Sci Fi
Changeling; Chapter 7
Everything hurts and everything is blurry. I think I can see black spots. I can definitely hear voices. I manage to lift my hands to my eyes, attempting to rub the fog from them. My muscles groan in protest, my arms feel so heavy it seems like a minor miracle I can keep them in the air as I rub my eyes. It takes a second for me to realize that my hands aren't bound. By the time I do, the voices have gone silent.
By Katarzyna Crevan14 days ago in Fiction
The Slide
The last thing Elias Thorne heard was the sound of a ceramic mug shattering against the hardwood floor. It was his favorite mug, the one with the chipped rim that he’d bought in a dusty market in Marrakesh thirty years ago. Then came the crushing pressure in his chest, like a grand piano dropped from a great height, followed by a silence so absolute it felt like a texture.
By Nguyen Xuan Chinh14 days ago in Fiction










