Stream of Consciousness
The House that We Build
The House That We Build: A Haunting of Our Parents The house still stood, even after all these years. Leaning slightly westward with age, the shingles curling like dried petals, its gray frame cloaked in ivy and memory. It was ours once—The House That We Built, as our father used to say. Only, we never built it. We inherited it, like we inherited the sadness and silence that filled its rooms.
By Huzaifa Dzine6 months ago in Fiction
The Butcher’s Table. Content Warning.
I chop the meat. My job is one of transformation. We start with the husk of a living thing. It’s recognizable as a corpse. The bones are arrayed into a skeleton, the machinery of the muscles is still obvious, we can see the tendons that fasten it all together, and there is an image of the whole with all its functioning parts.
By Martin Vidal6 months ago in Fiction
She Woke Up With Someone Else’s Memories
The Story: Aanya woke to sunlight brushing her face, a soft breeze through linen curtains, and the distant hum of a city she couldn’t name. Her eyes fluttered open, but before she could rise, a wave of confusion washed over her.
By Fazal Hadi6 months ago in Fiction
The Cold Embrace of Loneliness
The first day of June arrived with a sky so blue it looked painted by a child—too perfect to be real. Eliza stood at her kitchen sink, hands resting on the cool porcelain, watching the neighbour’s children chalk suns and hopscotch grids onto the pavement. Their laughter floated up like bubbles, bursting just before they reached her window.
By Liz Burton6 months ago in Fiction
Mastering the First Date: What to Wear, Where to Go, and What to Say to Leave a Lasting Impression
First dates are exciting—but let’s be honest, they can also be nerve-wracking. You're meeting someone new, possibly someone special, and every decision counts. From what you wear to where you go and what you say, each detail can shape how the date unfolds—and whether there’s a second one.
By Muhammad Saeed6 months ago in Fiction
Salt and Vinegar Summers
The gravel crunched beneath her tires as the car rolled to a stop beneath the familiar canopy of pine. The air smelled like memory—sap and sun-warmed wood, with just a trace of last night’s rain lingering in the ferns. Sylvie sat for a moment with the engine off, her fingers curled loosely around the wheel. The silence settled fast.
By Oula M.J. Michaels6 months ago in Fiction
The Gravity of Smoke. Honorable Mention in The Summer That Wasn’t Challenge.
🌒 Night has a different kind of gravity. In the basement of a dingy college pool hall, this gravity settles into the walls, thick as smoke and twice as heavy. It wraps around one’s shoulders, seeps into one’s hair, clinging to one’s clothes, and it slides into one’s lungs like an old sorrow.
By Stacey Mataxis Whitlow (SMW)6 months ago in Fiction
NOT ALL HOMES WELCOME YOU. Content Warning.
My friend Mr. Sinha had always believed in logic. A retired forest officer with a stern face and a steady voice, he laughed off the idea of ghosts and curses. When he bought a sprawling but decaying zamindar house in a remote Bengal village, he felt like he had found peace at last.
By Isabella Wood6 months ago in Fiction
