thriller
Sunset Grace: A Parisian Balcony Encounter
It was the soft, golden hour in Paris, that fleeting, sacred interlude the French call l'heure dorée. The day, with its clamor and commerce, was exhaling a final, contented sigh, and the city, in turn, breathed back a soft, ethereal light. The wind, a gentle accomplice in this twilight conspiracy, drifted from the Seine, carrying with it the faint, complex perfume of river water, rain-washed stone, and the distant promise of evening blossoms. It brushed against my face, a cool, silken touch, as I leaned back on the modest wrought-iron terrace of my rented apartment in the 7th arrondissement.
By Stefano D'angello3 months ago in Fiction
The Holy American Empire
Nine days of silence followed Panama’s joint announcement of the South Coalition. The world had expected some kind of retaliation from Emperor Kane. They threatened not just trade in the Americas, but now they had a growing army—experts said it could compete on the battlefield in ways Mexico never could.
By Logan M. Snyder3 months ago in Fiction
The Sound Beneath the Floor
The first night it happened, I thought it was the pipes. A faint tapping beneath my bedroom floor — rhythmic, like a heartbeat out of sync. I pressed my ear against the old wooden boards, half expecting silence. But the sound grew louder, then stopped the moment I whispered, “Hello?”
By Malaika Piolet4 months ago in Fiction
Through the Keyhole
The story begins, as all treacherously good disasters do, with procrastination. The challenge prompt is open on one screen: Write a story that begins with someone peering through a keyhole or modern equivalent. I've been staring at the prompt long enough that the words have utterly lost meaning. Keyhole. Key. Hole. Holey key. Holey moly. ... My brain is stuck in a buffering loop.
By Autumn Stew4 months ago in Fiction
Desperation. Content Warning.
His messages came just before midnight, when my apartment was a nest of blue light, and the kettle hissed in soft bursts like it could hear me think. I scrolled through his photos. He had two of the same photo in a row, one slightly more cropped than the other: a man half-wedged against his truck, with a smile that wanted to be easy. His bio seemed like it had been created in a haphazard plume of a joint. We messaged for a while. He said the right things quickly, and the wrong things even faster. I stared at the screen until the screen was staring back into me.
By Autumn Stew4 months ago in Fiction
Unexpected knock at the Door
The first knock was so soft Alexander almost dismissed it as the cabin settling, or a pinecone dropping from the eaves. It was 3:07 AM. He was in his armchair, a biography of a forgotten president splayed open on his chest, the fire in the hearth reduced to a bed of pulsating coals. The silence up here on the mountain was absolute, a thick blanket he’d come to both cherish and fear.
By Muhammad Anas 4 months ago in Fiction
Lost and Alone
Lost and Alone Knock, knock, knock. The sound of a simple rhythmic beating on the door was the beginning of a startling, unsettling and terrifying experience. Gradually growing louder, the knocks seem to be getting more angry if that is even possible to assign emotion to a sound. Bang! Bang! Bang! My first instinct is to hide, stay as quiet and still as possible almost frozen in fear or maybe anticipation. It's a very base and guttural response to such a small thing, a knock at the door. It's comical how much fear that instills in me.
By Sindy Leah Fitz4 months ago in Fiction
Boop. Content Warning.
Part I The knock at the door wasn't unusual - just four knocks - knock-knock-knock-knock. Usual. The thunderous barking of Ryan Seacrest, my Scottish Terrier wasn't unusual. Pound-for-pound, Scottish Terriers have the loudest bark in the canine kingdom.
By John R. Godwin4 months ago in Fiction
