Psychological
Doppelgänger
Bryan is bulleting down the road in the pitch dark when the man steps out in front of his car. Only one of his headlights is working, and by the time the figure, crossing from the opposite side, is lit up in its dull beam it is far too late. One moment he registers a face- wide eyes, gaping mouth, hair plastered to a sweat-slick forehead- and then there is the sickening, meaty thud as his mother's '99 Corolla slams directly into the body attached to that face and, still moving, rolls over something- an arm, a leg, Bryan isn't exactly sure- before it finally grinds to a stop under the insistent pressure of his foot on the brake. He shuts the car off, and all the light leaves the world around him. He hears nothing on the deserted, rural road, nothing but the slow ticking of the engine powering down.
By Raistlin Allen6 months ago in Fiction
Her Voice on the Wind
The wind was already rising when Eloise turned the key in the door for the first time in years. It stuck halfway, swollen from salt and neglect, but with a hard twist she forced it open. The house gave a small groan as if surprised by her return. Inside, the air smelled of lavender, old cedar, and something sharper—salt maybe, or time. She stepped over the threshold, her boots echoing on bare wood, and paused in the entry. Nothing had moved. And yet, everything had changed.
By Rick Allen6 months ago in Fiction
Man in Charge
Daniel was a man of few words. Even at age fifty-five, his body remained chiseled and in top shape. Years of military training and special operations service to his country had formed him into a disciplined, loyal, and forthright man and husband, sound in body and mind.
By Shirley Belk6 months ago in Fiction
These Things Happen
“Don’t wait up for me.” She discovers the note pinned to the corkboard next to the door in the kitchen. “What? How did this get here?” she wonders. Who got into her apartment to leave this note? She unpins the piece of torn notebook paper and puts it on the table. She takes off her coat and scarf to hang them on the hook on the wall. She sets her backpack on one of the two chairs and rubs her hands together to warm them up. The stormy wind whistles through the cracked open windows here in the kitchen and the one in her bedroom. She gets claustrophobic if these two windows are not cracked open, no matter how cold it is.
By Patricia Magdalena Redlin6 months ago in Fiction
Postcards from the End of the World
The news had been counting down for weeks. Forty-two days until the asteroid made landfall, the scientists said, give or take a few hours. People coped in their own ways—some fled inland, some held rooftop parties, some barricaded themselves in basements stocked with years of canned beans. I chose to do what I’d always done when life made no sense: pour myself a coffee, sit by the window, and watch the mailman shuffle down the street. It was on one of those mornings, with thirty-nine days left, that the first postcard arrived. The handwriting was hers.
By Musawir Shah6 months ago in Fiction
Waiting. Runner-Up in Leave the Light On Challenge. Content Warning.
6 pm Smoke swirls around my face, I inhale another nicotine-saturated breath. Dogs bark in the distance. Samara howls, as if re-calling her long-lost wolf heritage. Button joins in, higher pitched, the soprano to Sammy’s tenor. The shriek of a redtail quiets them. I picture them, noses in the air, searching olfactory clues, on the hunt. Sometimes they’ll bring me their spoils, a mangled rat or stunned bullfrog, carefully dropped. Other times they return victims: muzzles bloodied, oozing the sick-sweet stench of death.
By Cathy Schieffelin6 months ago in Fiction
Scared of the Dark. Content Warning.
Her eyes would just not close. The clock on the nightstand glowed with the reality that sleep was being wasted; minutes marched by so quickly; she would not get any of them back. Every noise formidably louder than the last. Pipes creaked. The large wall clock in the living room reverberated off the walls as each time the second hand advanced. The springs were wearing out. The echo was ungodly loud.
By Kimberly Deluca6 months ago in Fiction
Dining Out. Runner-Up in Leave the Light On Challenge.
I can remember the exact moment when I realised that my dad was a bad man. It's not a nice place to be at any time of life but as a young kid, it's the worst, I think, because you don't really have the analytical tools to deal with it, tools that, over time, you've gathered and honed with the experience of living. Then you can craft it, whatever it is - the disappointment, the betrayal, the fear, or all of these things combined - into something manageable, that you can look at, at least, and live with.
By Rachel Deeming6 months ago in Fiction
Porch Frights. Content Warning.
After eleven Momma has set a new rule, stay on the stoop even if I'm soon seventeen; she's in bed with just the grey light of late night TV floating across her half-open eyes. I promise her to 'keep it down' and kiss her on the top of her head. I get it: lots can happen these days, especially over the course of a night. Think about it. What do we do when we first wake at seven a.m.? Turn on the news or now a days, turn on our phones for the latest headlines. In the course of one night there are people arrested, car accidents, tsunamis, deaths by natural causes and yes, even murders.
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)6 months ago in Fiction
