Stream of Consciousness
She Was Never Real
I met her on a rainy Tuesday. The kind of rain that doesn't just fall—it lingers in the air, heavy and cold, like the universe itself is pressing down on you. I was sitting alone in a bookstore café, sipping cheap coffee and pretending to read a book I’d already abandoned. She sat across from me without asking, as if we’d done it a thousand times before.
By Leah Brooke7 months ago in Fiction
The charmed life of Starr 🌠. Honorable Mention in The Second First Time Challenge.
Leila, the mother of the child...swears on an unbroken circle of salt, with sugarplums and purified water for sustenance within the circle, that when Starr was born, all the heavenly bodies aligned to become one great big star...pointing the way to her celestial name.
By Novel Allen7 months ago in Fiction
HE WAITED WHILE I HEALED
I wasn’t looking for love when I met him. In fact, I was still at war with the idea of being loved at all. Four years ago, I was just trying to breathe through the days broken, guarded, holding my wounds together with a fake smile and tired prayers. Healing wasn’t soft; it wasn’t peaceful. It was loud, lonely, confusing, and filled with days I didn’t know how I survived.
By Ms Rotondwa Mudau7 months ago in Fiction
Once More With You
Maybe I was meant to sail in darkness. The dark halo I see in others, is it a reflection of my own? My bright light peppered with salt, ravaged by time. Left to be neglected, forgotten and turned into the darkness. Darkness falls on us all, like the waves of sea where turtles and doves turn dark like night. Blanketing us with memories, seeping into our porous pores. Greying us with age until the vast cities within us falter towards the skies, breaking apart until they crumble. Wearing down to the bone before drifting away. No longer do stony mountain tops kiss upon fresh, foggy clouds, or break the dawn of our rising sun. No more do legends bask upon whispers of lost kingdoms, hither no more, wither no more. For we are the mightiest of kingdoms. We are the grace, the bless-ed few. No matter our vows to others and the fall-out that may come. We are the letter writers, the Calvary, the army sent atop horned beasts to bring war and defeat to all of our enemies upon the kings “best behalf”. Its only when we step into ourselves, do we learn to accept our fates, to fly with unburdened wings. To soar into the dewy moons and dust the stars in preparation for our valiant return. For it truly is a curse to see with half-hearted certainties—untamed, unfiltered and starved for touch. Left to wonder if any of this means anything. But in you, with you, it all comes flooding back. Something happened. Something changed, making me remember a feeling I had once long thought dead.
By K.H. Obergfoll7 months ago in Fiction
Echoes of room 313
It was supposed to be just another hotel stay. Adeel was a travel writer—his job was to observe, experience, and move on. He had stayed in over 80 cities, written about rainstorms in Kerala, food markets in Morocco, and forgotten railways in Eastern Europe. But this time, he found himself in a lesser-known Pakistani town, Mehrabad, where his editor asked him to cover a story on “the cultural soul of small places.”
By Muhammad Abbas 7 months ago in Fiction
I Once Saw Myself in a Stranger
It happened on a rainy Thursday afternoon—the kind of rain that softens the edges of the city and makes everything feel suspended, like the world is holding its breath. I was walking home from the café, my umbrella barely shielding me from the drizzle, lost in thought about the chaos in my life. The weight of things unsaid, moments missed, and roads not taken pressed down on me like the clouds above.
By Jawad Khan7 months ago in Fiction
The Clockmaker's Garden
There was a village at the edge of the world where time stood still—not metaphorically, but truly. The sun always hovered in the same place. The shadows never grew longer. The leaves on the trees were forever green, and not a single wrinkle ever touched the faces of the people who lived there.
By Lucien Hollow 7 months ago in Fiction
Dumb Girl
Crisp moonlight cascaded down, blanketed brightly against the back of the black curtains of a corner apartment on a busy corner street. Searching for a way in, it had work to do here. Looking to penetrate the dome of artificial light Caroline tucked herself inside of. It longed to touch her, in its fullness, to rock her gently to sleep. Instead, she pulled her curtains taught. Not a sliver would find its way into her life. She knew to keep out the sounds and sights of distraction. Tuck herself away from the omnipresent beauty life offered her. Stifle the inspiration that mulled in her spirit, waiting to emerge. Brought on by small things, like a now pregnant moon. A bundle of baby stars. Ideas bigger than the galaxies.
By Sydney Lee Jones7 months ago in Fiction
