Psychological
“Flash Fiction Fridays”
Flash Fiction Fridays By [Ali Rehman] Every Friday evening, like clockwork, the small community of writers gathered online for “Flash Fiction Fridays.” It was a tradition born from a shared love of bite-sized stories — short tales packed with emotion, surprise, and meaning, each no longer than a few hundred words but heavy with impact.
By Ali Rehman3 months ago in Fiction
“Voices of the Creators”
Voices of the Creators By [Ali Rehman] In a small, sunlit café tucked away from the noisy streets of the city, a group of creators gathered once a month to share their stories — the stories behind their stories, the voices that shaped their art. They called it the “Voices of the Creators” series: intimate conversations that brought light to the hidden moments, the doubts, and the triumphs of those who create.
By Ali Rehman3 months ago in Fiction
“Whispers of the Unknown”
Whispers of the Unknown By [Ali Rehman] The village of Eldermoor sat at the edge of the world — or at least, that’s what the locals believed. Nestled between misty woods and an endless stretch of twilight sky, it was a place forgotten by time, where strange things whispered on the wind and shadows danced just beyond sight.
By Ali Rehman3 months ago in Fiction
Halloween House Party (4). Content Warning.
Chapter 4: “What did she just say” I whisper to myself, her words haunting and ringing through my ears. “She said Sly’s dead? Who’s Sly?” My girl looks up at me with curiosity and none of the fear that’s draining all the blood from face.
By 𝓗. 𝓒. 𝓡𝓾𝓫𝔂3 months ago in Fiction
Miss Havisham's Bathroom. Winner in The Forgotten Room Challenge.
Fran had been told she couldn’t really call herself a stand-up if she hadn’t done The Black Lake Pub gig. So, she had signed up and agreed to a car share. Twenty minutes from Manchester and fifty years back in time, in daylight the area might have been called stone-built picturesque. On a February evening, with an empty field to the left and the dark waters to the right, it was Gothic isolation.
By Rachel Robbins3 months ago in Fiction
Every Shadow Lies
The rain had a rhythm that night — a slow, steady tapping against the windows of the Blackmoor Institute. It was the kind of rain that made secrets feel heavier, as if the sky itself was trying to drown them. Inside, the corridors were dimly lit, the lights flickering like dying stars. Dr. Elara Voss walked quickly, her heels echoing against the linoleum floor, each step like a countdown to something she couldn’t yet name.
By Miss Maryam3 months ago in Fiction
