Psychological

Sarah Matthews and the Forbidden Feelings
The sleek hyperloop train glided into Equilibrium Central Station with barely a whisper. Sarah Matthews gathered her vintage leather messenger bag—an anachronism in this world of synthetic fabrics—and stepped onto the gleaming platform. The station was immaculate, all polished surfaces and muted colors, but what struck her most was the silence. Hundreds of people moved through the vast space with eerie efficiency, their faces blank canvases.
By Shane D. Spear11 months ago in Fiction
Sarah Matthews and the Forbidden Feelings
Morning in Equilibrium arrived with methodical precision. The lighting in Sarah's apartment gradually brightened to simulate dawn, and her comm device chimed with a gentle reminder: "Daily wellness supplement required before departure."
By Shane D. Spear11 months ago in Fiction
In the Name of God
In the forsaken village of Applegate Estates, where twilight eternally gripped the land, St. Gideon’s Church rose like a monstrous wraith, its steeple a jagged claw tearing at a sky bruised and swollen with impending doom. The air was thick with a miasma of decay, a pungent reminder of the rot that festered not only in the earth but also in the hearts of its inhabitants. Villagers spoke in terrified whispers of an unholy covenant—a diabolical pact forged generations ago—that had twisted faith into a grotesque hunger for despair and suffering.
By Jason “Jay” Benskin11 months ago in Fiction
The Internal Void
The room was painted in muted shades of gray, shadows creeping along the walls like forgotten memories. Clara sat at a rickety wooden table, her fingers tracing the grain, splinters biting into her skin. It had been three months since Jacob’s disappearance, and each moment stretched painfully into eternity. The emptiness gnawed at her, a relentless echo that mirrored the silence surrounding her—a silence thick with the weight of grief and unspoken words.
By Jason “Jay” Benskin11 months ago in Fiction
Selections from the Grand Bazaar
Hans despised every visit he had to make to Vargos. Back in Berlin, he didn’t have to hop into a flying car to avoid risking his life on the city streets. Moreover, back home, there was no degree of horrific poverty that even came close to what he saw in Vargos in passing. When flying from the airport to wherever his meetings were in the city, they always passed over the monstrosity of waste that locals called “The Roman Stacks.” It made his stomach turn to see the masses of people living their lives in what could generously be compared to a landfill.
By R.R. Stephenson11 months ago in Fiction
Selections from the Grand Bazaar
Windfall Casino. There was a time when Willy Perkins’ businesses all did as well as the casino, but these days, all of his ventures were suffering the same fate as every other business in the Red Latch district: failing, collapsing, and decaying both financially and physically.
By R.R. Stephenson11 months ago in Fiction
The Veil
The first time Jacob heard the whisper, he was ten. It slithered through the empty spaces of his childhood home, curling into his ear as he lay in bed, small hands clutching the sheets.
By Jason “Jay” Benskin11 months ago in Fiction
Selections from the Grand Bazaar
Missy was ecstatic. She finally had enough cash to get her hair trimmed and maybe even enhanced with some synthhair product if she could sweet-talk the stylist. She’d worked fifteen-hour days at the Buzzway coffee shop for a month straight to afford it, and it was finally time to get her style where she wanted it to be.
By R.R. Stephenson12 months ago in Fiction
Fox Hunt; Chapter 10
By the time I reach the next town I'm heading for, the sun has reached its peak. I study the town as I approach. It's small, smaller than the town I grew up in. I can see straight through it. In a town like this, I'm bound to be noticed. My jaw tightens in annoyance. This is not a town I want to go through. I'm sure to be noticed. Yet I don't have a choice. I had skipped getting supplies in the last town. After talking with that militiaman, I hadn't dared to stay longer than necessary. Of course, not getting supplies hadn't proved too problematic the first two days, but now I needed the extra supplies I should have gotten back in the last town. Hopefully, I was just being paranoid and they weren’t looking for me.
By Katarzyna Crevan12 months ago in Fiction
Selections from the Grand Bazaar
“Now, don’t talk when we meet these guys. If you get flatlined out here, no way I’m sticking around to clean up the bits.” Chuck said it with such nonchalance that Blanco almost had to stop himself from asking if he was serious.
By R.R. Stephenson12 months ago in Fiction
"The Last Letter"
Ayaan sat in his tiny apartment, staring at the pile of rejection letters. His dream of becoming a published author seemed further away than ever. Every night, he poured his soul into his stories, only to be met with silence. His family urged him to choose a “real job,” but writing was the only thing that made him feel alive.
By umme hani12 months ago in Fiction
Death of the New Me. Top Story - February 2025.
I had a dream that I had one week to live. Yes, dreams are misfiring of neurochemicals in a brain that are otherwise supervised by those upper lobes we’ve evolved to suppress them—at least during the waking hours. But sleep opens the gates. Specifically, the sodium gates that evoke action potentials and synapses, flooding neuroreceptors who won’t even see them coming.
By Gerard DiLeo12 months ago in Fiction