Stream of Consciousness

Allergies
I imagine God, sitting on a tiny rock, barren and useless. He’s flicked on the sun, and his pride and joy glows in the void as he tastes nebulae to make sure they are done. Tightens up asteroid belts. Drops a needle on spinning galaxies. Throws a pair of dice to determine fate or chance. Tosses bad ideas into a black hole. No net. Then, He closes his eyes and dreams up fields of flowers. The idea of pollen makes him sneeze. Wiping the primordial ooze from his majestic nose, He tosses it in the nearest crater. Leaving it to remember how it used to be a part of something special. All of which explains why I am allergic to religion.
By Sean A.5 months ago in Fiction
Coffee Shop at the End of the World
Maya had always believed that the world would end with fire or ice, maybe a bang or a whimper—anything but the gentle hum of an espresso machine and the soft jazz playing from speakers that had seen better days. Yet here she was, wiping down tables at Brew & Beyond while the sky outside painted itself in shades of amber and crimson that had nothing to do with sunset.
By Fazal Ur Rahman5 months ago in Fiction
Everything Looks Better From Far Away.... Content Warning.
I walk down the streets just to get away I try to image other people’s life’s as they pass on by Some look away and some give a pleasant smile as they say hi
By J.W. Baird5 months ago in Fiction
Did I Drink That Or
Author's Note: Write a story where something unreal still has a real impact. 'It was all a dream', or was it? I awoke afraid and looking around to see where I was.
By Denise E Lindquist5 months ago in Fiction
Rust Beneath the Skin. Content Warning.
The year was 1899, and the sea pressed itself endlessly against the coast of Whitcombe, a village where salt clung to the air and iron settled deep into every man’s bones. Fishermen cursed the waves even as they depended on them. Wives scrubbed clothes raw on the stones, while children hauled baskets of coal to homes already blackened with soot. And among them moved Clara Whitcombe, daughter of the late foundry master, who wore gloves even in the height of summer.
By E. hasan5 months ago in Fiction
Imran Khan: The Lion Who Never Gave Up
In the bustling city of Lahore, in a family of scholars and strong traditions, a boy named Imran Khan was born in 1952. Unlike most children of his time, who dreamed of stable professions in medicine, law, or business, Imran carried a different vision. His heart belonged to cricket. From the narrow streets of Lahore to the manicured grounds of Aitchison College and later Oxford University, his bat and ball became his closest companions.
By Princess Ladly5 months ago in Fiction
Honor. Top Story - August 2025.
All he had in his life was honor. In the corner of his small bedchamber, a smoldering ancestral votive with notes of incense, jasmine, and wildflower fought the stench of the world beyond. It was a futile effort. Moonlight reflected off his sword reverently held between two wooden pedestals. It was his father’s blade, cooled with honor by blood of the Emperor’s enemies.
By Matthew J. Fromm5 months ago in Fiction
The Writers in The Walls
Why are my pencils always gone? The moment I set one down, it’s flown I desperately scribble with pen, marker, crayon Whatever I can get my grubby hands on
By K.B. Silver 5 months ago in Fiction
The Remnance of Michael McCormack . Content Warning.
I have so many words, but I'm flustered beyond belief when I sit down to write this note. Who was Michael McCormack? Some would say he was the best friend nobody knew they had, some would say he was excellent in school, his friends and family would claim he was a special talent taken too soon.
By Parsley Rose 5 months ago in Fiction
The Day Ads Started Talking Back
It started with a banner ad. When ignoring pop-ups was no longer an option, the internet changed forever. At first, Jason thought it was a glitch. He was scrolling through an article when a flashing banner for a fitness app appeared at the top of his screen. Nothing unusual there. But then the banner changed, and the text read:
By Farooq Hashmi5 months ago in Fiction
The Clock Stopped at 3:07
The night it started, I thought it was just a coincidence. I had fallen asleep on the couch, the TV still on, when a sharp click jolted me awake. I glanced over at the old clock on the wall—the one my grandmother left me. Its second hand had frozen, pointing straight at the seven.
By ETS_Story5 months ago in Fiction
The Power of AI: How Artificial Intelligence is Shaping the Future of Humanity
The Power of AI: How Artificial Intelligence is Shaping the Future of Humanity --- A New Era of Intelligence Artificial Intelligence (AI) is no longer the stuff of science fiction—it’s here, woven into the fabric of our daily lives. At its core, AI is the simulation of human intelligence by machines. It can learn, adapt, and even make decisions, sometimes faster and more accurately than people. What was once imagined in futuristic novels is now a reality: machines that recognize faces, translate languages, diagnose diseases, and even create art. The rise of AI represents a turning point in human history, comparable to the invention of electricity or the internet.
By Muhammad Ibrahim5 months ago in Fiction