Stream of Consciousness

How Much Is The Truth Worth To You?
John Stevens was shocked when his best friend Paul Linton sued him. Nodding after reading the summons to attend court, he grinned, thinking, “This makes no sense.”
By Annelise Lords about a year ago in Fiction
The Commander, The Chief, and The Saviour
"Honestly, if brains were dynamite, I'd blow my foot off. Deliberately. With aplomb, dignity and blood draining from shrapnel-shaped holes. It's been an easy campaign run. Lots of rallies and salutes, though they know I've never served a damn day of my life. They were joyful. The love of this country. The sound of screams, shouts, and the sight of tears and smiles. People adorned in the brightest and boldest red.
By Paul Stewartabout a year ago in Fiction
Weeps my human psyche (Pt 2) Insanity in the Bloodline
"The river ran backwards on the day the Queen vanished"? I had to do it. The Queen was quite mad. The King may be dead. Long live the Queen!
By Antoni De'Leonabout a year ago in Fiction
Weeps my human psyche (Pt 1)
The river ran backwards on the day the Queen vanished. She spoke to me, The River, of her sojourn, her inner Charybdis into the vortex of torment. Long did I listen to her lamented mourn as she walked the banks of me. My soothing waters tried to lustrate and purify her spirit, but alas, could not. The night creatures had taken a hold of her tortured and frail quintessence, dragging it deep into a vanishing chasm. May there be hope, I prayed, of her expurgation and purification.
By Antoni De'Leonabout a year ago in Fiction
310 My Vote Discounts
November 5, "the Tuesday next after the first Monday in November," is statutorily set as election day here in the USA. It is, coincidentally, Guy Fawkes Day in the UK.
By Gerard DiLeoabout a year ago in Fiction
I Want To Run Away From A Place Called Home
In a small town where the sky seemed perpetually gray, lived a girl named Alisha. She often felt trapped in her quaint little house, its peeling paint and creaking floors echoing her restless spirit. The walls, once vibrant with laughter and warmth, had become a cage, suffocating her dreams. Outside, the town was a patchwork of familiar faces and places, but to Alisha,it felt like a prison.
By zulfi buxabout a year ago in Fiction
Showing me the magic
Years ago, in the vibrant city of Rio de Janeiro, there lived a young man named Pedro. Pedro worked at a prestigious marketing firm, but despite the outward success, he felt a constant undercurrent of dissatisfaction. He had been with the company for a few months, navigating a steep learning curve before settling into a routine. Yet, the nagging feeling that he was meant for something more wouldn’t leave him.
By Tales by J.J.about a year ago in Fiction
Life Circle
My back-door neighbors disappear almost fully every summer. It’s a slow, patchy, green obscuration, courtesy of a tall persimmon tree next to the fence that separates our houses. Today morning, as I stand at the kitchen sink filling water in a small saucepan and look out of the window in the back, their seasonal eclipsing is almost at totality. Only an edge of their terracotta tile roof and part of the upstairs window remain. Come fall, the gaps between the branches of the tree, bending under the weight of many fruit, will widen. And, as I walk through the different levels of my house, I’ll start to catch glimpses of them again. An upside-down triangle view of their patio door and the periodic appearance of the man as he jogs in circles around his house. Or, of the lady sitting on the step with her back resting against the pale brown-pink walls, head tilted, and her eyes closed against the sun. I always feel a strange reassurance at their reappearance. We don’t know each other, but they’re part of a cycle I unconsciously track, and though I can never be sure of the shape their return will take, I still count on the little predictability it offers.
By Tales by J.J.about a year ago in Fiction
The Journey to My Wife's Heart
Three years ago, if you’d asked me, "Can you cook?" my answer would’ve been a sheepish, “Umm... I can make Maggie” And even that was hit or miss—either overcooked or too watery. Life was simple and uncomplicated until I got married.
By Tales by J.J.about a year ago in Fiction
Life & Death Are In Your Actions, Choices & Decisions — Part 1
“Wait!” Cera cried out to Denova, after passing a well-dressed male, kicking the left back tire of his black Mercedes Benz, on the side of the highway, reserved for cars in distress.
By Annelise Lords about a year ago in Fiction
The Curse of Ravenwood Manor
The Curse of Ravenwood Manor Every Halloween, the small, mist-covered town of Ravenwood fell under a chilling spell. Known for its spooky atmosphere and ancient legends, Ravenwood attracted both thrill-seekers and ghost hunters from far and wide. But amidst all the haunted tales, one story remained the most terrifying—the Curse of Ravenwood Manor.
By Nada solimanabout a year ago in Fiction
The Forgotten Garden
In a faraway forest, nestled between two ancient mountains, there was a garden known only in whispers. It had no map or path leading to it, but those who wandered too far from home sometimes stumbled upon it. Most who did forgot it instantly, as though it slipped from their memory like mist. But the rare few who remembered told of a world untouched by time—a place known simply as The Forgotten Garden.
By Melanieabout a year ago in Fiction