Psychological

The Amber Spires: Part One
I found the devil in the guts of the Amber Spires, more than two decades ago now, down in the filthy rubble that made up the outer rings of shacks and hovels posted up high above the filth ways. The spires are long gone now, pulverized by the Hulcans when they pushed north, but back when I was a boy they were something special. Great big towers that shot into the heavens and cast their light into the smog clouds that enveloped the concrete apartments around them, what we would have given to step one foot through those doors. It was like looking at the gates of heaven.
By Brierabout a month ago in Fiction
Labor V Elite
Sheep, sheep everywhere. Sheep following along to pasture work. Sheep finding mates. Sheep producing offspring who will then
By Julie Lacksonenabout a month ago in Fiction
Magic. Top Story - February 2026.
Note from the Author: I want to let you know this is an unusual story. It has been written purely from whatever is in my subconscious mind, because before I start writing, I go into a flow state that reaches my subconscious. I also write in a mid-flow state between the conscious and subconscious mind.
By Denise Larkinabout a month ago in Fiction
Veil of Subconscious Awakening. Top Story - February 2026.
Images slide behind my eyelids like film cadres, bursting with meanings. In one moment, I’m speeding down the highway, making the speedometer swing wildly like a frantic pendulum. The next moment, I’m plunging from a falling plane, slowly crashing earthward. At home, I meet black cat’s green, googly eyes staring at me from the cavernous hollowness of the kitchen. When I turn for a moment, it disappears, and all I can see is a pair of blue suede shoes set up against the wall. I pick them up and put them on. When I glimpse at them again, they’ve become black as night, making me blink and flinch.
By Moon Desertabout a month ago in Fiction
The Day the Sun Didn’t Rise
The weather forecast had mentioned a storm system moving in from the north. Nothing unusual. But when 6:12 AM came and went without even a hint of light, something felt wrong.
By Salman Writes2 months ago in Fiction
Calm Like A Bomb. Runner-Up in Everyone Is Acting Normally Challenge.
They ran their fingers along the plunger’s rubber grip. It was just another day on the job, and all in all it was a good job that put hot food on their table.
By Matthew J. Fromm2 months ago in Fiction
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 2 months 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 Miller2 months 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 Writes2 months 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 Writes2 months 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 InBloom2 months 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 InBloom2 months ago in Fiction