Psychological
To Dream is to Forget. Content Warning.
"I've dreamed a lot. I'm tired now from dreaming, but not tired of dreaming. No one tires of dreaming, because to dream is to forget, and forgetting does not weigh on us, it is a dreamless sleep throughout which we remain awake." - Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet
By Paul Stewart2 years ago in Fiction
A Journey of Brightness and Balance
As the blistering hot rays of the summer sun surrounded the area on the longest day of the year, I felt a surge of anticipation and excitement. Today was not just any day; June 20, 2024 (Summer Solstice), was a day to honor the Sun and its life-giving energy, reflect on the past year, and prepare for one of the most exciting seasons of the year! Opening my eyes to the warm, amber light flooding my bedroom, I aimed to ensure my summer would start well!
By Anthony Chan2 years ago in Fiction
The Ravens Gift. Content Warning.
Ma is holding me in her silver birch rocking chair. Humming softly as she strokes my long black hair. In her arms everything else turns to a blur. I feel warm and complete. The breeze from outside brings the scent of lilacs through the open window, mixing with the fragrant cherry wood burning in the potbelly stove. All of it is helping to calm me down after such a long day. This morning started like any other, except it was my eleventh birthday. Cawing from the ravens outside woke me as the sun was starting to rise. Ma and I ran outside together and watched the ravens flying around. One by one they swooped down to their altar and dropped shiny pebbles, a coin, three rings, and even a pair of sunglasses in; it was almost like they knew it was my birthday! This was a good sign, or so I had thought. At the back of my mind I’m still mourning the loss of my elderberry trees. Watching as my Uncle cut them down earlier devastated me! Planting our trees was my last memory of Pa before he was killed in the war. Ma, Pa, and I had each planted our own tree when I was six. Uncle said it was the only way to get enough money to survive this winter with the price of beans dropping so low, but even Ma was not happy. She had told him not to, said that she would get a job in town but he didn't listen. I wish Pa was still here, then Uncle never would have come and stayed. Taking a deep breath I focus my thoughts on this morning's sunrise with Ma and the aroma surrounding me. A faint click of the door while I was drifting to sleep in Ma’s warm embrace told me Uncle was back.
By Sarah Wilcox2 years ago in Fiction
Behind the Mask
VANCE It was half-past ten when he saw her, this gorgeous woman with a stark air of mystery. Foreign in every way, it almost seemed strange to see her in the city. Not the soft strange like the pistachio and lavender scented candle you’re gifted on your birthday, but the hard kind of strange that made every eye divert in its direction and linger. She wore an oversized hoodie and a ‘black lives matter’ mask to hide her face, but he could still see her freckled cheeks and chuck hazel eyes from his vantage point. The brown heels of her black boots sent echoes across the pavement. The sound waves caught his attention, but her allure drew him in. He continued to watch her as he stood outside smoking a cigarette near the Waffle House on Canal Street. His eyes never wavered as she darted across traffic causing a Black Mazda to slam on their brakes and honk their horn in a long rhythmic screech highlighting their annoyance. The mystery woman didn’t look backward, her attention focused on the Broad Streetcar coming in the near distance. He took a long drag on the end of his cigarette and wondered what a woman like that would be doing out this late in an unfamiliar city alone. So, he decided to follow her.
By Brandie Goff2 years ago in Fiction
The Elephant. Content Warning.
A pit of shame welled up inside Dillon. He already knew how his parents would react to the news, but this wasn’t something that he could keep from them. Bracing himself, he went to the kitchen to find his mother first. Mrs. Berenger was getting the sauce ready for her husband’s favorite gator ribs before the start of the game.
By Colton McClintock2 years ago in Fiction
The Book and The Lamp. Content Warning.
Neil envied people who say they love sleep. Those who say they see it as a refuge where they can rest and renew safely. For Neil, sleep was never safe. It had always been a noisy, chaotic place. When he was younger, he was plagued with nightmares. For a while, thanks to lousy sleeping patterns that involved staying awake as long as he possibly could and waking up earlier than he should. The dreams he remembered were scarce these days. Until the book and the lamp started haunting him.
By Paul Stewart2 years ago in Fiction
Sleeping Afraid. Top Story - July 2024.
I always wake to three hallowing knocks that reverberate from the back of my skull through my teeth. That’s how I know it’s coming. The bitter metallic taste of adrenaline coats my tongue. Hot panic has its claws in my chest and sweat dews my forehead. Suspense and dread course through my veins and it takes all my strength to choose survival over succumbing to the debilitating fear. My ears twitch like a dog toward every noise and my breath comes hot against the hand that I pressed to my mouth to keep myself quiet. I need to slow my breathing…one breath in, hold, one breath out. I remove my hand from my mouth so I can ease myself out of bed and carefully place my feet onto the floor so as not to make a sound. I half-crouch and feel my way to the bedroom door, and slowly turn the knob. I know when to stop opening it to avoid the creak and I start making my way down the foreboding hallway. The floorboards give in pain as my weight shifts from one foot to the other, not quite walking, just easing my way forward. I feel another rush of dread drop into the pit of my stomach when I reach the stairs – they’re the hardest part. The old wood of the house moans with the weight of my fear and no matter how hard I try they always creak. I’ve learned the hard way that I have to do these quickly – it wakes and finds me with the sound of these godforsaken stairs. I stay in a low crouch, my legs on fire with the effort, as I place one foot on each stair using the handrail to guide myself down and take, albeit minimal, weight off the unforgiving wood.
By Tattoos & Tarot2 years ago in Fiction
An interview with the Goddess of Love
I interviewed the goddess of love recently and I learned a lot about her thoughts on love and sex. She wanted to be very open and honest about the topics and I appreciated that. She also wanted to explain how she sees others by describing them in the 12 "tribes" of astrological order. I was okay with that as a practiced wiccan who is well-read in astrology.
By Shanon Angermeyer Norman2 years ago in Fiction
Friendship Or Love
Alex and Sam had been friends since the fifth grade. They met during a particularly awkward group project on the solar system, where Alex had taken charge of drawing the planets while Sam handled the presentation. Despite their contrasting personalities—Alex being the quiet, artistic type and Sam the outgoing, talkative one—they hit it off immediately.
By mandala yoga2 years ago in Fiction
