Psychological

The Clockmaker Who Stole Tomorrow
The village of Marrowford had always smelled faintly of smoke and rain, a place where the river moved slower than the rest of the world. Nestled at the end of its crooked main street stood Ellis Bramwell’s Clockworks—a narrow shop with dust-speckled windows and a hundred ticking hearts beating in wood, brass, and glass. The villagers came for repairs, but they always left speaking in whispers, for there was something peculiar about Mr. Bramwell.
By Hanifullah6 months ago in Fiction
The 27th Hour. AI-Generated.
Mara first noticed the 27th hour on a Tuesday. Not the Monday that came before it, or the Wednesday after. Tuesday, at exactly 12:59 a.m., when the second hand should have swept into tomorrow, the clock hesitated. The tick hung in the air like a held breath, and then — against all reason — the hands slid to 1:00 a.m., only… it wasn’t 1:00 a.m.
By Azmat Ali6 months ago in Fiction
Leave the Light On
Aurora: Her name means dawn — the first light breaking through darkness, relentless and inevitable. It’s an irony she wears like a secret weight, because the dawn is the one thing she’s always trying to outrun.
By Annie Edwards 6 months ago in Fiction
The Day My Grandfather Stopped Time
I always thought my grandfather was just… ordinary. Old, quiet, and a little forgetful. But one rainy afternoon, he showed me something I’ll never forget.
By Haileyesus6 months ago in Fiction
a late night confession
I sat listening to a recording of Vivaldi’s Seasons with Joshua Bell playing the lead violin when an owl outside my window interrupted my revery by hooting nature's midnight chimes. I had intended to write during the magic hours following the last stroke of twelve, but utterly transported by Joshua’s arpeggio’s during his performance of Winter, I wisely chose to not disturb the warmth stirring in my breast by attempting to capture my feelings with anything so pedestrian as mere words.
By John Cox6 months ago in Fiction
Shadows on the Edge of Tomorrow
By Nadeem Shah The rain had a way of softening the city’s edges. Buildings that normally looked sharp and unforgiving now blurred into a watercolor of gray and silver. Streetlights bled into the puddles, their glow stretching out in ripples with every raindrop that fell.
By Nadeem Shah 6 months ago in Fiction
Shadows on the Edge of Tomorrow
By Nadeem Shah The rain had a way of softening the city’s edges. Buildings that normally looked sharp and unforgiving now blurred into a watercolor of gray and silver. Streetlights bled into the puddles, their glow stretching out in ripples with every raindrop that fell.
By Nadeem Shah 6 months ago in Fiction
The Last Letter She Never Sent
By Nadeem Shah The envelope had yellowed with time, the edges curling slightly as if it had been holding its breath for years. It sat at the bottom of the box, beneath a stack of old photographs and forgotten receipts, as though it had been waiting—patient, quiet—for someone to finally notice it.
By Nadeem Shah 6 months ago in Fiction
Behind the Locked Door
Author: Nadeem Shah The door had been there my whole life. At the end of the upstairs hallway, just past the faded family photographs and the creaky floorboard, it stood — tall, heavy, and always locked.
By Nadeem Shah 6 months ago in Fiction
Truths Dared
“Are we really gonna do this?” Donna’s camera was finally on, and everyone could see that she was still finishing up her lunch in her kitchen. David had decided that he missed his friends too much not to continue with his old habits; their old habits (he did not forget that). Both Sally and Mark were ready – appropriate since they were married – but in separate cities. David did not bother to try and get in touch with Lisa. That was over, right? Could he…?
By Kendall Defoe 6 months ago in Fiction
Rest Area. Content Warning.
Landry preferred driving at night. Less cars on the road, and the drivers of the ones that were had an understanding. She crumpled her burger wrapper and tossed it toward the windshield. Another car calmly passed her on the left.
By Cassidy Barker6 months ago in Fiction
The Day the World Forgot My Name. AI-Generated.
The first sign came at the coffee shop. I’ve been going to the same place for years—enough that the barista and I have our unspoken rhythm. I step up to the counter, order my latte with oat milk, she writes my name on the cup without asking, and we exchange a few words before the next customer takes my spot.
By Azmat Ali6 months ago in Fiction