Psychological

She Absorbs People’s Pain
In this world, pain could be transferred. Not the pain of broken bones or sickness—but emotional pain. The silent kind that lived behind the ribs and whispered at night. Grief. Shame. Regret. That could be handed to someone else.
By Waqid Ali 17 days ago in Fiction
THE MAN WHO COULD WORK MIRACLES
George McWhirter Fotheringay was not the kind of man anyone would expect to possess miraculous powers. He was small, with bright red hair, freckles, sharp brown eyes, and a habit of twisting the ends of his moustache when arguing. He worked as a clerk at Gomshott’s and enjoyed proving people wrong. Until the age of thirty, he did not believe in miracles at all. In fact, he strongly argued that miracles were impossible. His strange discovery happened one evening while he was debating the subject in the bar of the Long Dragon.
By Amelia Miller17 days ago in Fiction
The Elevator That Only Goes Down
Everyone who worked there knew that. Forty-seven floors. No basement. No sublevels. But the elevator had 48 buttons.
By Salman Writes18 days ago in Fiction
The Man Who Sold His Shadow
Everyone noticed the shadow before they noticed the man. It appeared on the pavement first. Tall. Thin. Twisted at the shoulders like something was wrong with its bones.
By Salman Writes18 days ago in Fiction
Before the Sun Arrived
The first morning it happened, Mara thought it was a trick of the streetlamp. She woke before her alarm, before the garbage trucks, before the first commuter train dragged its metallic sigh across the edge of town. The sky outside her bedroom window was still a dark, uncommitted blue. The kind of blue that hasn’t decided whether to become morning.
By Flower InBloom18 days ago in Fiction
The Baby in the Break Room
At 9:00 a.m., the siren sang its polite two notes—ding, ding—and the building returned its practiced silence. Mara set her mug on the corner of her desk where the ring stain had been carefully outlined with a thin strip of tape. She’d done it on her first day, back when she thought it mattered.
By Flower InBloom18 days ago in Fiction
The Last Memory: Chapters 3
Chapter Three The day had grown long and though the conversation with Pam was a nice change of pace after being alone in the cabin, Trenton was ready to go to bed. She had plans to go out and get a job the following day so she could start saving up money for her own place, and the excitement of that alone made her ready to rest up before the big day.
By Nicole Higginbotham-Hogue18 days ago in Fiction
The Calm Before Nothing
I woke with a headache in the middle of the night in 1981, the kind that seemed to have hands and knew exactly where to press. It was a hot summer, the kind that made the curtains hang like tired flags and the air taste faintly of metal. For four weeks the thermometer had refused to sink below thirty-five degrees Celsius, even in the shade. The sky had been a relentless blue bowl without cracks.
By Dagmar Goeschick18 days ago in Fiction
The Weight of the Sky
The ceiling in the Miller household had lowered by another four inches overnight. Arthur noticed it the moment he sat up in bed. His hair, usually a defiant silver tuft, brushed against the textured drywall. He didn't mention it. He simply tilted his head at a forty-five-degree angle and shuffled toward the ensuite bathroom, already accustomed to the necessary contortions.
By Marce18 days ago in Fiction
So the World Ended... Now What? A Beginner’s Guide to Apocalyptic Survival. AI-Generated.
Let’s be honest. If you’re reading this, you’ve probably noticed things have gone sideways. Maybe it was a virus, a grid-down scenario, or something a little less... scientific. The world we knew is on pause, and the new world is chaotic, dangerous, and confusing.
By bob singh18 days ago in Fiction
The Letters In His Desk - pt. 3. Content Warning.
First period moves the way most mornings at school do—steady, predictable, almost boring in a way that usually feels comforting. Personal Finance with Mr. Frank is all about numbers that make sense and plans that stretch cleanly into the future. He writes amortization formulas across the board in tidy columns, sleeves rolled to his forearms, explaining interest accrual like it’s a story with a guaranteed ending. Marcus sits one row behind Ethan, angled just enough to keep him in view without making it obvious. He doesn’t talk. He doesn’t joke. He just stays there, solid and quiet. Ethan answers when called on, voice even, expression controlled. If there’s pressure building behind his eyes, it doesn’t show. His notes are neat. His posture is straight. Once, Marcus taps his sneaker lightly against the back of Ethan’s chair. A small check-in. Ethan taps back without turning around. I’m good. It’s the kind of silent conversation they’ve perfected.
By Ria18 days ago in Fiction
The Letters In His Desk - pt. 2. Content Warning.
Ethan stands at the bathroom mirror already dressed in dark jeans and a fitted gray pullover, the collar slightly uneven where he pulled it on too quickly and never fixed it. The fluorescent light above the sink hums softly, washing the small bathroom in a pale glare that makes everything look sharper and a little more tired than it really is. He tilts his chin up and drags the razor carefully along the uneven line of hair at the base of his neck, moving slowly and deliberately as if precision alone will keep him from messing it up. A thin streak of shaving cream clings just beneath his jaw, and he leans closer to the glass, narrowing his eyes at his reflection. He presses a little too hard and feels the faint sting of it, quickly adjusting his grip with a quiet breath through his nose. The scrape of the blade against his skin sounds louder in the morning stillness, and he focuses on that instead of the thoughts trying to crowd in.
By Ria18 days ago in Fiction