Adventure
Pirates and Mermaids
One day a mermaid saw a group of pirates scuba diving. She was interested and swam up to ask them what they were up to. They told the mermaid about how there was treasure under the surface. They held up some they had found and then the mermaid swam down to help them. She told them about how she enjoyed watching their sword fights and wanted to learn from them. They made a deal that if the mermaids swam down to find treasures for them that were long lost and could not be found even with scuba diving, that they would teach them sword fighting and share the treasure.
By Seashell Harpspring 2 days ago in Fiction
Midnight Bus
The bus doors opened with a long metallic sigh, even though no one had pressed the stop button. For a moment, I stood on the empty sidewalk wondering if I had imagined it. The streetlights flickered softly above me, and the road stretched into darkness like an unanswered question. I had been waiting for nearly thirty minutes, and the city around me had already fallen asleep.
By Vocal Member 2 days ago in Fiction
You Make Your bed
Matthew is sleeping is his bed when he is suddenly awakened by a rock being thrown at his bedroom window. “What the heck is that?” He said to himself as he was rousted from his sleep. “Matthew! Matthew! Get up fool!” A voice called down to him from the other side of his bedroom window. Matthew climbed out of his messy bed and went to the bedroom window to investigate.
By Joe Patterson3 days ago in Fiction
The Lower Shelf
The Lower Shelf by luccian.layth An old bookstore on a street he won't remember the name of. Ghaith pulls a book from the bottom shelf, wipes the dust with his finger without meaning to. A woman stands nearby reading upright, as though standing is part of the act.
By LUCCIAN LAYTH3 days ago in Fiction
The Library Card
Step Inside Any Story You've Ever Read THE CARD THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING 🃏 Twelve-year-old Zara Okafor found the library card tucked inside a returned copy of "A Wrinkle in Time" at the Greenville Public Library where she spent every afternoon after school because her mother worked double shifts at the hospital and the library was the only safe place within walking distance of her school, and Zara who had read every book in the young adult section twice and who had moved on to the adult fiction shelves with the precocious hunger of a child whose real life was too small for her imagination, picked up the card assuming it had been left by the previous borrower and intending to turn it in at the front desk, but when she looked at the card she noticed it was different from the standard Greenville library cards which were plain white with a barcode, because this card was made of something that felt like metal but flexed like paper, and it was warm to the touch despite having been inside a closed book, and instead of a name and barcode it contained a single line of text in gold lettering that read "Present this card to enter any book you choose" 📖
By The Curious Writer4 days ago in Fiction
The Clock
What Would You Do If You Knew Exactly When? THE DEVICE NOBODY ASKED FOR 🕐 The Countdown Clock appeared in every home on Earth simultaneously at midnight on January first without explanation or warning, a small digital display that materialized on the wall of every bedroom in every house and apartment and shelter and prison cell on the planet showing a number counting backward in real-time, and it took humanity approximately three hours to understand what the numbers represented because the first people whose clocks reached zero died instantly and peacefully at the exact moment their display hit 00:00:00:00, and the worldwide panic that followed as eight billion people simultaneously confronted personalized death countdowns that could not be removed, covered, or destroyed because any attempt to damage or obscure a clock resulted in it immediately reappearing on the nearest wall, was the most destabilizing event in human history, more disruptive than any war or pandemic because it gave every person on Earth the one piece of information that human psychology is least equipped to handle: the exact moment of their death 💀
By The Curious Writer4 days ago in Fiction
The Dreamholders of Tessarna
Beyond the snowy slopes of the twin Plardo-Tylno Peaks with their ruby caps, across the Sea of Fiery Tamarinds where the trees grow out of the purple reefs to spray burning spores into the wind. Between the River Endurib’s wide delta that meanders aimlessly around the Plain of Milisino licking the plain’s fields of golden grass, and the sharp obsidian blades of the Wicklaure Mountains where the Dwerrow mine for diamonds and cut obsidian blades. At the centre of the vast and ancient Empire of Tessarna that is ruled by the mighty Lord of the City, Divine Emperor of the Manifold Blades, the Emperor-God Thah-Rast who has ruled there for ten thousand generations. There sits the many-spired citadel of Chega-Toleh, where the streets are limned in purple banners of silk and the paving stones are green marble laced with threads of gold brought up from the sea by the sixteen mighty hands of titanic Thah-Rast. Here the Guild of Dweomercraefters makes its magical vessels to store up dreams in captured form to be experienced again and again by whosoever seeks them. Dreams small and large, pleasant and horrible, all manner of dreams they ensnare in the delicate glass vessels and sell to the highest bidder.
By Samuel Wright4 days ago in Fiction
Magic - Chapter Two
Author's note: Today, my stream of consciousness flows easily without having to think through the story. Therefore, I am letting my subconscious do the work. I am writing this after writing the following, which you will soon read, and I want to mention that everything I have written so far is purely from my subconscious mind. I have not planned the plot, especially what will happen in today's chapter; you will wonder if I have planned this particular incident. The answer is 'No, I have not'. To be honest, it just came into my mind rather abruptly as I was writing, and that's how the subconscious usually works. I hope you understand what I am saying. If you don't, I recommend you read the book The Power of Your Subconscious Mind by Joseph Murphy.
By Denise Larkin5 days ago in Fiction
The Painting That Aged Instead of Her 🎨
THE PORTRAIT IN THE ATTIC 🖼️ When renowned artist Julian Reeves painted his girlfriend Celeste's portrait during the summer of 2019, he did not intend to create anything supernatural or extraordinary, just an oil painting of the woman he loved captured in the golden light of their Brooklyn apartment during the happiest period of their relationship, but the painting which took three months to complete and which Julian considered his finest work developed a quality that neither of them could explain and that would eventually destroy their relationship and transform their understanding of love, beauty, and the terrible cost of trying to preserve something that is meant to change 🎨
By The Curious Writer5 days ago in Fiction
The Café
Every Customer Gets One Visit and One Question Answered THE DOOR BETWEEN WORLDS 🚪 The café appears on different streets in different cities on different nights, never in the same location twice, and the people who find it are always people who are about to face the most significant decision of their lives though they do not always know this when they walk through the door drawn by the warm light and the smell of coffee that is better than any coffee they have ever experienced and by something else, something they cannot name but that feels like recognition, like the café has been waiting specifically for them even though they have never seen it before and will never see it again because the café grants each person only one visit and during that visit they are served a meal that tastes exactly like the most meaningful meal of their life, the meal that represents their deepest happiness, and they are allowed to ask one question that will be answered truthfully by the proprietor, a woman of indeterminate age who seems to know everything about everyone who walks through her door 🌙
By The Curious Writer5 days ago in Fiction
The Leprechaun in the Basement
The scratching started three nights before St. Patrick’s Day. At first, the homeowner assumed it was mice. The house was old, built sometime in the 1940s, with narrow crawlspaces beneath the living room floor. Small animals getting in wasn’t unusual. The sound came in short bursts—scratching, dragging, then silence.
By V-Ink Stories6 days ago in Fiction
