Psychological
Whispers of Marianne . AI-Generated.
Shimmering against the railing, Marianne's ring was a match for the sun half-way arrested in a cloudless blue sky. Oliver Swenson blinked tired eyes and stirred half-thawed ice cubes in his bourbon while water lapped in iridescent strands of turquoise and sapphire before a green hill of trees and underbrush. An authentic generic Eden. Not a mile away thronged tourists clamoring for a spot of shade from the sun, but in the small lagoon, there was silence. Wall-enclosed by a citadel of jagged volcanic rock, it was untouched. Secret. A bridegroom's dream. The same as it had been all those distant years ago when they were young and foolish. Young and dumb is more like it. Still, they had done their best. Thirty-three years and three kids later the only constant was the island. Drowsy crests of waves lapped up onto the beach, washing the most delicate of shells out to sea. Seagulls cawed like Marianne's laughter overhead. No, this was then, not later. Later it was still. Too still. Heavy with the stillness of being completely alone on his platform.
By Dipnarayan bhagat 6 months ago in Fiction
I Am A Light And The Dark Is Afraid of Me
Nothing good ever happens in the dark, except sex. No, wait — sex is even better in the light. However, too many weird things happen in the dark — to me, anyway. Everything from stubbing my toe to falling backwards down a flight of stairs, so I always have many lights on in several areas of my house ever since the latter happened. Lights keep me safe.
By Star Love Grey6 months ago in Fiction
Balcony View
The balcony was perfect. The city sprawled in every direction, softened by the warm tint of late evening. Buildings rose like glass and steel sculptures, catching fire in the golden hour glow. From up here, the world was hushed, the noise of traffic pressed flat into a gentle hum, almost pleasant. It was the kind of view that made people pause, the kind of backdrop that belonged in glossy magazines or realtor ads: Luxury living, skyline included.
By Annie Edwards 6 months ago in Fiction
Blame Not the Father. Runner-Up in Leave the Light On Challenge. Content Warning.
Inside the Milan Dome June 5th, 2122 8:02pm Anselmo Bianchi was a tall man who stooped to fit inside the shadows of the powerful women in his life. He slipped into the dining room so silently that his appearance was as easily ignored as the servants slipping in and out with covered platters. Perhaps it was because the Bianchis of old had the sense to pivot from textiles to a clothing designer to an environsuit developer, but the family was matriarchal.
By Leigh Victoria Phan, MS, MFA6 months ago in Fiction
Belong To the Night
Belong to the Night D. A. Ratliff Restlessness evokes strange feelings in a person. There is a nagging little itch one is never able to scratch. An uneasiness as though something sinister lurked around the corner. Light from the city coming to life at night crept into the loft, casting shadows on the walls, as if the darkness was searching for me. That itch and unease had irritated me all day, and my fight-or-flight response triggered as I felt the night close in. I had to get out of the loft.
By D. A. Ratliff6 months ago in Fiction
The Light at Miller's Dock
The trail down to Miller’s Dock had narrowed over the years, overtaken in places by roots and brush. What once was a foot-worn path now felt more like a memory than a route. Calvin moved carefully, stepping over slick stones and ducking under branches. The lake wind stirred the treetops, but everything below held its breath, as if waiting.
By Rick Allen6 months ago in Fiction
