Psychological

Afterlife. Top Story - September 2024.
There was a graveyard of lifeless cars at the bottom of the lake. Lifeless, in an ironic way— in the way that you see a car as alive when it’s running, because it has a function, even though it’s cold metal all the way through. These ‘dead’ cars, lying full of water in the depths of the lake, were crawling with algae, weeds, and little fish flitting out between the cracks in their windshields. They were pulsing with life. And yet, by the account of any person you asked, they were dead.
By Alexis K.about a year ago in Fiction
The Last Time
I was coming out of my bedroom, and my sister was coming up the stairs with a kitchen knife in her hand. Her eyes looked brittle, and her smile looked like the crack in a mirror.
By L.C. Schäferabout a year ago in Fiction
Man Is Not Truly One, But Truly Two
What’s the measure of a man? A cloud of cigarette smoke engulfs the painting before him. It’s a masterpiece, surely—the painting, not the smoke cloud. The lines? Perfect. The technique? Masterful yet subtly innovative. Never jarring, it’s a piece that can be admired by both laymen gawkers behind a velvet rope, and crusty professors hanging onto their thesis as it gets iterated to irrelevance.
By Matthew J. Frommabout a year ago in Fiction
Midnight at the carnival
“It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen”. We searched and searched but could not find Eleeza anywhere. Why in God's name had we even decided to attend a 'day' carnival of horror which was held at night. The idea had sounded absurd, yet fascinating, we imagined everything would be more eerie in the April shrouded mist.
By Antoni De'Leonabout a year ago in Fiction
Thirteen
It was a bright, cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. Detective Skinner waited on tenterhooks for the news to roll in, as surely it must. Every day, on the stroke of thirteen: another body. Twelve days now. Twelve corpses.
By L.C. Schäferabout a year ago in Fiction
Quiet the Bells
It was a bright cold day in April and the clocks were striking thirteen. The mouse ran down the clock and straight into the cat’s open maw. That’s what you get for having a schedule. They had put the world on a schedule. I’ve not yet met Them, but someday I hope I’ll be invited to brunch.
By Sean A.about a year ago in Fiction
The Sound of the Broken Bell
An ancient, forgotten church stood in the center of a forlorn village where the fog clung to the ground like a heavy blanket. The church used to be the hub of the community, a place where life flourished, despite its dilapidated walls and broken stained glass.
By MD. RAFIQUL ISLAM MURAD about a year ago in Fiction
Excerpt of The Difference of Love
A story of conquering the struggles of health-- physical and mental-- and conquering it together. Coming soon. Please enjoy this light excerpt of what is to come.
By Ava D. about a year ago in Fiction
The Invisible Guest
Nestled amid thick forests and undulating hills was a charming little village with an ancient inn called "The Wandering Willow." The ivy-covered walls and wooden beams of the inn have provided centuries of tired visitors with a place to stay. Time seemed to stand still there, where people shared stories by the fireside and the wind whispered secrets through the rafters.
By MD. RAFIQUL ISLAM MURAD about a year ago in Fiction
The Journal
I had always taken pride in my high standards for whom I let into my life. Was I lonely? Yes. Often. I overthought almost everything in life. Which I believed was a secret weapon, a special power, but also a curse. That's why I started journaling. Joanne suggested it might help me understand myself better, or at least help me sleep at night. I am very much a person of order, or at least, perceived order. Things need to be in their relative place.
By Paul Stewartabout a year ago in Fiction
Near death . Content Warning.
A necklace made her see the thing standing beside her. * It was an eldritch school year for Visty, she never experience hunger or so she thought. Everything and every assignment meant more to her than the health of her body and mind, but this pernicious pattern will cause her to experience things that will make anyone stutter.
By Caitlin Charltonabout a year ago in Fiction
Calling It Quits
Dear diary, I remembered a moment today from back when I was in middle school that I thought was worth writing about. Maybe you'll find it as amusing as I do.
By Belleabout a year ago in Fiction