Psychological
The Train That Never Stops
There was something about the silence of empty stations that gnawed at him. The flickering fluorescent lights, the echo of his footsteps on long, deserted platforms, the way shadows seemed to stretch unnaturally across tiled floors—it all felt wrong. The night belonged to things unseen, and Arman had always believed that traveling through it was an invitation to meet them.
By Salman Writesabout 3 hours ago in Fiction
Magic - Chapter Two
Author's note: Today, my stream of consciousness flows easily without having to think through the story. Therefore, I am letting my subconscious do the work. I am writing this after writing the following, which you will soon read, and I want to mention that everything I have written so far is purely from my subconscious mind. I have not planned the plot, especially what will happen in today's chapter; you will wonder if I have planned this particular incident. The answer is 'No, I have not'. To be honest, it just came into my mind rather abruptly as I was writing, and that's how the subconscious usually works. I hope you understand what I am saying. If you don't, I recommend you read the book The Power of Your Subconscious Mind by Joseph Murphy.
By Denise Larkinabout 7 hours ago in Fiction
Web of Freedom
There is a peculiar kind of freedom that does not liberate—it suspends. Imagine, for a moment, a world not built from soil or stone, but from threads. Fine, nearly invisible strands stretch in every direction, catching light in ways that make them appear divine. This world was not constructed by human hands, nor by any god one might name in prayer. It was spun—delicately, deliberately—by something ancient and precise. A spider, if you will. It called itself Freedom.
By LUNA EDITHabout 7 hours ago in Fiction
The Painting That Aged Instead of Her 🎨
THE PORTRAIT IN THE ATTIC 🖼️ When renowned artist Julian Reeves painted his girlfriend Celeste's portrait during the summer of 2019, he did not intend to create anything supernatural or extraordinary, just an oil painting of the woman he loved captured in the golden light of their Brooklyn apartment during the happiest period of their relationship, but the painting which took three months to complete and which Julian considered his finest work developed a quality that neither of them could explain and that would eventually destroy their relationship and transform their understanding of love, beauty, and the terrible cost of trying to preserve something that is meant to change 🎨
By The Curious Writerabout 12 hours ago in Fiction
My Ex Keeps Showing Up in Photos
My ex and I broke up three weeks before Valentine’s Day. It wasn’t quiet. It wasn’t mutual. It was the kind of breakup where things get thrown, voices get loud, and the last thing he says before leaving is something that sticks in your head long after the door slams.
By V-Ink Storiesabout 19 hours ago in Fiction
All the children
Alice a child who is just getting to know herself and how to make friends is a little girl who likes to read and write and play outside. One day she and her mother went to the park. Her mother knew what the first thing that Alice wanted to do there and wouldn't you know it right to the sandbox she went. What is it about the sandbox? Is it the sand and the digging around in it or what? Alice likes to make towers and on this day another child came by the name of
By Mark Grahama day ago in Fiction
I Had Already Given Up… But Then Something Unexpected Happened
From the outside, nothing looked too bad. I had a roof over my head, a few people around me, and dreams that once gave me purpose. But inside… it was a completely different story. I was tired. Not physically, but mentally and emotionally exhausted. I had tried so many times to improve my life. I made plans, set goals, and promised myself that “this time will be different.” But every time I tried, something went wrong. Either I failed, or things didn’t go as expected. Slowly, those failures started building a wall inside me—a wall made of doubt, fear, and disappointment. At first, I kept fighting. I told myself that failure is part of success. I watched motivational videos, read quotes, and forced myself to stay positive. But the truth is… there is a limit to how much a person can pretend to be strong. And one day, I reached that limit. I stopped trying. I stopped setting goals. I stopped dreaming. I stopped believing that anything good could happen to me. Days became empty. I would wake up without purpose and go to sleep without hope. Life felt like a routine I was forced to follow, not something I wanted to live. One night, I remember sitting alone in my room. The lights were off, and the silence felt heavy. I kept staring at the ceiling, lost in my thoughts. A question kept repeating in my mind: “What’s the point of trying if I’m just going to fail again?” For the first time, I didn’t have an answer. That night, I silently gave up—not just on my goals, but on myself. The next morning, I woke up late. I had no plans, no motivation, and no reason to get out of bed. I picked up my phone just to pass time, scrolling mindlessly. And then, I saw something unexpected. A message. It was from an old friend I hadn’t talked to in months. The message was simple: “Hey… I don’t know why, but I just felt like telling you this. I believe in you. Don’t give up.” That was it. No long speech. No deep advice. Just a few words. At first, I didn’t think much of it. I even smiled a little, thinking it was random. But as I kept staring at those words, something inside me shifted. “I believe in you.” It had been a long time since I heard that. And even longer since I said that to myself. For months, I had been my own biggest critic. I kept reminding myself of my failures, my mistakes, and everything that went wrong. But I never once reminded myself of my efforts… or my potential. That small message didn’t magically fix my life. My problems were still there. My situation hadn’t changed overnight. But something else changed. My perspective. For the first time in a long time, I thought… “What if I try again? Just one more time?” Not perfectly. Not confidently. Just… honestly. So I started small. The next day, I woke up a little earlier. Not 5 AM like those perfect routines—but earlier than usual. I did one small productive task. It wasn’t much, but it was something. The day after that, I did a little more. Some days were still hard. Some days I felt the same heaviness, the same doubt creeping back in. There were moments when I wanted to quit again. But this time, I didn’t. Because now, I had a different mindset. I wasn’t trying to be perfect. I was just trying to not give up. Weeks passed, and slowly, things began to change. Not dramatically—but noticeably. I became more focused. My thoughts became clearer. I started feeling a little more in control of my life. Opportunities didn’t suddenly fall into my lap, but I started noticing them again. And one day, while reflecting on my journey, I realized something powerful: I wasn’t stuck because I failed. I was stuck because I stopped trying. Failure didn’t destroy me. Giving up did. That one message from my friend didn’t change my life directly. But it reminded me of something I had forgotten—that even in the darkest moments, there is always a small chance to start again. And sometimes, that’s all you need. A small reminder. A small step. A small decision to try again.
By Tawseef Aziz2 days ago in Fiction
The Portrait of Matteo
Seventeen-year-old Manny got off a public bus at a busy intersection in downtown Philadelphia. When the bus released its brakes and passed his narrow view, he checked whether the art museum across the street was still there. He had been visiting it every day that week but wondered for a second the veracity of its presence. Now, the spring sun betrayed its gray highlights, giving it a warm glow.
By Paul Aaron Domenick2 days ago in Fiction
