Monday. The weekend left no trace of its existence, save for the headache and a vague dread that I wake up next to.
All tagged fiction
The Pawn Shop
Richard knew he would need help to navigate the journey to the deepest chambers of his heart. And it had been a while since his last visit to the pawn shop.
The wormhole
They came through a wormhole, small metal ships appearing from a hole in the sky. It was unimaginable, to have grasped the fabric of the universe and torn it apart.
The Sign That Was
"The judge will see to the punishment! Where is this drunken driver?” Foaming at his mouth, Barabaninian’s eyes darted everywhere as if they’d return to the scene of the crime. “Or perhaps it was their bestial buffalo. I could smell their droppings from my front door. Either way, this buffalo wagon must be found before it escapes the town!"
Letter to Sebastian Booker
The doctors think I have gone mad, but that is not true at all. My mind is perfectly clear, like a glass roof after rain. I know there is no reasonable explanation for the things happening inside this house. That is why I refuse to speak about them, and C. I do not want to utter her name fully, even on this paper, for I fear it may only attract more things to happen.
That street over there
You know that feeling when something is not quite right? Well, that’s how I’m feeling right now. And to be honest, I’ve been feeling so every time me and my best friend walk past this little street on our way back to the train station.
By Fans For Fans — Introducing the OTW
The internet is a wonderful place, is it not? You can find people with similar interests from all over the world and get really enthusiastic about niche topics. This can also be seen in fandoms and how they express themselves.
The Witch Hunter
“Among the cloaked figures, a woman throws kindling at the feet of an old crone tied to the stake. A faceless Witch-Hunter, she averts her eyes from the accusatory glares, soundlessly delivers the final rites.”
Walls need friends too
“Life was quite lonely at first as a wall. Sure, I was accompanied by the specks of dust that hung tightly onto the little mishaps in the paint job, but it wasn't much. They never said anything to me, only focused on tightly holding onto me so that they wouldn't fall down to the floor. I can't quite tell how long I lived like this, nor do I really want to remember it in the first place. You know how awfully lonely being lonely can get, don't you?”
Who Are You?
Have you ever let your imagination fly over the many things that could occur at a café? This piece invites you to follow that stream of thought in rather unexpected ways.