Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Psyche.
Sleeping With Myself
Sleeping With Myself I’m still told the same bedtime stories I used to hear as a five-year-old - it’s the same voice too. I’m nineteen now. The stories told to me never helped me sleep, rather they kept me up all night. These tales lacked demons, princesses, heroes, or villains. Well, perhaps there was a hero and a villain but if I were to say that I would also have to admit that they were one and the same and I’m not ready to do that.
By Tyler Philbrook5 years ago in Psyche
Lesson
Life as I had known it had been destroyed. Nature had delivered twin knock-out punches to the island state in quick succession. A devastating earthquake had flattened out every structure, most of them wooden single stories. A couple of hours later, when the survivors were out in the open thanking their gods for sparing their lives, an earthquake induced tsunami, probably the biggest known to man, had struck going right through the island from one side to the other sweeping everything in its path into the ocean. Pacifasia, formerly a heart-shaped island of about 28400 square kilometers with a population of 1.1 million inhabitants was destroyed more effectively by nature than any WMD attack ever could. Symbols of civilization were completely wiped out. Nothing remained but an uneven barrenness –remnant of a once flourishing nation. If you happened to have survived and looked, chances were you would not see any signs of life – human or anything else. Dead fish lay everywhere. The stench would have overpowered you if you had a half-way decent sense of smell. Fortunately, I could not smell anything because I had a nasty cold. It was two days since the apocalyptic event and there had been no apparent rescue attempts from the nearest continent 1700 kilometers to the northwest. I wondered if the whole world had been destroyed.
By Venkat Mani5 years ago in Psyche
Free will
If you start exploring the question of existence of free will, you are caught between an undeniable experience of it and an inability to make sense of the concept intellectually. To make anyone's inquiry into free will concept more fun philosophers use numerous definitions which opens the doors for confusion, talking past each other or dismissal of the free will concept entirely.
By The One Eyed King5 years ago in Psyche
Unconscious Adventure
The wind blowing above the tippy treetop, shaking the leaves, allowing flecks of sun like confetti to move and remain in place. Baby green leaves, sprouts of life and complimentary smells of manure are all sure signs of spring. A sultry 86 degrees makes my blood push hot through my veins into my heart and then the extremities and back to center, always back to center, circumventing all of my internals, signaling perspiration to collect on my forehead, my breast and the back of my neck, and then the wind is caught briefly twirling in another direction over the grass, like seaweed on the floor of the ocean dancing with affectation, giving into the pressure of the water passing over, like a good dance partner. Here, in this field there is no water, only wind and yet I can’t help noticing the effect is precisely similar from a gust on the tall grass, to the edge where the farmers alfalfa meets a lazily manicured lawn. The in-between where the grass has not been cut, and the alfalfa ceases to grow, this small line of land on maps recorded at the country clerk is so clearly marked but realistically, it is a thin strip of unknown; one foot trespasses, the other safely at home. I straddle the unknown, and this is the place that I dig my hole.
By Whitney Carman5 years ago in Psyche
I Met a Woman
I met a woman today. I work in retail, my job isn’t fulfilling, I'm depressed, I'm tired, my bones hurt, my soul is suffering, my passion is gone and I want to die. I feel these things every single day, and I hear poor solutions to my problem. “Just find another job,” “work harder.” This advice doesn't do anything but pile weight on my heart. It's hard to even call it advice. I call it privileged suggestion.
By Oriaxel Knight5 years ago in Psyche
Dear Amy
Dear Amy, Its been four years, and I still keep wondering about your final breaths. Were they deep? Were they shallow? Did you hurt? I'm too scared to ask anyone what exactly happened, even after so much time has passed. I feel like it's more than I'm entitled to know, since I wasn't in your life when you needed it most, but I gathered from the sentiments I saw that it was quite a shock for everyone in your immediate circle. Do you regret it, or was it a relief? Either way, I really do hope that your spirit is sent to us again somehow. We really needs a lot more "Amys" in the world, if you ask me.
By Sydney Chapman5 years ago in Psyche
I Thought I Was Going to Die at the Office
I'm sitting in my favorite coffee shop while I write this. It's been well over a year since I've been inside this cafe. I was (and still am) diligent about social distancing, stopping the spread, washing my hands, masking up, and all that. But now that the vaccines are being widely distributed, I feel more confident in leaving the house for a bit.
By Rachael Dunn5 years ago in Psyche
Long After Assault
Molestation and rape were a common theme in my childhood. This is the curse of growing up a pretty black girl, I thought. I knew that my cousins, my mother, and other women I grew up around had been touched inappropriately too, so I didn't really dwell on it too much when it happened to me. Movies taught me that it happens to all women not just the pretty black girls left alone with the wrong male "family" member or "friend," so I thought, this is just what happens to women. Then I learned that it happens to men too, and I just thought, this is what happens period. We just pick ourselves up and move on. I saw a post the other day that said something to the effect, "hyper sexuality after sexual abuse isn't talked about enough. I've seen many women who were abused sexually disconnect with their bodies, and end up just being over sexual...sometimes it's hurt looking for temporary healing," and I identified with this statement so much. I even remember having a conversation with a male friend when I was older to this exact effect. As a survivor of molestation and rape in my younger years, there has always been a disconnect when it came to sex for me, but I don't feel like I became hyper sexual. I feel like I just stopped caring about sex one way or the other.
By Nailah Robinson5 years ago in Psyche
Unfinished
At age five, I told my mother I wanted to die. When I was taken to a psychiatrist I was diagnosed with Bipolar disorder and an anxiety disorder along with ASD. For me, emotion is a tempest, the kind that thrashes at the inside of my mind like a creature that wants to escape. In truly terrible moments, it fizzes under my skin like an itch I can’t scratch away. Sometimes all I want to do is scream. Loudly. Until I can’t scream anymore.
By Emily Wagner 5 years ago in Psyche
