Love
The Shifting Current
There’s a particular kind of ghost that haunts us, not of the dead, but of the almost-was. The following story tries to sit with that feeling, not of loss, but of the nebulous space just before it’s clear what’s even being lost. It’s about the edge of a choice, a turning point that might never fully turn, and the quiet, almost imperceptible vibrations of a connection that simply… wasn't ready.
By The Night Writer 🌙 14 days ago in Fiction
The Last Voice Message
I wasn’t asleep. I never am anymore. Night has become a quiet battlefield for me. Thoughts line up like soldiers, memories attack without warning, and silence feels heavier than noise. So when the screen lit up, I stared at it for a long moment, unsure whether to breathe or panic.
By Salman Writes14 days ago in Fiction
My Dad George Hurst
I got my story in a magazine; it was about my dad, George Hurst. He was the best dad in the world. He loved his family and raised his children while my mum was always ill with her nerves. He cooked, cleaned, and worked down the coal mine. My dad was like me: always happy and helping others, but usually taken for granted, too.
By George’s Girl 2026 15 days ago in Fiction
FUZZY BEAR
*Fuzzy Bear: A Hug You Can Trust* In a cozy little forest surrounded by tall trees, colorful flowers, and chirping birds, lived a teddy bear named *Fuzzy*. Fuzzy wasn’t like other bears—he wasn’t wild or loud. In fact, he wasn’t even real. He was a soft, stuffed bear with button eyes, stitched paws, and golden brown fur that was always warm, no matter how cold the night was.
By Ibrahim Shah 17 days ago in Fiction
Hey, Doll
"Hey Doll, open your eyes.” Barnaby’s house was not new to Marion, but it was still a nice gesture that he would carry her over the threshold. She could see it now, for the first time, as their home. He set her gently down on the floor and, locked in a tight embrace, they kissed. Before long they had moved to the bedroom to consummate the marriage.
By Amos Glade17 days ago in Fiction
Roses and Raven Feathers
With labored breaths — lumbering along the path of fallen leaves — he pushed on. After many long days of wandering, hunger and loneliness were finally taking their toll. Benny Jetso hadn’t seen one sign of what been looking for, but that wasn’t going to stop him searching.
By Gabriel Shames17 days ago in Fiction
Dust, Rust, & the Sifting Sand Blues
Dust, Rust, & the Sifting Sand Blues "It’s not about losing; it’s about the sovereign act of starting again." This visual album is a 26-year "blues scheme" finally brought to life. I first built these dreams in a sandbox back in 2000, but it took two decades of sifting through the dust of the river and the rust of the city to truly hear the melody.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 17 days ago in Fiction
