Adventure

History Voucher
Bonzai Dinewell zoomed into the living room with a bag full of goodies. He kicked off his electric boots and collapsed onto the sofa beside his android dog, Fletch, who had been upcycled from old watering cans. His partner of many years, Comet, glanced up from his tablet and eyed the records sticking out of the bag.
By Chloe Gilholy6 days ago in Fiction
Nobody Knew I Had Been a Professor — Until New York Rebuilt Me. AI-Generated.
The first time I walked into the garment factory, I kept my hands in my pockets. I wasn’t cold. I was hiding them. They were not the hands of a factory worker. They were the hands of someone who had spent decades holding chalk, turning pages, and writing lecture notes late into the night.
By Jenny 6 days ago in Fiction
The Year I Ate Lunch Alone. AI-Generated.
For an entire year, I ate lunch alone. Not because I wanted to. Because I had no choice. 1. The Microwave in the Corner
By Jenny 6 days ago in Fiction
The Day My Boss Scolded Me in Public, I Remained Silent. AI-Generated.
That morning, the factory smelled stronger than usual. It was the smell of damp fabric, machine oil, and yesterday’s sweat—layers of human effort trapped in cotton and polyester. The fluorescent lights flickered weakly overhead, making everyone’s faces look older than they were. Outside, the sky was still gray, the kind of gray that never quite becomes day.
By Jenny 6 days ago in Fiction
Nobody Knows What Fat People Go Through Every Day. AI-Generated.
Nobody tells you the truth about being fat. Not really. They tell you to eat less. They tell you to exercise more. They tell you it’s about discipline.
By Peter6 days ago in Fiction
Working 12 Hours a Day in New York Made Me Fat — Until It Changed Me. AI-Generated.
I didn’t gain weight all at once. It happened quietly. Slowly. Almost politely. Five pounds the first year. Ten pounds the next.
By Peter6 days ago in Fiction
Nobody Knows What It Feels Like to Be Fat in New York — Until You Live It. AI-Generated.
New York is a city that sees everything. It sees ambition. It sees beauty. It sees money, speed, confidence. But it does not see you when you are fat.
By Peter6 days ago in Fiction
The Salt-Stained Vow: Lost in the Shifting Blue. AI-Generated.
The Atlantic was never a kind mistress, but on that Tuesday, she was murderous. Elias had been a fisherman for forty years, his hands calloused into permanent hooks and his skin cured by brine. He knew the signs of a squall, but the storm that swallowed his small trawler, The Wandering Star, didn't follow the rules of nature. The sky turned a bruised purple, and the waves rose like jagged obsidian teeth. When his engine died, the silence was louder than the thunder. Then came the crest—a fifty-foot wall of white foam that snapped his mast like a toothpick and sent him into the freezing dark.
By Jerry Barron6 days ago in Fiction
There's A Hole in My Bucket. Top Story - February 2026.
It’s a well-known fact that Liza Dufresne was always the brains in the family. She was the one who always came up with the brilliant schemes the Dufresne kids carried out when they were younger. Like when they tricked Mrs. Claybourn into paying for a trip to Disney World. Liza convinced her that their parents had been kidnapped and were being held for ransom for the total price of three tickets. In reality, they were away on a weekend getaway for their anniversary. When they returned, Liza told the Claybourns that they did not like to talk about the ordeal. Their parents never found out how they got the money. Mrs. Claybourn never found out that the Dufresne parents were never really in any danger.
By David E. Perry7 days ago in Fiction
The Wrong TARDIS
Hello there! So, last time we met I was stuck in a graveyard in another dimension, then the Doctor came to my rescue. We became friends. Well, sort of.
By Carolina Drouven7 days ago in Fiction
The Old Chessboard
I never thought that one day, rationally, I would decide to leave a piece of torn paper, handwritten in hurried, almost illegible handwriting, on the old dusty chessboard that sat atop boxes stacked in my grandfather's attic. Hoping for an answer. And yet.
By Benny7 days ago in Fiction
Finding My Familiar ...
Soul's heart beats flicker across the dappled white moonlight. Etches of a familiar in the fog of time, reverberate across the vast, expansive earth. My hands are scratched and brown, streaked with the marks of dirt I have dug with my thin, exhausted fingers.
By Susan L. Marshall8 days ago in Fiction