Historical

I’m Right
“How can you possibly say this is my fault? That would mean I’m wrong, and you know I’m never wrong, especially about this stuff.”
By Mark Gagnon3 months ago in Fiction
The Silent Climb
In a peaceful village nestled between vast hills and serene lakes, lived a boy named Ayan. He was known for his quiet nature, yet his mind was bursting with dreams. Unlike his peers who were satisfied with routine, Ayan longed for adventure, exploration, and achievement—all synonyms of the ambitions he nurtured silently.
By meerjanan3 months ago in Fiction
The Silent Climb
In a quiet village nestled between green hills and calm lakes, there lived a boy named Ayan. He was quiet by nature, often seen sitting under the old fig tree with a faraway look in his eyes. While others played, he would sketch mountains, write in his worn notebook, and stare at the peaks beyond the horizon.
By meerjanan3 months ago in Fiction
The Lantern in the Attic
There was a house on the edge of the village that no one spoke of, not unless the wind was still and the night felt too long. It stood at the top of the hill, half-hidden by ivy and time, its windows clouded with dust, its porch sagging under the weight of years. The other children said it was cursed. They claimed they’d seen shadows where there should be none, heard laughter when the house had been empty for decades.
By meerjanan3 months ago in Fiction
The Window That Waited
In a quiet corner of the city, where the traffic never quite quieted and the buildings leaned into each other like old friends, stood a weathered apartment block with peeling paint and a rusted fire escape. It wasn’t grand or new, but it had stood for decades, holding stories in its walls.
By meerjanan3 months ago in Fiction
The Ballad of Lydia and Christopher. Runner-Up in Mismatch Challenge. Top Story - January 2026. Content Warning.
[YouTube Video Filmed in 2021] A: This castle is creepy as hell and old as shit. I swear we probably just stepped in some dirt and ruined our new shoes but that's beside the point.
By Annie Kapur3 months ago in Fiction
The Silent War the World Is Already Fighting
The Silent War the World Is Already Fighting When people think about war, they imagine soldiers, tanks, and explosions. But today, some of the most dangerous battles are happening quietly—without gunfire, without borders, and often without the public even noticing. This is the age of cyber warfare, and it has already changed how nations compete for power.
By Wings of Time 3 months ago in Fiction
The Sawdust Man and the Unfortunate Soul
"May I be so bold as to offer you a libation, my good lady, to ward off the evening’s chill?" “I must confess, I have already partaken of a few measures this evening, my lovely gentleman, but I am quite certain that one more shall do me no great harm. A drop of comfort never went amiss in such a dreary season as this.”
By Sam H Arnold3 months ago in Fiction
The Space Between Us
The first thing I noticed about the building was the silence. It stood in the middle of a crowded city block, surrounded by traffic, noise, and movement, yet inside its walls, people lived as strangers. Doors closed quickly. Eyes avoided contact. Everyone carried their own lives like heavy luggage, careful not to bump into anyone else.
By Asghar ali awan3 months ago in Fiction
The Quiet Job Nobody Applied For. AI-Generated.
When the notice first appeared on the community board, no one paid attention to it. It was printed on plain paper, slightly crooked, taped between piano lesson flyers and advertisements for lost cats.
By Mehwish Jabeen3 months ago in Fiction
The Day the Clock Refused to Move. AI-Generated.
The clock stopped at 9:17 a.m. At first, no one noticed. The café buzzed with its usual sounds—cups touching saucers, chairs scraping the floor, conversations overlapping without apology. Outside, traffic continued its impatient rhythm. Time, as far as anyone could tell, was still doing its job.
By Mehwish Jabeen3 months ago in Fiction
The Letter That Was Never Sent. AI-Generated.
The letter lived in the bottom drawer for eleven years. It was folded carefully, as if someone might open it at any moment, though no one ever did. The paper had softened at the creases. The ink had faded just enough to suggest patience rather than neglect.
By Mehwish Jabeen3 months ago in Fiction