Stream of Consciousness
It was 4 a.m., and I was craving chocolate.
It was 4 a.m., and I was craving chocolate. If there is one thing you must know about me, I do not have a sweet tooth—at least, I try not to. Most of all, I never crave chocolate. I try to keep it as far away from my thoughts as possible. And the thing is, at this right moment, I do not crave any type of chocolate; I crave a specific one, which, dear reader, is not illustratable.
By Bérengère Balteau12 months ago in Fiction
A machine that can rewrite memories.
Dr. Evelyn Carter stared at the sleek metallic console before her. It was a marvel of modern engineering, a device that could rewrite memories—not just erase them, but alter them, reshape them, turn painful experiences into moments of joy or even fabricate completely new recollections. She had spent the last fifteen years developing the NeuroWeave, a machine capable of mapping and rewriting neural pathways without leaving any trace of manipulation.
By Badhan Sen12 months ago in Fiction
A potion that Grants Temporary immortality.
In the heart of the mystic city of Eldoria, where the stars whispered secrets to those who dared listen, an alchemist named Varian spent his life chasing the impossible—immortality. Through centuries of study, hidden manuscripts, and the guidance of celestial beings, he crafted what scholars deemed unattainable: The Elixir of Everlasting Twilight.
By Badhan Sen12 months ago in Fiction
A family cursed to relive the same day.
The morning sun spilled Golden light through the kitchen window as Anna poured coffee into four mugs. The scent of fresh toast and scrambled eggs filled the air as her husband, Mark, entered, stretching his arms with a yawn. Their children, Lily and Ethan, followed, still in their pajamas, rubbing sleep from their eyes.
By Badhan Sen12 months ago in Fiction
The Last Dreamer. Content Warning.
The Last Dreamer A World Without Dreams The city never sleeps. Neon veins run through its metal framework, reflecting off glass monoliths stretching skyward, forever surrounded by artificial lights. Here, in New Babel, night is not a time to rest—it’s a marketplace of illusions. No one dreams anymore. The Dream Corp. made sure of that. For a price, they offer an escape—artificial dreams, curated and delivered straight to the subconscious. Love stories for the lonely, power fantasies for the weak, nostalgia for the lost. Every night, citizens sink into their pre-designed dreams, never knowing what it really means to dream. Erin is a Dream Architect. He doesn’t sleep the way humans once did. His job is to construct these illusions, weaving together fragments of memory, desire, and artificial wonder. But deep down, he knows: He’s not an artist. He’s a technician, a forger of stolen dreams. One night, in her dimly lit dream lab, a new request comes into her queue. But it's different. It's not a request for a dream. It's a request for a meeting. She arrives quietly, her presence an anomaly in a town that no longer questions. A girl with dark, unblinking eyes, her breath barely stirring the still air. "I don't want a fake dream," she says. Her voice is quiet but firm. "I dream naturally." Erin laughs. "That's impossible. Nobody can." But then she closes her eyes. The air around her glows and twists, like heat rising from the pavement. And then Erin sees it—an image, raw and unfiltered. Not projected, not programmed. A dream, real and alive. The ground beneath her shakes. He stands in an endless golden meadow, the wind whispering secrets in a language he doesn’t understand. The sky above him is not the polluted steel-gray of New Babel but a deep, aching blue, infinite and free. It feels more real than anything he’s ever created. When he blinks, he’s back in the lab, his breathing shaky. She looks at him. “Believe me now?” Her hands are shaking. If Dream Corp finds her, they’ll wipe her out. She’s the last Dreamer. And that means she’s dangerous.
By Rakesh Professional12 months ago in Fiction
Myth or murder. The White Witch of Rosehall, a legendary Jamaican ghost.
"Come get you coconut water here, remember it good for you daughter, and also for you ". Rasta yelled out, grinning feistily as tourists and islanders alike stopped by his stall to quench their thirst.
By Antoni De'Leon12 months ago in Fiction
The Man Who Painted Dreams
Elias Thorn had always been a dreamer, but his dreams had never paid the bills. His tiny studio apartment was cluttered with canvases—vivid landscapes, surreal portraits, and abstract swirls of color—all unsold. He was on the verge of giving up when he woke up one morning to find his latest painting glowing faintly in the dim light.
By Pranshu verma12 months ago in Fiction
Orphan of desire
The future is the orphanage, where the cherished desires which heart is giving birth to today will be abandoned and forgotten. Time has forced us to live three different selves, a past self, a present self, and a future self and none of these three selves share the same desires.
By VoiceOfAnOutlier12 months ago in Fiction
The Timeless Appeal of Pirate Stories: Why Pirates of the Caribbean Still Captivates Audiences. AI-Generated.
Privateers have consistently held an exceptional spot in the aggregate creative mind. From the high oceans to covered treasure, privateers as trying explorers, talented pilots, and insubordinate mavericks has long enraptured narrators. However, what is it about privateer stories that keep on drawing in crowds, even in a cutting edge world so distant from the brilliant time of robbery?
By Shaikh Md Niloy Ahmmed Reyad12 months ago in Fiction
