Mystery
Day 3: Gossip in the Religious Routine. Content Warning.
I can only compare the 02:19 wake-up call to a boot camp built right into your childhood treehouse. Having a tank's echo was the real blistering fire finger poker to my headache. Bunked near Ron, I followed him toward the howling echo octaves bolstering of a dying bat squeal out of the bellend that rang deeper and lower the closer you were by the inch. Their solution to this explains the why on the journaling exercise, demented spirits or not, it’s smarter to have pen and paper in this damp, hovering humidity cesspit of body odors before the raid.
By Willem Indigo2 months ago in Fiction
What Will Happen To Our Earth
What Will Happen To Our Earth I often sit by the window and wonder what this world will look like when I am old. The sky never feels the same anymore. Some days it has a tired colour, as if it has been awake for too many years without a proper rest. I watch the clouds move and they seem slower than they used to be. It is strange how the earth can feel alive and unwell at the same time. I think we feel it too. Maybe we always have.
By Marie381Uk 2 months ago in Fiction
Echoes of a Ghost
An aspiring and reclusive physicist, following in his late father's footsteps, Ringo was delving deep into his latest creation. He hadn't realised quite how long he'd not seen the sun, or breathed fresh air, this experiment of his had been messing with his interpretation of time.
By Liam Storm2 months ago in Fiction
The Clockmaker’s Daughter
When the first scream of a newborn echoed through the small town of Verden, every clock stopped. Grandfather clocks stopped in the middle of ticking. Wristwatches halted. Even the tower clock, famous for never stopping, not even during storms, went quiet. Its hands hung in the air, as if they were holding their breath.
By Lori A. A.2 months ago in Fiction
Letters to My 15-Year-Old Self
I never imagined I’d write a letter to someone I used to be, not the kind of letter that just says, “Hey, you’ll be okay.” No, this was meant to reach a version of me who barely understood the world, who carried fears like heavy stones in her chest. And yet, as I sat at the edge of the old wooden desk, pen trembling in my hand, the words poured out as if they were always waiting to be written.
By Wahdat Rauf2 months ago in Fiction
The Return of Covid in the UK
The Return of Covid in the UK I could feel it before anyone said a word. That quiet shift in the country, the same uneasy breath people took years ago when Covid first arrived. And now it is circling again in the UK, rising in numbers, slipping back into headlines, making its way through towns the way cold air moves through open doors.
By Marie381Uk 2 months ago in Fiction
Floor Between
I just used the elevator because my groceries were making noise and my knees were hurting. One watermelon, two bags, and the sixth floor gave me the appearance of having stolen a planet. Mailboxes with teeth, a corridor that smells like everyone's meal, and an elevator that acts like it was once a large hotel's favorite toy are just a few examples of how ancient the building is.
By Milan Milic2 months ago in Fiction
The Forgotten Secret Exhibit Room
Biology major Rene Penoy, fixed her strap, then placed the photographs on the desk, hearing the phone ring. Picking up the receiver, the feature school newspaper image hunter, welcomed the other voice, telling the curiosity seeker, where she currently provided talented services, obtaining course financial aid credit as compensation.
By Marc OBrien2 months ago in Fiction
The Weight of the Orchard
Elara didn’t believe in magic. She believed in deeds, in ledgers, and in the stubborn, overgrown apple orchard she had just inherited from a reclusive great-uncle. The house was a time capsule, the barn a leaning monument to neglect. But it was the land that called to her, a fresh start after her life in the city had turned to dust.
By Habibullah2 months ago in Fiction
