Psychological

Unsaid
Beth hadn’t realised how cold her hands were until the mug stopped hurting. The café was too loud for a weekday morning. Cups struck saucers. Steam hissed. Someone laughed too sharply behind her. Beth wrapped both hands around the worn coffee cup and waited for the warmth to settle, for the ache to ease into something manageable.
By Courtney Jones3 days ago in Fiction
The Red Herring. Top Story - January 2026.
The courtroom was standing room only. Reporters from every major newslink crowded in the rear with satcams poised and aimed, the air buzzing with pent up electricity. A solemn hush falling when she arrived, the room turned quiet as a sanctuary of prayer. We all held our breath in the stillness of the precious moments of her passing, the burnished wooden benches elevated to pews by her mere presence.
By John Cox3 days ago in Fiction
Just Checking In On You
‘How are you doing?’ ‘I've been better, honestly.’ ‘Have you had any nutrients today?’ ‘Nah, I don't feel like it.’
By Moon Desert3 days ago in Fiction
*#The Split#* Thursday, December 21, 2012
It was the day before court and this was supposed to be a quick and easy custody battle. Toby’s mother was hardly putting up a fight. With all the evidence she had practically handed him, and now Timmy breaks his arms sledding the day before court.
By Anton Mathias Heft 3 days ago in Fiction
Wednesday, October 24th, 2012
The courtroom in Kenosha County was brightly lit through the large row of windows along the Southern wall of the building. The antique wooden pews, wooden wall paneling and trim were all faded from many years of use. There was a musty smell that reminded Anton of the loft in his biological father’s garage, were he kept his stash of PlayBoy magazines. Unfortunately, that peaceful familiar aroma was being overpowered by the stench of body odor and weed radiating from the younger guy about ten feet away.
By Anton Mathias Heft 3 days ago in Fiction
Tuesday, October 9th, 2012
“May I speak to Anton Heft, please,” requested the professional voice over the phone. Anton was finishing up another roof for Steve when the phone rang. He was in a filthy pair of ripped-up blue jeans that looked as though they’d been through several years worth of roof jobs. His filthy tank top was rolled and tied around his forehead like Jim McMahon’s headband. The combination of the dirt, humidity and roof tar smeared various shades of black and gray all over his body and clothes.
By Anton Mathias Heft 3 days ago in Fiction
THE LORD OF THE DYNAMOS
James Holroyd was the chief attendant of the three dynamos that powered the electric railway at Camberwell. A practical electrician from Yorkshire, he was a rough, domineering man—fond of whisky, violent in temper, and proud of his knowledge. He mocked religion, believed only in machinery and profit, and treated those beneath him with cruelty.
By Faisal Khan3 days ago in Fiction
She Keeps Calling Me From the Room Where She Died
And I answer, because love never learned how to stop By Anees Ul Ameen The phone only rings at night. Never during the day. Never when other people are around. Always after midnight, when the world is quiet enough for guilt to speak clearly.
By anees3 days ago in Fiction
The Silent Climb
In a peaceful village nestled between vast hills and serene lakes, lived a boy named Ayan. He was known for his quiet nature, yet his mind was bursting with dreams. Unlike his peers who were satisfied with routine, Ayan longed for adventure, exploration, and achievement—all synonyms of the ambitions he nurtured silently.
By meerjanan4 days ago in Fiction
The Silent Climb
In a quiet village nestled between green hills and calm lakes, there lived a boy named Ayan. He was quiet by nature, often seen sitting under the old fig tree with a faraway look in his eyes. While others played, he would sketch mountains, write in his worn notebook, and stare at the peaks beyond the horizon.
By meerjanan4 days ago in Fiction
The Lantern in the Attic
There was a house on the edge of the village that no one spoke of, not unless the wind was still and the night felt too long. It stood at the top of the hill, half-hidden by ivy and time, its windows clouded with dust, its porch sagging under the weight of years. The other children said it was cursed. They claimed they’d seen shadows where there should be none, heard laughter when the house had been empty for decades.
By meerjanan4 days ago in Fiction
The Window That Waited
In a quiet corner of the city, where the traffic never quite quieted and the buildings leaned into each other like old friends, stood a weathered apartment block with peeling paint and a rusted fire escape. It wasn’t grand or new, but it had stood for decades, holding stories in its walls.
By meerjanan4 days ago in Fiction