Satire

A Fiddler fiddles a Hollow Ballad of A 'King'. A 'White' House burning Red. 🎻🎻🎻🎻
In a vast metaphor of a house, painted white, a hidden room exists within its hallowed walls. It houses Hope, accompanied by a Dream-Spider which spins emotions on behalf of its resident. Spider escapes only in dreams, never ever absent from her celestial duty of watching over her charge. But hope had been on a long and leisurely vacation away from the room...happily so. For the world was a much brighter place, with hope visiting everywhere.
By Novel Allen6 months ago in Fiction
T-Force
THE KNOCK The first knock came at 3:33 a.m. I sat up in bed like a puppet jerked by invisible strings. The sound was soft but deliberate—three taps against the wood, like fingers that had memorized the shape of my front door.
By Tony Martello6 months ago in Fiction
The Last Train Home
The Last Train Home By Abdul Muhammad The station was nearly empty when I arrived. A single overhead light buzzed and flickered as I stood on the platform, clutching my backpack like it was a lifeline. The last train of the night shrieked in the distance, echoing against the concrete walls.
By Abdul Muhammad 6 months ago in Fiction
Timer on My Wrist
Timer on My Wrist By Abdul Muhammad When I was born, my parents said the first thing they did wasn’t check if I had ten fingers and ten toes—it was to look at the timer on my wrist.
By Abdul Muhammad 6 months ago in Fiction
What a Top Bloke
Freddie had hoped for warmer weather today, but the wind blew cold. ‘You can’t plan these things,’ he’d told himself. ‘At least the sun’s out!’ He pulled his beanie over his ears and headed for the park bench nestled beneath a big bellied Oak; its leaves starting to flush with vibrant emerald greens.
By Chantal Christie6 months ago in Fiction
Creature Coach
Iris is transported. Working in the solitude of her chamber, she glides effortlessly, generating a creative vortex. Her focus becomes so intense during alchemy that her body seems to dissipate. Hunger, sleep, and other normal functions become superfluous. She radiates energy like a color spectrum.
By Stephanie Crain6 months ago in Fiction
Haven's Rest
The gas gauge had been on empty for thirty miles when Sarah saw the sign: "Welcome to Haven's Rest - Pop. 247." She'd driven this stretch of Highway 191 a hundred times visiting her mother at the care facility, and there had never been a town here. Just endless scrub brush and the occasional roadkill.
By Autumn 6 months ago in Fiction
Apocalypse, With Peaches Part 1. Content Warning.
The water pulsed again, one sudden blip of pressure, sharp as a snapped rubber band, then settled back into its usual stream as though it hadn’t just made Simplicity Grace want to commit a federal crime against plumbing.
By Fatal Serendipity7 months ago in Fiction
Blaze. Top Story - September 2025.
“Mom, wake up. Mom! Quick, look! That’s Brandon, right?” “Where?!” Mrs. Lockwood sat upright and groggily looked around at all the passersby. Then she looked in the direction Scarlett was pointing. It indeed was him! It was her Brandon!
By Dharrsheena Raja Segarran7 months ago in Fiction
The Candidate
Wilma sat waiting to meet the would-be President. Would-be and could-be. Surely all presidential candidates are “would-be” presidents, Wilma mused, nervously flicking her mind from subject to subject in order to occupy her time. In Wilma’s defence, the fate of the world depended on this meeting. And she should know; she’s from the future.
By Conor Matthews7 months ago in Fiction
The Man Who Planted Rain
One morning, under a sky bleached white by heat, an old man knelt in the dust at the edge of a forgotten village. His name was Noor—everyone called him Baba Noor—and he was planting seeds again.
By meerjanan7 months ago in Fiction
The Train That Never Stops
M Mehran Every night at exactly 2:13 a.m., Sam heard the train. It was impossible. The town’s railway station had been closed for nearly twenty years, the tracks long abandoned, weeds curling around the rusted rails. Yet, like clockwork, the whistle echoed through the valley, low and mournful, followed by the distant rattle of wheels.
By Muhammad Mehran7 months ago in Fiction