Stream of Consciousness
The Lantern of Whispering Trees
by Yahya Asim In a remote village nestled between the emerald folds of two great hills, there stood a forest known as the Whispering Trees. Locals spoke of it with reverence and caution. They said the trees could talk—not with mouths, but with murmurs carried in the wind. Only those who truly listened could understand their secrets.
By Yahya Asim7 months ago in Fiction
My First Adult Summer
“Congratulations, Class of 2017!” We toss our green caps into the air, mine landing back in my hand. What an eventful day. It had started with a rehearsal of the ceremony, followed by lunch with the other students, before relaxing at home for a few hours until the actual ceremony.
By Amethyst Champagne7 months ago in Fiction
Our One and Only Night
Spend all your time waiting for that second chance, for a break that would make it ok. Montevideo and its calm pace of life. I became one with the delicious flow. The sun seemed to be mainly just caressing the beach. The golden hour. I said hi to the sea, visually it’s usually more than enough; and yet, this time as I went past all the people sharing with each other, it made me wish: “Wouldn’t it be nice to be here with someone else?”
By Laura Rodben7 months ago in Fiction
Animal Farm- Chapter- 4 (George Orwell)
As summer turns to autumn, word of the animals’ successful rebellion spreads far beyond Animal Farm. Snowball and Napoleon send pigeons to neighboring farms to tell the other animals about their revolution and to teach them the song of the Beast of England. The pigeons carry the message far and wide, inspiring animals on other farms to rise up just as they have. Meanwhile, the human owners of neighboring farms—Mr. Pilkington of Foxwood and Mr. Frederick of Pinchfield—become deeply concerned that ideas of animalism might spread. They try to downplay the animal revolution, mocking Animal Farm and calling it a failure, but secretly, they fear a similar rebellion among their own animals.
By Echoes of Life7 months ago in Fiction
The Last Light
The Last Light – A Story of “Luminous” There was once a village wrapped in quiet hills and thick, whispering woods. It was a place time had mostly forgotten. The world beyond it rushed ahead with noise and invention, but the people of Velden lived slowly, holding onto rhythms older than clocks.
By Terence Lisher7 months ago in Fiction
Bread across barbed wire
The Weight of Sweat The summer sun scorched the rooftops as Kurt dragged himself home from school, sweating lines down his dust-covered face. upon arriving home, his mother woke up, who was taking a siesta rest break. She woke up and fried yesterday’s cooked beans by adding some tomatoes and served him the meal. After making his lunch, his mother told him to check upon his father, who did not come to the lunch, which was unusual.
By Ihtisham ul haq7 months ago in Fiction
lucid. Content Warning.
There once was a family that had been struggling to reconnect. Arguments, silence, resentment—they had drifted apart, each locked in their own little world of pain. Hoping to mend their fractured bond, they decided to go away on a short holiday. A chance to reset. To be a family again.
By Sabrina Verwey7 months ago in Fiction
Welcome to Hyperphantasia
Welcome to hyperphantasia. Or perhaps hyper imagination? It doesn’t really matter what label you call it, but I often thought that other people could imagine a scene play out right in front of your eyes on command. Sitting in the office chair staring at the work screen, then suddenly a tiny human-like figure morphs into existence on your desk and is now karate chopping the mechanical pencil in front of you, but you casually continue on with your work, sound familiar? It happens to me all the time. Can you almost smell the coffee from the made-up tavern where a six-foot elven merchant behind the counter is brewing, talking to other patrons while you write the next scene of the book no one is going to read until you stop self-doubting the work you do? Hmm? I can. Or how about playing out scenarios in your head where the imagery is so real that you accidentally trigger fight or flight responses, do you do that? This may sound cliche, but I really wish I had given in to the imagery and pursued my first love of the arts. But here is something that is interesting. Can you turn it off? Can you shake the imagery out of your head? I can. It is weird how it occurs, too. Let us take the original scenario of you sitting on your office chair, then the miniature manlike figure starts karate chopping the mechanical pencils in front of you. Then let us say that a pink cat calmly struts its way towards the little martial artists and then spontaneously morphs into a nine-tailed kitsune; all the while, a small army of undead creeps behind our two new heroes. Before the action kicks off, you notice that you misspelled a word you were actively typing while fully engaged with your work. No missed sentences, no confusion on what was going on with your job, nor any missed strides with the potential epic fight scene happening in real time in front of you, in full color, with dialogue! You tell yourself, okay, time to turn this off, then poof. The imagery is gone, and you seamlessly continue on with your day. Interesting, is it not? What is frustrating is that a lot of the time, I can’t focus a narrative out of it. It has happened plenty of times, but the majority of instances, it is full-on randomness, until I give it complete control. If I focus my energy on what imagery is playing out in front of me, I can carve out a story. The problem? As a storyteller, I can imagine the most intense of scenes and the more serene of scenes, but my skills as a writer are still coming around. This is where frustration kicks in. You see, I never nourished this imagery, and I never thought about what I could do with this “theater of the mind” in the form of expression or even attempt a career out of it. I was too traditional in the first half of my existence. And I confidently say, “first half” because I am a firm believer that life doesn’t really have a definition of when something starts or ends. I mean, of course, there are basic things like adolescence and developmental stages, but I’m talking about this thing we made up called “careers.” It sucks that I am now trying to tap into my imagination and explore the creative side of existence because this is fun, but the fact of the matter is that it doesn’t matter when you start embracing your thing; as long as you embrace it. But for me, trying to funnel these fantastical characters and all of their quirks onto paper so that others may enjoy, I’m still working on that. But in the meantime, I’ll keep karate chopping mechanical pencils and convert that into stories.
By Anthony Diaz7 months ago in Fiction
