Psychological
The Cup Was Still Warm
The Cup Was Still Warm By Mahboob Khan Sundays always felt too quiet after Adam left. It wasn’t that he slammed the door or made a scene. Adam was the kind of man who left like morning mist — quietly, slowly, until you weren’t sure he’d ever been there at all. And this time, he hadn’t even said goodbye.
By Mahboob Khan7 months ago in Fiction
The Fall From Innocence
The rain hadn’t let up since morning. It fell in cold, steady lines across the windshield, blurring the world beyond it. I gripped the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles bone-white, the wipers squeaking rhythmically like something crying out to be heard. We were late. Very late. And worse—we were the hosts.
By Paper Lantern7 months ago in Fiction
A World Without Sleep. AI-Generated.
The Day the Night Died It began with a whisper—an unexplained global shift. First, the insomniacs noticed. They stopped complaining. Then, the dreamers found their nights empty. No yawns, no fatigue, no need for rest. Within weeks, it was official: humankind no longer needed sleep.
By Shafi Ullah7 months ago in Fiction
The House that We Build
The House That We Build: A Haunting of Our Parents The house still stood, even after all these years. Leaning slightly westward with age, the shingles curling like dried petals, its gray frame cloaked in ivy and memory. It was ours once—The House That We Built, as our father used to say. Only, we never built it. We inherited it, like we inherited the sadness and silence that filled its rooms.
By Huzaifa Dzine7 months ago in Fiction
The Last Human in the Paintings
I was twelve the first time I saw her. She stood beneath a pale sky in a painting no larger than a schoolbook. Her dress was green, her eyes distant, and she clutched a red scarf in her hand as if it were all she had left of someone she loved. No name. No title. Just "Portrait 47B" in the corner of a silent museum hallway.
By Fazal Hadi7 months ago in Fiction
The Unsinkable Spirit
As the lights of the Titanic began to flicker and fade, fear spread like the icy Atlantic itself—silent, vast, and paralyzing. Yet in the midst of this looming catastrophe, one woman stood defiant. Her name was Margaret “Molly” Brown, and she was far more than a passenger on a doomed voyage. She was a force of nature—unyielding, compassionate, and unafraid.
By Ahmad shah7 months ago in Fiction
Episode 10: Reunion
When I woke up, the lights hummed like they’d forgotten how to sleep. They weren’t warm lights. Not the buttery kind you get in kitchens or the soft ones in motel bathrooms that make even broken people look romantic. These lights were silver. Hard. Surgical. The kind that show everything.
By Paper Lantern7 months ago in Fiction
The Butcher’s Table. Content Warning.
I chop the meat. My job is one of transformation. We start with the husk of a living thing. It’s recognizable as a corpse. The bones are arrayed into a skeleton, the machinery of the muscles is still obvious, we can see the tendons that fasten it all together, and there is an image of the whole with all its functioning parts.
By Martin Vidal7 months ago in Fiction
