Psychological
Solitary Confined
The food flung against the wall as Max threw his plate. He stared angrily at Drew across the small cell. "This is all your fault, making me feel worse about getting stuck in solitary," Max screamed as the guards just looked at the food hole with strange looks.
By Sarah Danaher7 months ago in Fiction
She Feared This All Along. Runner-Up in You Were Never Really Here Challenge.
It’s a bad day. It’s sunny outside and the faint scent of salt blows inside on the fall breeze, but it’s always fine weather for her parents to fight. She follows her mom into their bedroom, hoping her presence communicates the fact that she cares and doesn’t want to leave her alone. She’s twelve, but nearly as tall as her mom.
By Leigh Victoria Phan, MS, MFA7 months ago in Fiction
Amaretto Sour
“God, this is exhausting”, I catch myself saying aloud, and down another shot the bartender unwillingly poured for me after waving a fiver at him. Someone laughs down at the other end of the bar, and I shoot them my best death stare, which isn’t saying much because I can hardly be mean to the fruit flies currently swarming my teeny tiny apartment kitchen.
By Tattoos & Tarot7 months ago in Fiction
Torn. Content Warning.
Sunlight spills across patches of tall clover, gilding purple blossoms and the green of stems and leaves in a warm golden glow. It seeps through the tall Bermuda grass, glinting on morning dew and aphids suckling on the tips of bluegrass. Across the lawn, dragonfly wings flicker like candleflame as one takes flight from the overgrown weeds of what was once a flowerbed. June-bugs dance mid-flight across what, to them, has become a wild glen – an untamed meadow to call home.
By R.C. McLeod7 months ago in Fiction
Uncle Asomatous
In 1954, when I was nine, Henrik told Frank that I smelled like turned milk. It hurt me so hard. For the rest of the school day, I sat behind my heavy wooden desk, sniffing the sleeve of my dress and the skin of my arm, alert for any sourness. But I could smell nothing bad. We weren't rich. But we had a washing machine in the basement. My mother carried baskets of clothes up and down the wooden steps on wash day. I would help her fold, and my clothes always smelled nice to me.
By Pitt Griffin7 months ago in Fiction
The Woman in the Mirror
I moved into Apartment 41 on a Tuesday afternoon. The kind of Tuesday that forgets it is midweek. There was a haze in the sky, and my shoes left tired marks on the stairs. I had no furniture, no friends in the city, no one who knew I was there.
By Mian Suhaib Amin7 months ago in Fiction
📖 The Dress She Never Wore
Introduction: A Dress with a Dream She had dreamed of that dress since she was sixteen — ivory lace, hand-beaded sleeves, a flowing train that whispered elegance and grace. Every shimmer of the fabric told a story of love, hope, and forever. She imagined walking down the aisle, every eye on her, the world pausing for her moment of magic. But what happens when the dream doesn’t come true?
By Mahveen khan7 months ago in Fiction
