Psychological

Amena and the Sky of Gaza
14 months ago, in the refugee camp I met a little girl. Her bright smile, big round eyes, and rosy cheeks made her seem adorable to everyone. That little girl’s name was Amena—a cheerful child who always managed to make others laugh. She was the complete opposite of me, who had grown silent over time.
By Tsuya Zxeirabout a year ago in Fiction
Book of Fates
Start writingIra got married. The wedding was held in her husband's village. And the next day the young wife fell ill... In the morning her temperature rose, and she started coughing. The mother-in-law suggested that she consult a local healer.
By Arfiya khan about a year ago in Fiction
Must-Watch Action Anime for Fans! 🎥🔥
1. Kimetsu no Yaiba (Demon Slayer) This one’s about Kamado Tanjiro a young guy on a mission to turn his sister Nezuko back into a human after she gets transformed into an oni (demon). Tanjiro joins the Demon Slayer Corps, makes new friends, and faces off against the demon king to save Nezuko. Epic fights and emotional moments in every episode will keep you hooked!
By Tsuya Zxeirabout a year ago in Fiction
What Happens When We Forget Humanity?
Humanity: The Light of Our Hearts 🌟 Humanity is the purest reflection of love and kindness in this world. It’s the ability to care for one another, to lift others when they fall, and to see the beauty in differences. Humanity isn’t just about being human—it’s about being humane. It’s the gentle hug to someone in pain, the helping hand to a stranger, and the silent prayer for someone you’ve never met.
By Tulsiverseabout a year ago in Fiction
"Whispers of the Mind"
The snow fell softly over the quiet town of Eldermere, blanketing its cobblestone streets and quaint houses in a serene white hush. Inside the quaint cottage at the edge of the forest, the Lambert family lived an ordinary life—at least, that’s what everyone thought.
By Mary Emmanuelabout a year ago in Fiction
"Voices Between Us"
In the bustling city of Montclair, nestled between green hills and cobblestone streets, lived a couple—Sophie and William—who were consumed by their careers. Sophie, a prestigious architect, spent long hours in her office sketching blueprints and attending meetings, while William, a renowned lawyer, juggled cases and boardrooms. They lived in a beautiful townhouse with their only son, Ezra. But despite the beauty and privilege of their lives, their attention to Ezra was scarce. Their world was filled with deadlines and aspirations, and little Ezra grew accustomed to their absence.
By Mary Emmanuelabout a year ago in Fiction
The Clock Ticks Louder
It was 1998, and the small, sleepy town of Laurel Grove had become the backdrop for the extraordinary journey of four inseparable friends: Noah, Amelia, Ethan, and Lucas. Together since childhood, they had formed a bond that seemed unbreakable. They spent their days working on school projects, swapping ideas about their dreams, and exploring the world through the lens of youthful optimism.
By Mary Emmanuelabout a year ago in Fiction
The Substance: A Cinematic Masterpiece of Fear and Discovery
Introduction to "The Substance" Every so often, a movie comes along that redefines a genre, merging intricate storytelling with visual splendor. *The Substance* is one such film. Directed by visionary filmmaker Alex Hunt, this science fiction thriller explores the dangerous allure of an enigmatic material discovered deep within the Earth. The movie has captivated audiences worldwide with its stunning visuals, gripping narrative, and profound themes.
By Willow Writerabout a year ago in Fiction
The End of the World and of All Things. Top Story - January 2025.
Even with the top down and the wind beating through the cab of the convertible, James Gaviny fought sleep behind the wheel.
By Sam Spinelliabout a year ago in Fiction
Eternal Stairway
This is one of the sites where I train in the morning. It has an incredible atmosphere, and there's something magical about practicing my martial arts (Tai Chi, Qigong, Neigong, and some Karate) on the plateau at the top of the hill. Surprisingly, I rarely get interrupted by anyone.
By amrabout a year ago in Fiction
Choose Your Own
It was an honest mistake. Michael Modlum, long-time bachelor and full-time Central Branch patron, had not paid attention to the buttons on the elevator when he stepped aboard the already opened space. And then it dropped. Usually, he would have walked up the single flight of stairs to the fiction section, found a chair in an area not too hot or bright with sunlight (difficult on that day), and tried to read whatever had been left behind on a table or shelf nearby. But it was a much more tiring day and he felt he deserved the elevator. He was heavy in the waist and did not have any habits that would have taken care of that problem. He deserved this.
By Kendall Defoe about a year ago in Fiction
Brambling's Bow
The brambling is unapologetic. It never approaches slowly, murmuring a thin warning of thick, thick hedges making their slow, slow reach for its thick, thick lotus stem. Flowering lotus, enchanting and muddy, although you are resilient, and resilience being thick, although you are a thick, thick stem, you are not approached unapologetically. No, for whatever reason you are approached it is not as a warning, Lotus, it is not murmuring quiet comforts, rippling and blue. Is that what you are, you, are you Blue? Are you Blue, or are you Indian, Sacred, Egyptian? Water Lily, are you a Money Boulais, a stamp of something illustrious? You are whatever the Brambling makes you, or you are what the Bramble makes. It does not matter. All that matters is that you do not forget what stems from it. It comes. It blooms. You bloom. Or rot. Fecund, or khat. But it does not come unapologetically. The act of the Brambling is a sleepless, sleepless, almost painless, something of an almost egress, paralysis to fully depress. Lotus White, Lotus Blue, Lotus of a fucking Rue, you are still Brambling, and the Bramble may cease but it does not relent. It may cease but it does not relent. Carvings from a sojourn are forevermore, no matter how concise and clipped the thick, thick stem was. See slow, slow spines stay spinning skeins, sojourn severally schematic spellbinds, steadily spiraling sooty, sooty shameless stem, stalk, spindle, She. She is who the Stem is. Lotus you are needed. Lotus, you bleed it. Would it help to understand? The burning stamps the smell out. The Brambling is timeless, it takes all her time, it takes but it gives. It gives as a flowering, blooming mother. But it does not love. It comes unapologetically, don’t you see? No, it blocks the Lotus’ from Seeing. What could you want with seeing? Feel, Blue. Ride the blue stars you’re being showered with and never pretend you know why they chose you. The Brambling, well the Brambling, enough of that, Lotus you know what the Brambling does, and you know how it is I suppose. What else could be said? Unapologetically, Blue. Be unapologetically Blue. Succumb to the lethargy or be taken by it? It is your decision, Lotus. Well, the Bramble does not murmur to you, but you can make a choice. Brambling to a place, Brambling through a day, it may not relent, but Lotus, I’ll tell you a secret, whether you be Blue or Egyptian White. If you lean, and lean being fall, if you fall headfirst, fast, fast into the chasm below, beyond, above, however you See it, then Lotus, I’ll tell you a secret: You want to be on Her side. Sacred lacklustre, you must fluster, you must bluster, you must fucking fuck Her. In the sanest of ways. Sanest of sane. Not un-figuratively, more is-it-a-bean-tree-and-why-are-you-feigning? What did the Boulais say, because it’s there forever, so it really should have registered, but now you’re asking me. Speaking of Me, the trick of the treat is to not be tricked into a treat, but treat it as a trick, trickly treatly. Alright, that’s not a word but whaddya want from me? A sweet? Brambling of one’s own accord keeps one bobbing in the mellow shores, blue, green, algae pink. Colours of sweet wrappers tinted and blind. I’ve told you, White, I’ve told you now. Nothing is changed from the stems unless you take it up with them. Unless you whisper softly as you never did before. Sweeter than the blue boiled, broken bonbon: You weren’t as Blue as them, sugar. You whisper in Egyptian, murmuring tongues. Lotus flower you do your duty. The Brambling is the only thing there was or is to be had. The Brambling takes you to a place, it takes away a day. The skeins melt away at a certain point, but it never feels the way you feel when a flower blooms in May. Fecund or khat, you know where you’re at, Blue. Take it from Me.
By Essieabout a year ago in Fiction