Stream of Consciousness

The Clockmaker’s Gift
In a small cobblestoned town in the middle of two green hills lived an old clockmaker, Elias Thorn. His workshop, tucked at the corner of Willow Street, was a symphony of crushing sounds - hundreds of clocks, ticking with a life of their own.
By Nusuki2 months ago in Fiction
The Last Letter
The train was then long gone from the station, but Ava was still standing, still holding old, yellowed envelope in her fingers. The paper was soft from being opened and folded too many times. The words inside had faded, but she didn't even need to read them anymore - she knew them by heart.
By Nusuki2 months ago in Fiction
“First Rain, First Love: A Story of Fate and Forever
Rain has a magical way of bringing strangers together, and for Aisha and Haroon, it was fate’s gentle nudge. On a chilly, rainy afternoon outside the university gate, Aisha struggled to keep her books dry, unaware that a simple act of kindness would change her life forever. Haroon, holding a large black umbrella, stepped forward with a smile and a helping hand — a moment so ordinary, yet so extraordinary. That single encounter under the raindrops sparked a connection neither of them could ignore. As friendship blossomed, laughter turned into unspoken feelings, and silent glances grew heavier with meaning. This is the story of how love began quietly, unexpectedly, and beautifully — under the first rain, on the first day they truly saw each other.
By hamad khan2 months ago in Fiction
The Man Who Sold Forgotten Memories
It was a fog-soaked evening when Elias appeared in the old town square — a man with silver hair, a faded brown coat, and a wooden cart filled with tiny glass bottles that glimmered faintly under the streetlights.
By Muhammad Kashif 2 months ago in Fiction
Thin Ice
The lake wasn’t supposed to be frozen yet. That’s the first thing. It was early fall, leaves still pretending to be green, air only barely biting. Nobody had posted a “safe to skate” notice, no red flags, no bored guy in a parka with a drill measuring thickness. Just me, my headphones, and a sheet of ice that looked like someone had laid a piece of glass over the water overnight.
By Milan Milic2 months ago in Fiction
The book of all (of my) knowledge
They told me the sky was shimmering with golden hues. They told me the earth was shaken. I stood firm, holding my cup of tea, this beautiful quail-printed ceramic mug I keep from my youth, from the radiant age of 15.
By Maya Or Tzur2 months ago in Fiction
Coffee, Leaves, and Wagging Tails
Most mornings, he grabbed his cup of coffee and disappeared into his office for another morning of clacking away while listening to the podcast fitting the moment.
By Matthew J. Fromm2 months ago in Fiction
The Last Dream Seller
In a town where night had lost its magic and the streets were silent, a peculiar shop stood between an old bakery and a shuttered bookstore. Its windows were misted with silver dust, and the faded sign read: Dreams for Sale. Most of the townsfolk passed by without a second glance, thinking it abandoned. But inside, under the dim glow of lanterns, a man worked quietly, arranging tiny glass bottles filled with sparkling mist.
By Muhammad Kashif 2 months ago in Fiction
The Last Love Letter
In the attic of a small, creaky house, tucked away in a forgotten corner of the world, lay a trunk filled with old letters. The letters were tied with a faded ribbon, the once-vibrant pink now dulled to a soft blush. The address on the top envelope read: "For My Beloved, Forever and Always".
By Muhammad Kashif 2 months ago in Fiction
Glass Danse Macabre
The stillness. The steely stillness that stole my breath was ever present. For so long, it had claimed my heart and devotion, and felt alive. Now it felt empty.
By Paul Stewart3 months ago in Fiction
The Call of the Minaret
The early sun had just started to rise from behind the house tops of Medina when Bilal woke up. The air was still cool and heavy with the smell of sand and date palms. For a moment, he listened to the faint sounds of the city waking -- the distant bleating of goats, the clatter of water pots and the quiet hum of life returning after the silence of the night.
By Nusuki3 months ago in Fiction
The Light of the Desert
And the wind sang along the dunes, and Malik took a brush against his shabby cloak, and the desert sand was like tiny sparks on his face. This was hours of walking on part of him, in pursuit of the horizon that kept on pushing away. The sun was now setting, and coloured the sky with fire and gold.
By Nusuki3 months ago in Fiction