Psychological

TESTIMONY OF AN EYE-WITNESS BY VICTOR HUGO. AI-Generated.
In the days leading up to December 1, 1851, France was calm—too calm. Charras, a cautious man by nature, even unloaded his pistols. The idea of a coup seemed ridiculous. People laughed at the thought that Louis Bonaparte, the President, could ever destroy the Republic. After all, who would believe a man like him capable of such a massive betrayal?
By Ahsan ullah7 months ago in Fiction
The Edge of Emptiness
The Edge of Emptiness When silence becomes louder than any scream. The wind howled like a beast outside the cabin. It came in gusts, rattling the windowpanes and clawing at the door, as if the storm wanted to be let in. But inside, it was still. Too still.
By Pir Ashfaq Ahmad7 months ago in Fiction
The Brain
In a quiet little town nestled between green hills and old forests lived a boy named Aryan who was curious about everything—but nothing fascinated him more than the human brain.
By NIAZ Muhammad7 months ago in Fiction
Before the Morning
Leah stepped into the house with a tired sigh, the kind that came from too many hours smiling at people she didn't like. The takeout bag in her hand swung gently as she shut the door behind her. The lights were off, though the porch lamp had been glowing when she parked. That was strange. James always turned them on for her when she worked late.
By Shai Anderson7 months ago in Fiction
I Found My Brother’s Diary — It Ends with My Name. Content Warning.
My brother died on a Thursday. At least, that’s what they told me. Sixteen years old. Suicide, they said. Slit wrists in the bathtub. No note.
By E. hasan7 months ago in Fiction
I Found a Photo of Myself at a Crime Scene From 20 Years Ago . Content Warning.
The envelope had no return address. No stamp. Just my name, scrawled in block letters. Elvin Warren. Inside was a photograph — aged, its corners yellowed, the gloss frayed. The scene was unmistakably that of a crime: blood on white tile, overturned furniture, the telltale chalk outline of a body that had once been warm.
By E. hasan7 months ago in Fiction
You're My Favorite Murder (Chapter 15). Content Warning.
Chapter 15: 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘉𝘰𝘺 My hand instinctively reaches into the opposite pocket, hunting for my vape before a white-hot dread surge through me as I remember I quit a few months ago. Though with the way things are panning out for me right now, I could do well with a hit or two, probably more.
By 𝓗. 𝓒. 𝓡𝓾𝓫𝔂7 months ago in Fiction
The Mirror I Couldn’t Face
The Mirror I Couldn’t Face How a Drag Show in a Small Town Helped Me Embrace Who I Am In the fall of 2025, I stood backstage at a dive bar in my small town, clutching a secondhand sequined jacket and wondering what the hell I was doing. At 27, I’d spent years dodging mirrors—not just the physical ones, but the ones that forced me to confront who I was. I’d known I was queer since I was a teenager, but growing up in a place where “different” was whispered like a dirty word, I’d buried that truth deep. That night, at the town’s first-ever drag show, I was about to step into the spotlight as Ruby Star, my drag persona, and I was terrified.
By Shohel Rana7 months ago in Fiction
The Mirror That Refused to Reflect Me
It began on a Thursday. I remember because it was raining, and my socks were soaked from the puddles on the hallway floor of our damp old apartment.
By Muhammad Kaleemullah7 months ago in Fiction
Digital Dust
The data morgue smelled like ozone and loneliness. Maya adjusted her luminescent hazmat suit’s hood, the hiss of filtered air her only companion. Before her stretched Server Vault 7—miles of abandoned user profiles, decaying chat logs, and forgotten memories scheduled for permanent deletion. Her job: scrub digital graves clean.
By Habibullah7 months ago in Fiction
Episode 13: A Pet In The Garden
The first time they called her “it,” Marla said nothing. They were laughing, silver-mouthed and bright-eyed, lounging in the gardens of the fallen Capitol, dressed like gods from old paintings—if the gods had cheekbones sharp enough to slice bread and no shame about hunger. One of them—the girl with a voice like broken glass—tilted her head, smiled without warmth, and said, “Ant’s pet looks sad. Did he forget to feed it?”
By Paper Lantern7 months ago in Fiction
I Found A Room That Shouldn't Exist
They’re going to say I hallucinated it. That it was a dream. That I misremembered or made it up, or that grief does things to a person.
By Paper Lantern7 months ago in Fiction