Stream of Consciousness
Why My Body Remembers. Content Warning.
The night bus to Bangalore smells of diesel and longing. I press my forehead against the cool, vibrating window, watching the neon signs of Chennai blur into streaks of fuchsia and gold. My phone is dead. My backpack, stuffed under the seat, holds a single change of clothes and a dog-eared copy of a Rumi translation I pretend to understand. This is not a pilgrimage. It’s a flight. A crack in the surface of my well-ordered life, and I have slipped through.
By Chahat Kaur4 months ago in Fiction
Uncivil mad Thoughts.. Runner-Up in Parallel Lives Challenge.
HER I feel encased in glass...cast in an everlasting fecking mask - buried deep within a coral bed of frowning faces and gritted teeth. Feelings of having a bad day surface...I try my best to don my lovely grinning mask...but it doesn't fit.
By Novel Allen4 months ago in Fiction
The Painter of Forgotten Faces. AI-Generated.
The town of Windmere was known for two things — its endless fog and its quiet secrets. On the edge of its cobblestone streets stood a small art studio, its windows always glowing softly at night. Inside lived a painter named Jonas Vale, a man both admired and feared for his peculiar gift.
By shakir hamid4 months ago in Fiction
A Shot in the Heart. Top Story - October 2025.
Chantilly took her slice of cake, along with a glass of milk, into the living room to eat while she watched the latest episode of her favorite daytime talk show. Settling onto the chintz-covered couch, she turned the TV on with the remote, switching the channels until she found the one she was searching for. Today was her first day of vacation, and even though Franklin had to work all week, she had every intention of enjoying it to the hilt.
By Mother Combs4 months ago in Fiction
Null Hypothesis . Winner in A Knock at the Door Challenge. Content Warning.
Boom! He stops— stops peeling his skin and lets his head swivel in the lonesome dark, towards the noise. It came from the varied wall, directly below the pale green dot. But the dot is still as always, it has always been there and it has never moved-- the dot is constant and eternal.
By Sam Spinelli4 months ago in Fiction
One More Round
There was a knock at the door. Three of them, actually. Jax froze with his hand on the arm of the couch, the sound cutting through the air. Nobody knocked on his door anymore, not in a long time, not since everything stopped feeling like a home. It sounded like Misty’s knock. He stood up slowly, his heart pushing against his ribs like it wanted out, and crossed the living room that still smelled faintly of her perfume, no matter how many times he cleaned. The door handle felt cold in his palm. As he turned it and opened the door, there she was, Misty, standing there with her hair pulled back the way she wore it when she was about to spar, eyes bright and wide. Her lips curled into a small smile that hit him right in the chest.
By Joey Raines4 months ago in Fiction
A Fiddler fiddles a Hollow Ballad of A 'King'. A 'White' House burning Red. 🎻🎻🎻🎻
In a vast metaphor of a house, painted white, a hidden room exists within its hallowed walls. It houses Hope, accompanied by a Dream-Spider which spins emotions on behalf of its resident. Spider escapes only in dreams, never ever absent from her celestial duty of watching over her charge. But hope had been on a long and leisurely vacation away from the room...happily so. For the world was a much brighter place, with hope visiting everywhere.
By Novel Allen4 months ago in Fiction
