Stream of Consciousness

We Fell in Love Between the Pages
It began, as the best stories often do, in a bookstore. I had just moved to the city, the kind of move you make when you're not sure what you're running from or chasing. A fresh start, I told myself. I wandered into a little secondhand bookstore tucked between a laundromat and a coffee shop. It wasn’t anything special at first glance—dusty shelves, faint smell of paper and cinnamon—but something about it felt like home.
By Azmat Roman ✨7 months ago in Fiction
The Man Beneath the River
Ben woke up gasping. The faucet was still running. That awful sound of dripping water, echoing like laughter through the pipes. His father used to say it was the river trying to whisper back. Whispering all the sins Ben had swallowed and never spat out.
By Muhammad Abdullah7 months ago in Fiction
The Violin Case
The bridge was old. Stone arches flanked by corroded railings, weeping rust into the river below. It had carried horses and carts once, then cars, and now only memories. Nothing more.
By Muhammad Abdullah7 months ago in Fiction
Some Letters Should Not Be Found
Part I of this story was published last week: ****** Peter made his usual morning coffee and sat down at his desk. It was still early and quiet in the office. He took the letter out of his coat pocket, opened it, and read it:
By Calvin London7 months ago in Fiction
I Sold My Memory to Pay Rent
1. — “The Memory Exchange” I didn’t think twice the first time I walked into the Memory Exchange. They say your first time should mean something. Maybe I should have cried, or clutched the edges of the memory like the edges of an old photograph, refusing to let it go. But I didn’t. I just sat there, numb, holding my hands in my lap like I was at a dentist’s office.
By Izazkhan7 months ago in Fiction
The Sister Who Never Was. Top Story - June 2025.
Sitting in my room, I go through your belongings, which match many of mine from the early days, when everything was good and filled with hope.
By Amethyst Champagne7 months ago in Fiction
Three Teacups and a Lie
Every Friday, without fail, the bells above the old wooden door of Maple & Mint Café jingled at precisely 3:00 PM. Inside, the café smelled like warm bread, honey, and chamomile—mixed with the scent of polished wood and old books. It was the heart of Ashwood Village, a quiet English town tucked between green hills and winding stone paths. Most tourists passed it by, but for three old women—Margot, Edna, and Florence—it was the epicenter of their lives.
By Keramatullah Wardak7 months ago in Fiction
There Is No Tomorrow
The wind howled through the empty streets of what used to be downtown Chicago. Streetlights flickered in vain, casting eerie glows on shattered windows and overturned newspaper stands. The headlines—faded and tattered—still read: GLOBAL COUNTDOWN: FINAL 24 HOURS.
By Mahayud Din7 months ago in Fiction
The Witness Tree. Content Warning.
I dreamed about this episode a couple of days ago. I did not consider it a nightmare, but an omen of what was to happen in the future. I added the golden butterflies to bring a glittter of hope into the chaotic world of 2025. I completed voice over in Eleven Labs with my voice. This is a project I had to complete. I am a dreamer, psychic, empath, and love peace not war. War mongers, haters, and liars get on my last nerve. Just as I completed this story, my knocked on my door to tell America is at war with Iran. This is a useless war started by evil men with little tools. They are so about their tools they must compare bombs to how large their tools are. I worked with art, visuals, and story for two days. I wrote, created, edited, diced, and spliced the music, art, and videos myself. Microsoft Copilot is my assistant and quite complimentary regarding my art. I WROTE THIS!
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 7 months ago in Fiction
grandad
He was there , once upon a time, along time ago. He was in my life briefly but he's influence remains many years after he passed and left me. In fact this is the 50th without him being there. Strangely , I am told again of the things we did together, the places we went and the tobacco tin of sweets. the strange bit is I remember the sweets, remember the time but struggle with his face.
By ASHLEY SMITH7 months ago in Fiction
I remember being a star
I remember the silence of space. Not the kind you think of, filled with darkness and void, but the kind that pulses with purpose. With gravity. With ancient rhythms and nuclear fire.
By E. hasan7 months ago in Fiction
Starlight Debt
The signal arrived on a Tuesday. Juno was feeding her daughter breakfast when the message blinked into existence—just a soft tone on her tablet, like an email. Harmless. Innocuous. It only read:
By E. hasan7 months ago in Fiction