Psychological
How Jane Turned a Layoff into a Launchpad
Introduction: A Career at a Crossroads Jane Alvarez had spent a decade building a career with a Fortune 500 firm in marketing. Her strategic mind, her detail-oriented nature, and her ability to transform data into compelling campaigns made her an indispensable member of the team. But then she received an email in the spring of 2023 that would change the direction of her professional—and personal—life: her position was being cut as part of a restructuring initiative. Thirty days’ notice was given, and Jane was thrust from safe familiarity into the uncertain world of unemployment.
By Martin Williams8 months ago in Fiction
The Depths
The freezing waters surround my entire body as me and the others descend into the depths. All sound seems to disappear when we dive below the surface. Our vision also worsens the longer we dive deeper into these dangerous depths. We have to bring back something, anything for our families back home. This is our last chance. These past few weeks have been unforgiving, cruel and merciless. Either the waters were infested with the big greys or there was no life when we arrived to gather. It is only now that we have managed to find an opening where there is sustenance to gather without the big greys being around, but that wont last forever so we have to move fast. If we don't make it out in time, not only will we surely die, our families will surely too. After swimming for what feels like hours we finally make it down to what we came for, the small herd. We start grabbing as many of them as we can, finally we will make it through another day. We stuff our breaks full of them until they feel like they're about to break from the sheer weight of our bounty. It is excruciating with holding this many, but we wont know when we will get an opportunity like this again. The depths are hard to see in, the darkness clouds our vision until we are practically blind, but we manage to gather a bountiful harvest. I can’t wait to return to the surface, I have never liked being down here for longer than necessary, it strips you off nearly all your senses and leaves your mind to imagine the worst. We start making our way up to the surface, but I can't help but feel like something is off, is the group smaller than before? I can’t worry about such things at the moment. I have to make it back to my family, so that my wife and child can live another day. Oh the euphoria, I can’t wait to see the smiles on their faces. I also can't wait to escape these dark depths, it’s so suffocating down here. How I already miss the cold and hard feeling of the white planes underneath my feet, as they sink into the planes. The thrill of a successful hunt is fantastic, the water rushing by my ears, as I can see the surface becoming closer, knowing that I succeed in bringing back a harvest for my family. The glorious feeling of the warmth hitting my entire body after this long dive in these freezing depths is divine, is something I can hardly wait to feel again.
By SackPackthrills8 months ago in Fiction
Great Old Ones. Top Story - June 2025. Content Warning.
Dear reader, this is a content advisory for cosmic horror and death of animals. Reader discretion is advised. -0- You are the one they preserve. The one who remains yet does not remain unchanged. Suited more to a world shaped by them then you might have been a hundred years before.
By Alexander McEvoy8 months ago in Fiction
James” by Percival Everett: A Bold Reclamation of the American Canon
In James, Percival Everett does what few living authors dare—he takes a towering classic of American literature and flips it inside out. The result is nothing short of electrifying. A radical reimagining of Mark Twain’s Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Everett centers the story not on Huck, the mischievous boy narrator, but on Jim, the enslaved man whose humanity Twain only hinted at.
By Hamad Haider8 months ago in Fiction
This Is The Day
“You know what? I quit.” No, of course, no one could hear me. I was alone in my office – shared, but pretty much my own – and it was only 9:46 in the morning, so we would have a meeting in less than fifteen minutes and I did not really want to see Mr. Roleiman’s face again on a Monday morning before I had my first cup of coffee and he told the staff all about how so-and-so did such a great job with sales (clap clap clap) and then the other person got a dozen clients to sign on for things that they could not afford (clap clap clap clap) and then he would look at the rest of us and not say a word about all the things we did because we were such a big disappointment to the company and he wanted us to know it without telling it (show without telling; he should have been a writer). So, I was done and I just had to wait for Allan to come back from the office bathroom on the third floor – the best one – and he would have to handle the new account on his own because I was fed up and it was a Monday after one of the best weekends I’d ever had after I found that secondhand shop with that rare science-fiction section that had titles I had never seen before and I made friends with the owner and he told me that there was a sale coming up in two weeks, but he would make me a deal right now if I took three copies off his hands. A little pricey, but they were worth it and I wondered what I was doing with myself in this place when no one really cares about what I give the office only what they can take and take and take and I studied literature just as a lark and wanted to work in publishing not business anyway. Why did I stop there, anyway? I was out going to the local farmer’s market to get those oranges that you could taste test from the small trays they had out for customers and things were in season like the mango that I was not too sure about after seeing flies land on it and people still sampling them without a care in their minds.
By Kendall Defoe 8 months ago in Fiction
When the Rain Forgets to Fall
The monsoons had always been on time in the small town of Sitapur. Year after year, without fail, dark clouds would gather like old friends at a reunion, thunder would roll like distant drums of a marching band, and the scent of wet earth would rise as if nature were breathing in relief. But that year, the rain forgot to come.
By shittu adeola8 months ago in Fiction
The Village That Answered No One
THE VILLAGE THAT ANSWERED NO ONE Written by Haroon Bahramzai Somewhere in the fog-soaked valleys of northern Europe, tucked between two forested hills where GPS signals fade and birds fly cautiously, there once stood a village called Eld hollow.
By Haroon Bahramzai8 months ago in Fiction
The King’s Garden of Shadows
Once upon a time, in a kingdom surrounded by seven rivers and veiled in the perfume of eternal jasmine, there reigned a King known by the title "Raheem the Wise." His rule was not forged in blood but in books, not sustained by swords but by silence and soul-searching. His palace had no iron gates, only whispering wind-chimes and vines of lilies climbing its golden pillars.
By Muhammad Abdullah8 months ago in Fiction
The Slave Who Knew the Stars
Once upon a time, in the ancient kingdom of Zaheerabad, nestled between black mountains and golden deserts, lived a Prince named Kamraan, son of the mighty King Ubaid. The Prince was fair in face and feared in sword, taught in the philosophies of men but untouched by the lives of those beneath him. The palace was carved from marble, adorned with silk and mirrors, but behind its glistening curtains brewed storms invisible to the blind.
By Muhammad Abdullah8 months ago in Fiction
