Psychological
Episode 7: Silver Like Mercy
So Ant woke up chained to a radiator in a room that didn't remember what heat felt like. That's how it started. The floor was concrete. The walls were insulted - by water damage. A single bulb hung like it had been sentenced to watch. His mouth tasted like copper and forgetting. His chest ached where someone had written pain in fists. And his arm - his arm had teeth in it. Two rows. Familiar ones.
By Paper Lantern7 months ago in Fiction
Love of Souls
Some love stories are written in letters, some in looks - but this one lives in silence. This is the story of a boy who painted the soul of a girl he never truly saw because he loved her not through her smile or beauty, but through the kindness she once gave him. Time passed. They grew up, took different paths. But her presence never left his world. She wore a niqab now. He went to a boarding school. But in the quiet corners of his room, and deeper corners of his heart, she remained faceless… yet unforgettable.
By Muhammad Ahmad7 months ago in Fiction
The Girl Who Sold Her Paintings Too Soon
Elena never meant to sell the first one. It was a small canvas—just a girl under a red umbrella walking through a storm. She had painted it in the early days, when no one but the rain and her mother’s old piano knew how much her heart bled into the bristles of her brush.
By Abuzar khan7 months ago in Fiction
The House with No Exit Plan
It was the kind of house no one remembered moving into. A corner lot wrapped in hedges that grew faster than they should, windows that caught the morning light just right, and floors that never creaked in protest. It looked ordinary from the outside—safe, even. But everyone who entered learned the same lesson:
By Abuzar khan7 months ago in Fiction
Room 17B
All of the breath left my lungs when I walked through my open doorway into the room I’d be sleeping in for the next year. Something felt… uneasy as I looked around at the old concrete walls, with their paint chipping and peeling away, and the floorboards that were quickly covered up with shoddy carpeting by the university. I looked over to my parents who smiled at me.
By Adam Nottoli7 months ago in Fiction
Echo Protocol. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
He ironed his slacks the same way every morning—four strokes on each leg, crease sharp enough to split atoms. Routine kept the silence away. On Base 42A, buried beneath acres of winter wheat and official denials, routine was doctrine.
By Jesse Shelley7 months ago in Fiction
Popcorn Weather. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
He sat on his porch every night, eyes glued to the black sky, the bucket of popcorn perched like a crown on his knee. The neighbors laughed at first, calling him “Big Popcorn”—until they stopped answering their doors.
By Jesse Shelley7 months ago in Fiction
