Stream of Consciousness
Life Lessons from Panchatantra Stories
Most of us grew up reading Aesop’s fables, but you may or may not have heard of the Panchatantra, a collection of ancient Indian stories. I learned the five tantras of the Panchatantra are: Mitra-bheda (The Loss of Friends), Mitra-lābha (The Gaining of Friends), Kākolūkīyam (War and Peace), Labdhapraṇāśam (Loss of Gains), and Aparīkṣitakārakam (Ill-considered Actions).
By Seema Patel28 days ago in Fiction
His heart (was) charcoal
I've met a man the sun filled his heart. The kind of man a woman in her 20's fantasizes about, a man with golden locks of hair and a golden soul, with a mind clear like a transparent sea, with depths that can go beyond you've ever thought possible. He was always kind and friendly, his words could warm your heart. Small verbal gestures like, "I hope you've had a great day today", or "how's your grandma lately? I heard she was feeling ill." Or big words like, "the light of day is fleeting and eternal all at once, actually" – spoken with a soft, bashful smile. He was considerate, an aura behind his head like some kind of saint. But. He was not a saint, not ever, because his mind was hiding a secret. Carrying it inside of it like a fetus in a womb, just waiting to come out of its' hideout. He had cruelty inside his heart. A charcoal heart waiting to come out. Someone once said to him cruelty comes from pain, that a sickened heart is indeed a heart that cannot let go. And he couldn't let go. Yet.
By Maya Or Tzurabout a month ago in Fiction
My Heart's Field
My heart's field is narrow, slipping along the undulating grass and crying over the snipped flowers of my soul. I house a garden that is ill-formed and barely tended to, with little specific purpose, other than to cope with my own momentum of time. In staccato, my breathing shakes as I jog along the bare backed road. Raw and emotional, I scrape myself along the road, black mascara streaming down my cheeks. Eyes fogged, I misjudge my steps, my broken high heels scraping mercilessly across the harsh bitumen, tripping me up.
By Susan L. Marshallabout a month ago in Fiction
My friend Sara. Content Warning.
When I was young, I was very serene. Quiet. Always hiding myself from people with my sallies in nature. But as years passed, something in me became reckless. Something has shifted. I have become someone I do not recognize, something I do not recognize. I still love nature. And that's the reason. That's the reason why I'm so frustrated. My favorite place has been taken away from me. My life has been shattered to pieces, scattered all over the place. My one friend has died there, and it hasn't been the same ever since. I'm filled with grief. With anger. I loved her. I loved her. I - I loved her... so much... she was my best friend I-I... She was such a kind soul! so beautiful... When everyone asks me "Hey, how are you?" Which no one does, but I want them to – my real answer would be, "I'm unwell." I can't go to this place anymore, to my real, chosen home. Ahhh such nostalgia... such magic, such beauty! Was there. Experienced there. Lived there. I go there in my mind, though not physically. I soul travel. I can see it so clearly: the comulonimbus clouds, golden when the sun sets. The azure skies. Those poplar trees, so amberish in autumn. I counted three near the lake. The rain came down in silver drizzles in autumn. In winter, soft snow fell slowly. In summer, the sky was filled with birds. Robins, fluff chested. Songbirds, of all kinds. Bald eagles occasionally, singulars each time. That place was magic. Pure magic. And bliss... it was like some kind of an earthly heaven, a haven. A place so stunning it leaves your mouth fall to the ground. And Sara made it better. Even - even better. So much life she infused to that already lively place. Laughter, common jokes, sharing her beautiful, quirky thoughts, her ideas. Who she was. Sara always used to say, "I don't belong here", referring not to our sacred haven, but to Alabama in general. "I mean, I like the people here. Even love some. But I don't completely fit. I'm like a piece of a puzzle that almost fits, but one bit is not where it's supposed to go. It's not my home. It's not where I belong. I belong where the sky is vast and the birds are always chirping. I belong here, with you. With my awfully shy black headed boy," she mussed my hair, "this will always be my home." Softly she said it, smiling gloomily. She was my forever home. I think of her German parents often. They were so nice and welcoming. I loved them as if they were my own parents, as if I was their own blood. I was, and still am, a misfit, a lonely kid. But not with them. With them I felt like home. Less lonely. Much, much less. They welcomed me unto their home. They have given me warmth, care. Sara always made jokes with me at their table, like we were siblings. And we were. We really were chosen siblings. But Sara died from a lightning strike near that lake at our sacred haven. I was almost struck, too. Almost went to heaven with her... if I even DESERVE a heaven. But Sara was an angel. She is already in heaven. In heav... *sobbing* Why does everything has to be SO DAMN HARD?!why am I losing my one person in life when everything else is so bad?! Gosh... I sure hope she's in a good place. She was an angel! She was an angel. An... oh my god... I feel so terrible. First my abusing parents, now this... GOD, WHY DID YOU ABANDON ME?! My God...
By Maya Or Tzurabout a month ago in Fiction
The Day the Stars Went Out
The Night Everything Changed I was twelve years old the night the stars vanished. It wasn’t gradual. One moment, the sky was alive—thousands of tiny sparks scattered across the velvet dark. The next, they were gone. Every single one.
By Fazal Hadiabout a month ago in Fiction
Lily
Gum drops rained from cotton candy clouds. She rode her unicorn through the fields of Dream land. She came across a bandit and charged at him, but he held firm, no flinching. He sat upon his mighty steed. His nose was high in the air. “I’m the Time Bandit,” he said. “What do you want?” Lily asked. “I am here to steal your youth,” he declared. “You visit me once a month and tell me this all the time,” Lily said. “You’re right child,” he said. “But you’re a mother now, correct?”“You know this,” Lily muttered. “This dream representation of yourself is just you as a child,” the Time Bandit said. “You no longer believe in unicorns and such childish things, correct?” She turned her back on him and he let out a divisive laugh. “You cannot escape me girl,” he mocked. Clocks filled the skies and they ticked away. “The flow of time only flows one way child,” he said. “It only flows forward, not backward.” “So let me play now. Then I’ll go back to worrying about my mortgage and getting my daughter to school on time, when I wake up. But for now, will you let me ride a damn unicorn through dream land during a gumball thunderstorm?” she said with her eyes burning with fire. He smiled and shook his head. “That is no way to talk for a young lady,” he teased. She rolled her eyes and the unicorn trotted past the smug time bandit. She passed events of her life. There was graduating college, getting married, and her daughter being born. She could even hear her own mother calling her home for supper. She listened to the ticking of the clock. She wanted her mother to have brown hair and be young again, but when she reached her,
By DJ Robbinsabout a month ago in Fiction
Glass Winter | Chapter VIII
Under torchlight Palina could see all the layered veins of blue and green beneath the thin pearly skin of her hand. She brushed snow kernels off the surface of the ground surrounding the grease cradle, one of the many burning in the commune, and collected the powder into a tusk, which she handed to a builder making his way to the edge of the camp. The others remained to pocket the rest while Palina donned a mitten and proceeded to the cold corner, far from any flame.
By Andrei Babaninabout a month ago in Fiction
When Darkness Taught Me to See
The Night Everything Went Black I still remember the exact moment the world went dark. Not just the physical dark—the kind that creeps into a room when the power goes out—but the emotional one. The kind that settles into your chest quietly, like it has every right to stay there.
By Fazal Hadiabout a month ago in Fiction
