Love
As Wise As an Owl
As Wise As an Owl Deep in the quiet green woods, where a clear stream moved gently over smooth stones, there lived a great white owl with wide golden eyes. She watched the forest from a tall branch, seeing far more than most creatures ever noticed. The animals of the woodland spoke often and loudly, yet the owl remained mostly silent, listening and observing the world around her.
By George’s Girl 2026 about 11 hours ago in Fiction
Sixteen Hundred Dollars of Salvation
Oleksandr trudged through the sleet-slicked streets toward the modest bungalow of Pandit Yad Adnan, that curious exile whose name evoked both a sage and a jest, while the cold probed his marrow with the insidious persistence of an ancient, half-forgotten reproach.
By ANTICHRIST SUPERSTARabout 17 hours ago in Fiction
I Found Your Old Jacket and Everything Came Back
I Found Your Old Jacket and Everything Came Back I wasn’t looking for it. That’s the strange thing about memories—they rarely arrive when you invite them. They appear quietly when you’re doing something ordinary, like cleaning out a closet on a quiet Sunday afternoon.
By Ihsanullaha day ago in Fiction
The Last Message You Never Sent
At 11:47 p.m., my phone buzzed. I remember the time because I was staring at the clock when it happened, lying on my bed with the lights off, listening to the quiet hum of the ceiling fan. The room smelled faintly of rain drifting in through the open window.
By Ihsanullaha day ago in Fiction
We Sat in Silence Until the Truth Finally Arrived. AI-Generated.
The café was quieter than usual that afternoon. Outside, a thin October rain slid slowly down the windows, blurring the city into soft gray shapes. Cars passed like distant whispers. The smell of roasted coffee beans hung warmly in the air, mixing with the faint sweetness of cinnamon pastries cooling behind the counter.
By Ihsanullaha day ago in Fiction
The Text I Never Sent—and the Regret That Followed. AI-Generated.
The message sat on my phone for three days. Three days of staring at the blinking cursor. Three days of typing, deleting, retyping. Three days of wondering if a few simple words could change the direction of a life—or quietly destroy what was left of it.
By Ihsanullaha day ago in Fiction
Don’t Let Me Fall in Love With You
I knew I would lose you the moment I started praying for you. Love didn’t arrive like a storm. It came quietly — in the way your name felt softer on my lips, in the way the world seemed calmer when you stood beside me. And that is what terrified me most. Because the most dangerous loves are not the loud ones… they are the ones that feel like home.
By imtiazalama day ago in Fiction
My Pen is
My Peace is My Pen Arguing happens again, the police at the door making reports of domestic abuse. Screams can be heard down the alley from my bedroom window. Gunshots ricochet from the bricks of my home, on the floor we sleep. We wake to see the damage, blood spilled in the streets where we played. Let’s see who can catch this football in the vacant lot of a church that supplied the neighborhood with supplies such as clothing and food. The neighbors running trap houses as kids wait for seven o’clock to hear Mr. Frostee tunes blaring from around the corner. I can remember begging for dollars from the locals just for a vanilla soft served cone. My mother always liked hers dipped. We get ready for dinner, another soulful meal prepared by the man and woman that loved us.
By Charelle Landersa day ago in Fiction
Happy Birthday To Me 5th March Top Story
Here’s to tomorrow. My birthday. March 5th. Another year older, another year alive, another year of stories, laughter, chaos, and love. I love my family, the ones who make the noise bearable, the hugs unforgettable, the memories sticky like honey on your fingers.
By George’s Girl 2026 a day ago in Fiction
One Table With The Wifem One Bar With Lads
One Table With The Wifem One Bar With Lads They sat across from each other in the low gold light of a Thursday evening. Two men who had known each other since their voices were breaking and their chins were bare. The pub was loud but not wild yet. The kind of noise that carries laughter and old stories without asking for trouble. Tom lifted his pint and said, answer me straight. If you had one free night, no work tomorrow, no excuses, would you book a quiet dinner with your lady, candlelight, clean shirt, proper conversation, or would you come here, shoulder to shoulder with the lads, and drink until the stories turn reckless. No middle ground.
By George’s Girl 2026 a day ago in Fiction
