AI-Generated.
The Library That Remembered Her Arman had not planned to walk that way. He never did. The old district near the abandoned harbor was a place he avoided — every street carried the faint echo of her laughter. But that night, the wind felt oddly familiar, almost like someone was guiding him by the sleeve. Before he could realize where his feet were leading, he was standing in front of a building he had never seen before.
By shakir hamid2 months ago in Fiction
The Weaver's Truth
In a quiet corner of the city, tucked between a bakery and a bookshop, was Elara’s tailor shop, “The Mended Seam.” Its true treasure wasn't on display. It was a threadbare tailcoat of no particular color, hanging on a brass hook in the back, known only to those who were truly lost. Elara called it the Weaver’s Coat.
By Habibullah2 months ago in Fiction
