Embarrassment

The Iron Confession
The rhythm of the rails. That's what gets you. Not the click-clack, not even the grinding steel, but the steady, relentless push forward. Each jolt a small, sharp reminder that you’re moving, that you chose this, that there's no going back. The car was empty. Practically empty. Just me, hunched over a window streaked with rain and grime, and some old man snoring two rows back, his face hidden by a newspaper from yesterday. Or maybe the day before. Doesn't matter. He wasn't looking at me. Nobody was.
By HAADI2 months ago in Confessions
The Ghost on the Floorboards
The house breathes around me. It’s an old house, full of settling groans and the low hum of the refrigerator. Two in the morning, another Tuesday, another bottle of cheap whiskey working its way through my bloodstream. The wife's asleep upstairs, snoring softly, a familiar, comforting sound, if you don’t think about it too hard. The kids, grown now, gone. Just me, the bottle, and the goddamn moonlight pouring in through the living room window, painting stripes across the hardwood.
By HAADI2 months ago in Confessions
The Weight of the Falling Quiet
The streetlights outside Elias’s window were just dim blurs now, swallowed by the relentless descent. Big, fat flakes, not the tiny stinging kind, but soft, almost lazy, piling up fast. They coated everything, smoothed out the sharp edges of the world. Power lines, fences, the gnarled branches of the old oak in his yard — all turned into soft, white ridges. The quiet. God, the quiet. That was the worst part, always.
By HAADI2 months ago in Confessions
World War 3: Why the Fear Is Growing, Why the Future Is Not Decided
World War 3: Why the Fear Is Growing—and Why the Future Is Not Decided In recent years, the phrase “World War 3” has moved from history books into daily conversation. It appears in news headlines, political speeches, social media debates, and comment sections across the internet. For many people, it represents a growing fear that the world is drifting toward another global catastrophe. But fear alone does not explain why this idea has become so powerful—or why it demands careful discussion rather than panic.
By Wings of Time 2 months ago in Confessions
The Last Train to Nowhere
The rain lashed against the window, thick sheets of it blurring the already featureless landscape. Black. Just black. The old train rattled, a constant, low growl that vibrated through my bones, through the cheap fabric of the seat. Empty car. Just me and the rhythmic squeal of the wheels on wet tracks. An easy escape. That’s what I told myself. A clean break. But my hands, they wouldn’t stop shaking. Not even a little. Clenched tight, white knuckles, like they were trying to hold onto something that was already gone.
By HAADI2 months ago in Confessions
The Glare of Ghost Street
The rain was a cold, constant whisper, a thousand tiny accusations hitting the asphalt. It didn’t let up. Just this endless, soft drumming, washing over everything, blurring the edges of a city that never really slept, just sagged into a kind of tired stupor. I watched it pool in the cracks of the sidewalk, each puddle a shattered mirror, catching the smeared smears of neon from the dive bar, the pizza joint, the flashing vacancy sign of the motel that always smelled faintly of disinfectant and stale regret. Red, blue, sickly green, all twisting and shimmering in the black water. Looked like blood in some places, bruising in others.
By HAADI2 months ago in Confessions
The Stain of Blue
The rain came down in sheets, a cold, relentless drum solo on the city's concrete stage. It wasn't a gentle drizzle; this was the kind that soaked through your jacket in minutes, clung to your eyelashes, and made every neon sign bleed into the slick, black puddles. I walked slow, head down, the hood of my worn-out sweatshirt doing little to keep the chill from my neck. Each puddle was a shattered mirror, reflecting the lurid greens of the liquor store, the frantic reds of the Chinese takeout, the electric blues of the strip club called 'Heaven' that was anything but.
By HAADI2 months ago in Confessions
The Grand Accident of Absolutely Nothing
Nobody knew exactly when the problem began, mostly because nobody was paying attention. This was normal for the town of Blunderfield, where attention was considered a dangerous hobby and thinking too hard could result in mild confusion or, worse, responsibility.
By Gaurav Gupta2 months ago in Confessions
She don’t like you
She don’t like you — and that truth feels dangerous, raw, unsettling. It hits you in the chest before it settles in your mind. You hear it, and something inside you snaps awake. I know. I was you. Chasing. Hoping. Giving. Trying to earn affection that never came. I learned the hard way that women not liking you isn’t about your worth — it’s about a deeper game you didn’t know you were in. A game about value, identity, attraction, and where real loyalty actually comes from. Strap in. This is the truth that changes everything.
By Randolphe Tanoguem3 months ago in Confessions
When Power Ignored Responsibility
A Complaint on Trump: When Power Ignored Responsibility Leadership is not measured by how loudly one speaks, but by how carefully one acts. In times of global uncertainty, the world looks to powerful nations not for dominance, but for stability, cooperation, and restraint. When leadership becomes impulsive, personal, or dismissive of global responsibility, the consequences are not limited to borders. They ripple outward, affecting lives far beyond any single nation.
By Wings of Time 3 months ago in Confessions
The Archivist's Burden
The air in the Grand Reading Room always felt thin, even at midday, but tonight, past closing, it was a chokehold. Elias moved through the hushed expanse, his footsteps absorbed by the thick Persian rugs that had outlasted generations of scholars. Every oak shelf, every towering stack, seemed to lean in, heavy with unspoken histories, with the weight of paper and time. He was a creature of habit, an archivist by trade, but tonight wasn't about cataloging the past. Tonight was about burying it deeper, or maybe, finally, unearthing it.
By HAADI3 months ago in Confessions
The Poetry Dimension. Top Story - December 2025.
I have been telling stories since I first learned to speak. I’ve been writing since I first had the motor control to grip a pencil in my little ravioli fist. One of my two Bachelors degrees is in Creative Writing, for goodness sake! I like to imagine, dear friends and enemies, that I have made somewhat of a life for myself out of the written word. But if this is the case, dear reader, then why does poetry confuse and upset me so damn much?
By Steven Christopher McKnight3 months ago in Confessions