Holiday

Fees for Driving Licences and Grant of Pension
My grandchildren laughed when I took driving lessons. And I just know it's never too late to dream. I went to my first class with a notebook and pen, like a student. The room was full of young people. Most of them looked at me furtively, some with amusement, as if waiting for me to trip over my own feet.
By piotrmak5 months ago in Fiction
3 4 5 6. Content Warning.
Introduction This is my 3,456th Vocal Story, and I thought a piece about counting may be relevant. We sometimes count to get to sleep, and the creepy somnambulist picture by Jim Harter seemed a perfect inspiration for a tale.
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred 5 months ago in Fiction
Something keeps calling the front desk asking for Room 112
I work night shifts at a mid-tier hotel — you know, the kind that sits right off the interstate and smells like coffee, carpet cleaner, and lost hope. My shifts are 11 p.m. to 7 a.m., which basically means I babysit an empty lobby and listen to the building breathe.
By V-Ink Stories5 months ago in Fiction
Every night I take the elevator to the basement… even though we don’t have one
Hey everyone. I work nights at a mid-range hotel off the highway. It’s not fancy, but it’s clean, quiet, and usually empty after midnight. I’m the night porter — basically, I clean up the lobby, restock towels, handle laundry, and do any random maintenance jobs that come up.
By V-Ink Stories5 months ago in Fiction
The Spirit Box (10). Content Warning.
Chapter 10: The Kidnapping As I walked into Chief's office, I noticed he was upset, and also had a small, ornate box on his desk. "Is that what I think it is?" I asked, intrigued.
By Alex H Mittelman 5 months ago in Fiction
Loneliness and chess
I thought I'd be playing the last game of chess in my life against myself. But in my old age, fate played a trick on me. "I moved White toward him without saying anything. I wanted to see what he would do. He reached for a pawn and moved e2-e4. Classic. I responded symmetrically. We played without a word. He didn't look at me once, and I only looked at him out of the corner of my eye."
By piotrmak5 months ago in Fiction
The Clockmaker’s Gift
In Ravelle, time had a slower pace. The streets between the stone houses were meandering like the ribbon streets and every evening, in the air, the smell of bread from the old bakery and the faint scent of rain. At the very center of the town was to be found a little shop with a faded sign reading:
By Nusuki5 months ago in Fiction
The Call of the Minaret
The early sun had just started to rise from behind the house tops of Medina when Bilal woke up. The air was still cool and heavy with the smell of sand and date palms. For a moment, he listened to the faint sounds of the city waking -- the distant bleating of goats, the clatter of water pots and the quiet hum of life returning after the silence of the night.
By Nusuki5 months ago in Fiction
The Light of the Desert
And the wind sang along the dunes, and Malik took a brush against his shabby cloak, and the desert sand was like tiny sparks on his face. This was hours of walking on part of him, in pursuit of the horizon that kept on pushing away. The sun was now setting, and coloured the sky with fire and gold.
By Nusuki5 months ago in Fiction
Trick or Threat
Renee gazes at the live feed from their doorbell, her knuckles white on her phone... She watches the trick-or-treaters-- a witch, and a firefighter. They look to be about 6 and 7 respectively.
By Sam Spinelli5 months ago in Fiction
The Night I Realized Love Wasn’t Meant To Save Me
I used to believe love was supposed to be the thing that rescued us. The thing that filled every empty space inside a person. The thing that fixed the parts of life that felt broken. I believed that love was the answer to loneliness, to fear, to the type of quiet sadness that sits in your chest like permanent weight.
By Umar Farooq5 months ago in Fiction
The Light of the Desert: The Story of Bilal ibn Rabah (RA)
Heavy with the sun, with its rays scorching the desert into an oven of light and heat, the sun stood over Mecca. In a small corner near the Kaaba, a man was lying on the ground chained to the burning sand, his back raw from the whip, his lips dry and cracked. Each inhalation was punctuated by pain but from his shaking lips was uttered a word that would not die.
By Nusuki5 months ago in Fiction