Inspiration

Close Encounters of the Human Kind
Early morning exercise over, resting on a park bench watching the sunrise change the light on the water. Thoughts tumbling through my mind, triggered by a bouquet, commemorating some ancestral anniversary, left by a brass plaque of dedication.
By Keith Butler2 months ago in Writers
RESULTS: On This Street [an unofficial challenge]
Hi everyone. -An embarassing return to Vocal Media. Due to some personal things and an apparent inability to manage my time (across anything that isn't school) in finishing up my university degree, I have had some time away.
By Belle2 months ago in Writers
The Most Dangerous Habit We All Share (Without Realizing).
The Life Cycle of a Label A label doesn’t just appear out of nowhere. It follows a cycle—quietly growing stronger with each step.
By Ayush2 months ago in Writers
What’s the Best Payment Processor for Small Businesses?
In the modern economy, choosing the best payment processor for small businesses is no longer just about selecting a service that moves money from a customer’s card to a merchant’s bank account. For a small business, the right processor acts as a silent partner. It manages cash flow, secures sensitive data, automates billing, and scales as the business grows.
By sammmy2 months ago in Writers
Eating in the dark
Deep into the night, I lit up a candle and served myself a plate of food. As I took my first bite, it tasted less vibrant which was exactly what I wanted that night. I wanted a less sensitive experience and an unsatisfied bite actually satisfied my mind. The flame from the candle rocked back and forth, side to side. It seemed to push its energy towards me every time it moved and it rocked me back and forth, side to side. I felt drunk after a while and the food tasted even more tasteless. My surroundings started to shift in motion on all directions like a Van Gogh painting. It was now time for some real wine. I want to get black out drunk tonight.
By Marianne Lee2 months ago in Writers
Foxy
Dark hair blowing in the wind, making love with the midnight sky. High heels so high, she moves her hips in cursive and walks in capital letters. Tight black dress to show off her voluptuous line that doesn’t know how to behave. Red lipstick looks hot enough to burn the flames. Dating apps have not worked so she decided to go out in the hottest way.
By Marianne Lee2 months ago in Writers
My crush
I sat down and started writing about my crush. Words seemed to float by the true essence of his presence because describing a man is not nearly as romantic as describing a woman. There are days I wish I could invent new words just so I can feel him through these writings with better precision.
By Marianne Lee2 months ago in Writers
Preservation for Eternal Impact
It is easy to feel as though most of what is said disappears. Words are spoken, written, posted, argued over, and then quickly buried beneath the next wave of noise. Attention moves on. Platforms refresh. What once felt urgent becomes invisible. In that environment, a quiet but persistent question emerges. What actually lasts. And more uncomfortably, what is worth preserving when so much seems to vanish without consequence.
By Peter Thwing - Host of the FST Podcast2 months ago in Writers
The Lantern in the Rain
Rain had been falling for hours over the coastal town of Bramblewood, a relentless curtain that blurred the edges of every street and alley. Lanterns hung along the cobblestones, their warm glow swallowed by the gray wash of the storm. Only a few brave souls wandered outside, huddled in coats, umbrellas, and hope. Among them was Amina, her coat pulled tight against the wind, eyes fixed on the small, battered lantern she carried—an heirloom from her grandmother, promised to “light the way when darkness falls, even if all seems lost.”
By Omid khan2 months ago in Writers
The Bridge Where Lost Souls Whisper
Everyone in Greyhaven knew the bridge. It curved across the Blackmere River like a broken spine, its wooden planks twisted by decades of storms, its iron rails rusted the dark red of dried blood. No matter the season, fog clung to it like a living shroud. Even under the fiercest summer sun, cold mist seeped from beneath its boards — as if something below was breathing… waiting.
By Omid khan2 months ago in Writers
The Painter of Forgotten Skies
In a village cradled by jagged mountains and windswept plains, a man lived quietly, remembered by few, yet known in whispers as Elias — the Painter of Forgotten Skies.
By Omid khan2 months ago in Writers
The Lighthouse of Forgotten Dreams
The Lighthouse of Forgotten Dreams rose defiantly at the edge of the world, perched atop jagged cliffs that plunged into a churning, restless sea. To the casual observer, it was a crumbling relic—its white paint flaking, its copper dome tarnished and rusted, its glass panes fogged and cracked by decades of relentless storms. Yet for those who truly sought it, the lighthouse was far more than a tower of stone and light. It was a sanctuary where lost hopes lingered, where abandoned dreams whispered, and where forgotten aspirations waited patiently for someone brave enough to remember them.
By Omid khan2 months ago in Writers