Psychological
The Silent Patient: A Voice Buried in Shadows... AI-Generated.
The first time I saw her, she was sitting in the corner of the psychiatric ward, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her eyes fixed on something invisible beyond the barred window. Alicia Berenson had not spoken a single word since the night she shot her husband.
By The Writer...A_Awanabout a month ago in Fiction
Borrowed Face:. AI-Generated.
I first observed her on the train. She sat across from me, head tilted slightly, eyes fixed on the window as if the city rushing past was more important than the people inside. At first glance, she seemed ordinary—dark hair, pale skin, a tired expression. But then she turned, and my breath caught.
By The Writer...A_Awanabout a month ago in Fiction
Some Assembly Required
“Well, that was dramatic,” he thought. Here he was, in the middle of a winter wonderland with very little understanding of the language of this country in a car that just failed him as the day turned to night. Michael had been in the country for just under a week and had met all of his contacts except one, and he had been on his way to speak to the last one that very afternoon. He had noted how quickly the darkness settled after 4 pm, but he thought that he would have made it. Michael also thought that the car borrowed from the rental agency would also last. There had been no sign of damage or loss of power. To put it simply, he had run out of gas and was now wondering what to do next.
By Kendall Defoe about a month ago in Fiction
The Murder No One Saw
Mere-Evelyn Tavakaturaga-Sinclair realised she’d just watched a man die halfway through her second piña colada. One moment, she was floating in the infinity pool, the warm Bali evening wrapped around her like a damp shawl. The next, she was staring, transfixed, at the villa across the ravine.
By DARK TALE CO. about a month ago in Fiction
Ash
At first it was only a nuisance. A fine gray dust that gathered on windowsills, on the backs of chairs, in the creases of her thoughts. It followed her indoors, clung to her hair, rested on her tongue with the faint bitterness of something already finished.
By Aarsh Malikabout a month ago in Fiction
Fire Killer
I nursed my coffee as I turned back onto 71st Road. I had gotten so used to seeing the familiar scenes of my silly town that I almost missed the small orange glow. I stared at it strangely, trying to process what I was looking at. I reached down and grabbed my radio.
By Leah Suzanne Deweyabout a month ago in Fiction
The Echo of Choices. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
In 2045, the world lay in ruins — not from nuclear fire, but from nature's furious rebirth. Cities crumbled under earthquakes, coasts vanished beneath tsunamis, volcanoes blanketed the sky in ash. Humanity survived, scarred but alive, forced to rebuild from the ground up.
By Mr. Usevolod Voskoboinikovabout a month ago in Fiction
Life Lessons from Panchatantra Stories
Most of us grew up reading Aesop’s fables, but you may or may not have heard of the Panchatantra, a collection of ancient Indian stories. I learned the five tantras of the Panchatantra are: Mitra-bheda (The Loss of Friends), Mitra-lābha (The Gaining of Friends), Kākolūkīyam (War and Peace), Labdhapraṇāśam (Loss of Gains), and Aparīkṣitakārakam (Ill-considered Actions).
By Seema Patelabout a month ago in Fiction
Shadows In The Mirror:. AI-Generated.
The reflect had usually been regular. A rectangle of glass framed in timber, hanging quietly on the wall of Sara’s bed room. For years, it had meditated not anything greater than her tired mornings, moved quickly evenings, and the occasional smile she forced earlier than leaving for paintings. however one iciness night time, as the wind rattled in opposition to the windowpanes, the replicate commenced to alternate.
By The Writer...A_Awanabout a month ago in Fiction
Still Life with Woman
Despite my youth and supposed good health, I had recently felt under the weather. In recent days, to be precise, I had felt my body slowly seizing up, heavier. It started in my fingers and toes: a loss of the freedom of movement expected for those digits at the extremities of my healthy body. Not exactly painful, but neither was it a piece of cake. After a day of that, I retired to bed, expecting to wake fully refreshed and better the next day.
By Paul Stewartabout a month ago in Fiction
