Young Adult
AJ & Madiline
“How are we even still friends?” I asked, scoffing a bit under my breath. I knew she hadn’t meant to be irritating, but I guess that’s what I got when I asked an overly logical person to get creative with me. She laughed quietly, but I could hear she was offended by my question.
By Leah Suzanne Deweyabout a month ago in Fiction
The Dancing Snowflakes
On the coldest night of winter, when the moon hung low and silver in the sky, the town below was quiet. Snow blanketed the streets, muffling every sound, and icicles hung from rooftops like delicate crystal daggers. The children of the town had long since gone to bed, their windows glowing softly in the dark. But above them, something extraordinary was happening.
By Logan M. Snyderabout a month ago in Fiction
The Lantern of Quiet Choices. AI-Generated.
In the bustling town of Auravale, where neon lights gleamed against glass towers and drones painted the sky with streaks of silver, lived a 14-year-old boy named Rian Solis. Auravale was a place that believed louder was better—louder advertisements, louder opinions, louder celebrations. Yet, amid the constant clamor, Rian preferred quiet places, quiet thoughts, and quiet choices.
By shakir hamidabout a month ago in Fiction
Christmas Tales ~ Silent Night, Deadly Night
Christmas is a time for joy, for love, for peace. Yet peace survives only when evil is held back. The rules have shifted; Christmas is no longer about naughty or nice. For this season, nice takes its rightful throne in a wicked world, until the spirits stir again.
By Mia Z. Edwardsabout 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 ART OF BEING SEEN
Aisha Rahim always believed that blending in was the safest way to survive senior year. Walk quickly. Nod politely. Keep your grades high and your expectations low. At Crownbridge High, where reputations formed faster than rumors and spread twice as far, being invisible felt like a shield.
By Alisher Jumayevabout a month ago in Fiction
Beneath the Willow Sky
The summer I turned sixteen was the year everything changed—though change rarely announces itself with fanfare. Mine arrived quietly, as the warm breeze that brushed through the willow leaves behind our old neighborhood library. That willow tree was where I spent nearly every afternoon: reading, pretending to study, avoiding my mother’s sharp questions about my future, and thinking about everything and nothing at once.
By Alisher Jumayevabout a month ago in Fiction
Shimmer on the Tree
On the highest branch of the family Christmas tree hung a tiny ornament shaped like a star. It was no bigger than a marble, and its paint was slightly chipped from years of being handled by excited little hands. Around it were bright red balls, glittering golden angels, and twinkling lights that danced across the room. The little ornament often felt small and unimportant, wondering if anyone even noticed it at all.
By Logan M. Snyderabout a month ago in Fiction
