Psychological

The Beginning – Chapter One
A long street, stretching endlessly. Houses lined up on both sides, whispering secrets. You can’t tell—are the people living in them happy, or broken?
By Shatha Hantol6 months ago in Fiction
Fighting for Life
"You can have it," the man in front of Ryder said, solemnly, resigned to his fate. "You deserve it." Ryder looked at the man's bloodied nose, steadily streaming red mucus, and his lank hair, hanging down over his face. He was poorly dressed and would be referred to as "unkempt" by his mother. Not quite a hobo but not far off. The man would not look him in the eye which was curious as moments before, he had been glaring at Ryder as he'd gripped his shirtfront, his eyes wide, bulging with fury, as he spat his angry, defensive words into Ryder's face.
By Rachel Deeming6 months ago in Fiction
*The Bench by the Lake*
There was a lake on the edge of a quiet town, half-hidden behind sycamore trees and tangled ivy. It wasn’t on any tourist map, and no signs pointed to it. But those who found it—by accident or ache—often came back.
By meerjanan6 months ago in Fiction
The Red Mage and the Thief
The Emberlight Covenant The city of Jeuno rose from the cliffs like a dream of white stone, its spires tipped in banners that swayed in the salt wind. Bridges as narrow as a dagger’s edge arched over the chasms between towers and the streets hummed with the life of a hundred nations. Traders hawking wares from desert caravans and smiths hammering sparks into fresh-forged steel; wandering minstrels singing in tongues from the farthest reaches of Vana’diel.
By Cadma6 months ago in Fiction
The Almost of Her. Winner in The Shape of the Thing Challenge.
Zelma’s hair is the color of honey when the light hits it just right. Not the raw kind, but golden and warm, the kind you find in glass jars on corner store shelves, glowing under cheap fluorescent bulbs. Her skin reminds you of the color of the sun, almost like the warmest day yet crisp day in Autumn. But her face semi broad nose, full lips, almond eyes with matching mono-lids whispers a different story. People never know what to make of her.
By Cadma6 months ago in Fiction
I Was the Invisible Friend in Every Group. AI-Generated.
I was always in the group photos, but never in anyone’s memories. I remember sitting on the edge of a bench during recess, legs swinging, trying to time my words between someone else’s punchlines. I wasn’t unpopular. Just… unimportant.
By Akos Verbőczi6 months ago in Fiction
When the House Fell Silent Without You
I used to think silence was a luxury. The kind that came at the end of a long day, after the dishes were done and the lights were low. The kind of silence that felt like peace.
By Habib king6 months ago in Fiction
They say the mirror Lies dormant
I have heard that mirrors reflect only what is present. I have heard that when we leave the room, the image disappears with us.
By hamdankhan6 months ago in Fiction
I Mistook a Mannequin for a Real Person — In Front of Everyone. AI-Generated.
There are embarrassing moments, and then there are the kind that haunt you at 2 AM years later. Mine falls solidly into the second category. It’s the kind of story I didn’t think I’d ever share, but here I am — confessing to the world, in hopes that maybe, just maybe, someone out there has done something equally ridiculous.
By Ajay Vishwakarma6 months ago in Fiction
The Uncanny Valley Inn
Trevor surveyed the the valley. So beautiful, it was uncanny, which explained the inn's name. Serene. Almost too serene. Was that possible?
By Gerard DiLeo6 months ago in Fiction
Dark Supcysilogy
In the quiet town of Elmbrook, nestled between misty woods and winding roads, lived a man named Daniel Frost. On the surface, Daniel was the perfect neighbor—polite, clean-cut, always helpful. But beneath his calm demeanor lay a mind deeply engrossed in a dangerous game: psychological control.
By Zubair6 months ago in Fiction
Parlay and Desecration
As our lips danced and wrestled and our tongues formed the frontal assault into enemy territory, it felt as if we had been locked in a heated, passionate battle for hours. The cold, harsh reality that existed outside of her plump pinks and my smaller, firmer mouth was that it had merely been minutes.
By Paul Stewart6 months ago in Fiction