The applause arrived like weather. It rolled in waves beneath the stage lights, warm and thunderous, striking the body before the mind could name it. From the lip of the stage, the crowd was a single living organism—breathing, rising, dissolving into brightness. Hands clapped. Feet struck the floor. Someone shouted her name.
By luna hartabout 21 hours ago in Humans
The night the schedule went up, I stood beneath the fluorescent lights of the breakroom at the chain bookstore where I managed and traced my finger down the grid of names and hours. My shift was highlighted in yellow.
By luna harta day ago in Humans
The music doesn’t stop all at once. It thins. It frays. It becomes a vibration in the soles of my feet long after the speakers have gone silent.
By luna hart2 days ago in Humans
When they privatized time, most people didn’t notice. It didn’t happen with sirens or soldiers. No banners fell from government buildings. No declarations were broadcast. The change arrived quietly — in fine print, in revised policies, in updated terms of service that no one read because everyone was already late.
By luna hart2 days ago in Futurism
Memory has a strange defiance. While my body decays, my recollections remain startlingly young, vivid, and alive. The ache of time touches me physically, but in my mind, every moment is still raw, still immediate.
By luna hart3 days ago in Poets
I. Three winters ago, I labeled my grief and stacked it in the hallway closet— winter coats, unmailed letters, a jar of buttons without their shirts.
By luna hart5 days ago in Poets
Everyone in Cedar Hollow knew that if you wanted something done properly, you asked Mara Ellison. She was the kind of person who color-coded her grocery lists and labeled the labels. When the town’s Fourth of July fireworks malfunctioned three summers in a row, it was Mara who redesigned the launch grid with a spreadsheet and a level. When the school board’s Wi-Fi went down, she bypassed the firewall with three keystrokes and a sigh.
By luna hart5 days ago in Humor
Here I am again, sitting quietly at home, music spilling through the room, feeding something deeper than myself. Outside, the world moves in bursts of color and motion.
By luna hart6 days ago in Poets
The first time I saw her, a crimson ribbon crowned her hair, contrasting with the earthy green of the forest. A worn leather backpack slung across her small shoulders. She moved through the trees like a shadow learning its edges—lifting stones, parting ferns, listening to the wind as if it whispered answers only she could understand.
By luna hart6 days ago in Fiction
He was always the quietest person in the room. Not shy. Not awkward. Just quiet. At work, he met deadlines. At gatherings, he smiled politely. When someone asked, “How are you?” he responded with the universal lie — “I’m good.” He mastered the art of appearing functional. And in modern society, functionality is mistaken for mental health.
By luna hart10 days ago in Psyche
I am sad — but I am not angry with you. Sadness is not always rebellion; sometimes it is simply the shadow of love standing quietly behind hope.
By luna hart12 days ago in Poets
Once, in the mirror, there used to be a face — a whole identity that answered to my name. What has happened to me now? What was I, before I became this?
By luna hart14 days ago in Poets
