Alain SUPPINI
Bio
I’m Alain — a French critical care anesthesiologist who writes to keep memory alive. Between past and present, medicine and words, I search for what endures.
Stories (320)
Filter by community
Three Little Fools and the Big Bad Shareholder. Top Story - July 2025.
Once upon a time, there were three little fools. Not mean fools. Just... a bit naive. A little too hopeful. Overflowing with good intentions and degrees that no longer paid the rent. They had ideas, subscriptions to collaborative tools, and a shared desire to be free in a world run by blurry clients and clearer algorithms.
By Alain SUPPINI8 months ago in Fiction
The Day My Toaster Joined the Insurrection
I remember it clearly: it was 6:38 a.m. on a Thursday. I had just inserted two slices of crustless, semi-wholemeal industrial bread, with vague plans to smear them with omega-3 enriched margarine. The toaster, however, had other ideas.
By Alain SUPPINI8 months ago in Fiction
The Empty Chair
She never moved it. Every morning, Éloïse got up, made tea, cut two slices of bread, spread jam on one, honey on the other—just how he liked it—and set everything on the table. Opposite her: the chair turned toward the window. The one he always sat in.
By Alain SUPPINI8 months ago in Fiction
As If Time Were Waiting
The balcony opened onto the bay, wide and motionless, bathed in a golden light that made everything feel softer than it had any right to be. In the distance came the faint clinking of cutlery, the occasional murmur of laughter, and the patient lapping of waves below. It was the kind of view one would pay dearly for — postcard-perfect, touched by nothing but the passing wind.
By Alain SUPPINI8 months ago in Fiction
One Woman, One Mountain
The sky was already bleeding into ink when Élise tightened the straps of her backpack and stepped onto the trail. A pale crescent moon hung above the Cévennes, casting long shadows across the pines. The forest exhaled cool, damp air, scented with moss and old stone. Each footstep echoed a rhythm older than her thoughts.
By Alain SUPPINI8 months ago in Fiction
The Cabin of Silence. Runner-Up in The Summer That Wasn’t Challenge.
The train stopped at a platform barely long enough for two carriages. There was no café, no sound except the chirping of crickets in the morning haze. Clara stepped off, dragging her dented suitcase behind her. Her phone showed no new messages. Just the date: July 7.
By Alain SUPPINI8 months ago in Fiction
