Series
"Whispers Of Magic". AI-Generated.
Days passed, but Kael couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching him — something old and hungry. The Hope Flame inside him flickered whenever doubt crept in, and with it came visions: flashes of a forgotten past, a family lost to shadows, and a power sealed away long ago.
By EchoesOnPaper7 months ago in Fiction
"Whispers Of Magic". AI-Generated.
Kael’s heart hammered as the shadow behind him stirred into something more — a figure cloaked in darkness, eyes gleaming like cold stars. But before fear could root him to the spot, a soft voice echoed inside his mind. “Trust the light within.”
By EchoesOnPaper7 months ago in Fiction
"Where Poppies Grow". Content Warning. AI-Generated.
Chapter 1: The Call to Arms In the summer of 1914, Edward Martin stood on the wooden platform of his small village station in Somerset, England. The sun was bright, the air thick with the scent of blooming roses from the garden behind his family home. His mother held his hand tightly, trying to keep her composure as he prepared to board the train.
By zulqarnain7 months ago in Fiction
One More Friday Night
He could hear the pounding of feet from behind. The muffled sounds of screaming and yelling. His heart pounded through his chest, and blood pumped strong through his veins. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a black-and-white figure trying to keep pace. This only accelerated his own stride, causing him to run upright at an alarming speed. He loved this feeling. It was part exhilaration, part fear, and part violence. The rush of brisk air hitting his face through the metal cage he wore. This was how he found acceptance, how he made friends, and one of the only places he ever found peace. As he continued to pull away, he could see his goal. The crowd grew louder. The orange pylon was just feet away...
By Clifford Kincaid7 months ago in Fiction
A Friend
Have you ever met a true friend and then realized that the day you first met would be the last. That’s the way it was with me and Nightingale. I never found out his first name, but it didn’t matter. All of his friends only called him Nightingale. Let me tell you how we met.
By David E. Perry7 months ago in Fiction
"Leave The Light On"
He's been waiting at his post for three hours. The sun has now set. Fully loaded bins line the street. Garbage day tomorrow. Loose papers from those who overfill their stack adorn the road. A busted fence. Laundry on the line in the front yard. Two dogs barking on the return. One by one, cigarettes lit and adorn the ashtray. Sitting. Waiting. A series of families out walking their dogs. A young couple, woman clearly pregnant, stop to take selfies. The sun sets. The street goes quiet. A third and final redbull. The key turns, an engine rattles. It's time to make a statement. It's time to get this pricks head out of the dirt.
By Scott Cathery7 months ago in Fiction
Who's the real monster?. Content Warning.
It's been the same nightmare for over 10 years now. Reliving the night I lost every thing that ever mattered to me. When I jumped off the roof of the hospital I thought it would lead to my death instead of entering the shadows of the world.
By Lucy Torralba7 months ago in Fiction
The Boy Who Borrowed Time
The Worst Morning Ever Leo Winters was having the worst morning of his entire life. He missed the school bus. He spilled chocolate milk on his math homework. His big science project—the volcano—fell apart. And when he got to school (late), his best friend Olivia was mad at him because he forgot to save her a seat at lunch yesterday.
By Lucien Hollow 7 months ago in Fiction
Red Spindle, Burning Blue
The rebels moved like ghosts they were silent, pale shapes swallowed by the smoke-stained corridors of the Red Spindle. Their boots barely touched the scorched floor, gliding through flickering light and digital dust, remnants of a world that once pulsed with power. Faces masked, eyes sharp, they slipped between the skeletal remains of machines like whispers through a dying network. Fear kept them fluid. Training kept them quiet. But it was the hope, the fragile kind that clings to the edges of impossible missions that made them relentless. They had come for the myth at the core of the ruin. And every breath they took felt like it might be their last. Silent, fast, afraid. It was the year 2999 and they had survived. The Fold. The famine. The Kinetic Plague.
By Toni Du Plooy7 months ago in Fiction
