Stream of Consciousness
The Quest of Eternal Mortality
On Survival The question of existence still haunts me in the silence of the stillness that loneliness brings with it. To be or not to be, to exist in the coexistence of dualistic forces, to dance with the uncertainty or to play it along the periphery, what I hold certain, has always questioned me, bemoaned me. Truth be told, I beheld the cry for help when its absence called in silent whispers around the blanket of dwelling and absconded its abundant presence over me. There is a painting that traces the bits of serenity in my life, the colors that adorn the hues of the almighty run deep through the veins of my soul to find the brevity of pain. I glance at the picture of Lord Krishna, reminiscing the days that passed by. Darkness sets its sterility in the brimming light of today, as the dawn of today paints itself in the colours of the dusk of yesterday.
By Hridya Sharma2 years ago in Fiction
The Runner.
'SNAP!' I hear the sound of a branch snap under my feet as I run. A wolf howls in the distance but I continue running. Exhausted and out of breath, I pause to rest on the bracken ground below me. It's not the most comfortable terrain to sit on; I can feel sharp twigs and branches poking through my running pants and stabbing at the skin underneath them.
By Carol Ann Townend2 years ago in Fiction
A Mother's Strength for Her Child
ge nestled between rolling hills and lush forests, there lived a woman named Maya. Maya was a humble woman, not rich but not poor, who lived a simple yet fulfilling life with her only son, Arya. Though their life was modest, it was filled with love, warmth, and a strength that emanated from Maya's heart.
By DEDEN JOHAR SETIAWAN2 years ago in Fiction
Did it really happen?
Charlie stands on a stage receiving an Oscar for best film director in front of a crowd of a few thousand people. He is filled with nerves and pride, looking out at the cheering crowd. As the cheers fade, he begins to thank his mother, father, wife Maria, and daughter Emily for their support and inspiration in his life.
By Slobodanka Vasilevska2 years ago in Fiction
Neon Noir Nightmare
The flickering neon sign outside the abandoned arcade cast an eerie glow on Grace's face. At 17, she was considered a prodigy by the local precinct, a whiz with deduction and a nose for trouble. Tonight, the trouble was a missing girl, Sarah, who vanished after entering this very arcade three days prior. The official investigation had stalled, but Grace wouldn't let it go.
By ANNA CORAL2 years ago in Fiction
The Price I Pay. Top Story - May 2024. Content Warning.
Here is a link to Randy Baker's Challenge: Prompted #4 *** Joseph It smells like desperation. Actually, it smells like bleach trying to hide the smell of urine, death, and desperation permanented into the studs of my new home. Even as the perky redhead in scrubs pushes me around in my wheelchair, blathering on about the different rooms and the schedule for the week, I can see a man pouring bleach in a bucket, preparing yet another attempt to mask the bits of horrid smell still peeking through.
By Alexandria Stanwyck2 years ago in Fiction
A Story of a Bookseller
It was a beautiful sunny day in December in Pakistan. I was sitting beside her in the corridor of our university. We were having our tea when her beautiful lips started moving to say something beautiful. I prepared myself for that since I always listen to her words with the same attention. Her words began to make a pattern and went as, "There are a few people out there who actually do love. People in this modern time do not have urge to spend their lifetime with anyone. You know Nasir, there are 99% people who are actually faking in love and only 1% are there who actually do love, A true and pure love and those are the people who know how to take care of the other person and how to remain loyal with anyone." I asked her, "Are you among the 99% or 1%." I had curiosity to know though I had an idea how much she loved me. But she startled me by saying, "I won't tell a lie, I am among the 99%. Why would I boast on anything that I don't have." Her words made me numb though I knew that she is still telling a lie.Then I asked her," What about me?" She said," You are among the 1% people who truly love." I was happy to know that but I was confused that who could she be among the 99% as she is in love with me heart and soul. Now.................... Its been almost a year I haven't talked to her. I haven't seen her. She has gone from my life for good. She cleared my confusion a year ago that how she could be among the 99%. Now, I have learnt where to put efforts and where not to. I have learnt to get lessons from past and to look for new experiences. (An event from the life of a bookseller)
By Nasir Malik2 years ago in Fiction
The Song of a Dying Star
Alexa wasn't built for heroism. With her perpetually oil-streaked overalls and a mop of unruly brown hair that defied all attempts at taming, she was more comfortable tinkering with salvaged tech in her garage workshop than navigating the social minefields of high school. Yet, here she was, hurtling towards the heart of the unknown, cocooned within the cramped confines of a repurposed escape pod.
By ANNA CORAL2 years ago in Fiction
