Microfiction
Dear Natasha. Content Warning.
I found this letter in a box in our attic. Make of it what you will. Dear Natasha, My zestful one, It has been almost a year since I last set my browns on your beautiful pools of green and I still feel as pained to my very core as I did the day you walked out of my life. I know we had many ups and downs, but I still cannot connect the dots to really truly understand what actually went wrong. Was I a perfect man? No, I would never make such a ridiculous claim. If anything, I am always the first to point out my flaws, to a fault. The first time we met, if my memory serves me well, I introduced myself as the least successful person I knew. It made you laugh and I feel drew you to me. We did kiss at the end of that first date. So, I guess score me. The point is - I am an imperfect individual. But so, my dearest, darling, Tasha, are you. Remember the fight we had when you "accidentally" sold my most prized possession from my childhood, without so much of a mention to me. I still miss that Spice Girls Calender. It was signed, sealed and would have meant we had a wonderful honeymoon, not that we ever got to that stage anyway.
By Paul Stewart2 years ago in Fiction
Batman Logo: The Legendary Evolution
The Batman logo, famously recognized as the Bat-Signal, first graced the cover of Batman #1 in 1940. While its inaugural depiction resembled a full bat more than the iconic emblem known today, this marked the emergence of the Batman logo.
By amina boubakr2 years ago in Fiction
"The Lighthouse of Dreams"
Once upon a time, in a quiet coastal town named Harbor's Haven, there stood an old, weather-beaten lighthouse at the edge of the world. This lighthouse was more than just a beacon of light to guide ships safely to shore; it was a symbol of hope, dreams, and second chances.
By PAPITHA P.R2 years ago in Fiction
The Pain in Silence
The rain clattered down on the tin roof, rat-a-tat-tat. Like a deafening silence, echoing the void between them. The kettle boiled. But not like a modern kettle bubbling up with subtle satisfaction. This old, handmade cast iron kettle, once made with love, sat heavily on the gas. Visible cracks mark the surface through years of misuse and neglect. A symbol of their relationship, but unlike their love, the kettle rattled to a noisy climax. The pent-up energy bursts out of the well-formed spout with a piercing shrill that breaks the deathly silence.
By Simon George2 years ago in Fiction
Unspoken
Choking on words unspoken, they stood there in a staring contest. Not a childish one. No. One that only comes from having met a familiar stranger. The kind that makes you feel safe in the danger they bring to your life. You don’t remember who they are. Or rather, who they were. But you know their familiarity as soon as they’re near. Something all too clearly queer.
By Atomic Historian2 years ago in Fiction
