“It was one of the whirlwind romances that nobody expect but that didn’t make losing it any better. The two had been so different but maybe that’s what made it work because he was so… perfect and she was so damaged from her past encounters that she wasn’t expecting to fall as hard as she had for him nor did she realize it until it was too late. Thea had already become so attached to him, not just romantically. He had became her best friend on top of being her lover. Thea had never exactly trusted many people. I mean she always had a few good friends but nobody like him. He didn't just tell Thea what she wanted to hear, he told her the good, the bad, the ugly. He was willing to call her out unlike anyone else ever had but he didn’t do it with anger he did it with love he wanted to see Thea be the very best of herself that she could be. The romance between the two went at a quick pace as they couldn’t help it. They felt something neither of them ever had but for someone like Thea who was so use to being hurt that fast paced love could be dangerous if it didn’t end well.
As Thea laid in her bed the darkness wrapped around her like a childhood blanket. She had been thinking about her past romance for the last hour as it was now 1:58 in the morning. She knew she should be asleep but she couldn’t help but think about the events that had lead to their last kiss. It went from destroying hotel rooms due to the passion that the two shared to doors being slammed and Thea’s pillow being ruined with black mascara and eyeliner stains. She still remembered the way his lips felt against hers and how his hands found her waist and hips even in the dark. She couldn’t help but playing the memory of him saying he loved her how it felt so sweet and amazing that day but now it was like a curse knowing that no matter who said it that it would never sound as sweet as it did from him. As she felt the tears run down her face she was taken back to a mid July day when it was raining she recalled the smell of the July rain as she ran off the plane to his arms but now she was laying in the empty bed expecting for herself wearing one of his old shirts he had left behind. All she knew was she didn’t know how to be something he missed.
She felt the tears flow down her face as she was laid back on her bed remembering the way he twirled her around the dance floor at a private event for the wrestling company he had worked for. How he kissed her while she was in the middle of saying something because he said she looked too amazing not to kiss.
As much as Thea hated those rude interruptions now there wasn’t a day she didn’t miss them she never imagined they would have ended like this. She thought that day back in December was just another pitty fight. She thought they would work past it but now here she was strangling to keep up with their old friends just to ask how he was. She could plan for a change in the weather but she didn’t know how to plan for the change that he wasn’t hers anymore.
All that she knows is that she doesn’t know how to be something he missed. She never thought they would have a last kiss on the December night. A fight that she could have fixed but she wanted to be stubborn and not open up, he had given her an option to either meet him halfway so they could work on their relationship or that they could end it. Thea not thinking clearly had chosen to end it which is what lead her to being awake at 1:58 in the morning meet by the darkness of the night remembering the last kiss.”
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There's A Hole in My Bucket
It’s a well-known fact that Liza Dufresne was always the brains in the family. She was the one who always came up with the brilliant schemes the Dufresne kids carried out when they were younger. Like when they tricked Mrs. Claybourn into paying for a trip to Disney World. Liza convinced her that their parents had been kidnapped and were being held for ransom for the total price of three tickets. In reality, they were away on a weekend getaway for their anniversary. When they returned, Liza told the Claybourns that they did not like to talk about the ordeal. Their parents never found out how they got the money. Mrs. Claybourn never found out that the Dufresne parents were never really in any danger.
By David E. Perry2 days ago in Fiction
What We Chose Not to See
The morning the cracks appeared, no one said a word. It started with the sound. A thin, splitting noise like glass bending under pressure. I heard it while brushing my teeth. The mirror above the sink trembled slightly, but when I looked at it, my reflection stood steady. Calm. Ordinary. Behind me, however, a thin black line ran from the ceiling to the floor. I blinked. It was gone. At breakfast, my mother spread butter across toast as if the world had never once disappointed her. “Did you hear that?” I asked. “Hear what?” she replied, not looking up. “That sound. Like something breaking.” She smiled faintly. “Old houses make noises.” Our house wasn’t old. I wanted to argue, but my father folded his newspaper with precise movements and stood up for work. The headline read: CITY REPORTS RECORD STABILITY Outside, the sky was pale gray. Not cloudy — just colorless, like someone had erased the blue. The air felt thick in my lungs. On the way to school, I noticed something else. The streetlight at the corner leaned slightly to the left, its metal pole twisted unnaturally. Cars drove past it without slowing. A woman pushing a stroller walked directly beneath it without glancing up. Didn’t they see? Or were they choosing not to? At school, the cracks were everywhere. A long fracture ran across the classroom wall, jagged and dark. The clock above the board ticked backward for three full seconds before correcting itself. No one reacted. Mr. Halpern continued explaining supply and demand as if time reversing was part of the curriculum. I raised my hand. “Sir, the clock—” He didn’t look at it. “Focus on your notes.” “But it just—” “Everything is functioning normally,” he said firmly. The class nodded. I stopped talking. By afternoon, the air outside carried a faint smell of smoke. Not strong enough to cause panic. Just noticeable enough to make breathing uncomfortable. People walked with their usual rhythm. They checked their phones. They laughed. They ordered coffee. The café windows reflected the street, but something was wrong with the reflections. Buildings looked taller in the glass. Skewed. Like they were stretching upward beyond the sky. I stepped closer to look. In the reflection, I wasn’t alone. Behind me stood a crowd of faceless figures. Perfectly still. Watching. I turned. The street was empty. When I looked back at the glass, the reflection was normal again. A barista tapped on the window from inside. “We’re closing early.” “Why?” I asked. She hesitated. Just for a second. “Maintenance.” Smoke drifted faintly above the rooftops. No alarms sounded. That night, the cracks returned. This time they didn’t disappear. They spread across the ceiling like lightning frozen in place. My bedroom light flickered. The air hummed. From downstairs, I heard my parents talking in soft, measured voices. “…it’s spreading faster.” “…don’t scare him.” “…if we act normal, it stabilizes.” I froze. If we act normal. Stabilizes what? The humming grew louder. A picture frame fell from the wall, its glass shattering against the floor. I ran downstairs. The living room ceiling had split open. Not wide — just enough to reveal darkness beyond it. Not night sky darkness. Not empty space. Movement. Slow. Shifting. Breathing. My mother stood beneath it with her arms crossed. “Mom,” I whispered. “You see that, right?” She didn’t look up. “See what?” “The ceiling!” “It looks fine.” My father placed a hand on my shoulder. His grip was firm. Too firm. “Listen to me,” he said quietly. “Nothing is happening.” “But it is.” He leaned closer. “The more you acknowledge it, the worse it becomes.” The crack above us pulsed. Dust fell like ash. I felt something inside me twist. “So we just pretend?” “Yes,” my mother said gently. “That’s how we’ve always survived.” Survived what? The house groaned. The next morning, half the sky was gone. Where blue should have been, there was only blankness. Not clouds. Not storm. Just absence. News channels played cooking shows. Social media was full of selfies under a disappearing sky. #Blessed #AnotherBeautifulDay The city continued moving. I stood in the center of the street and stared upward. The blank space spread slowly, swallowing color inch by inch. Birds flew into it and never came out. A man beside me checked his watch. “Traffic’s bad today.” “Look up,” I said. He frowned. “At what?” The blankness crept closer to the sun. Shadows sharpened. Windows began cracking outward. Still, no one screamed. My chest tightened. Maybe they were right. Maybe acknowledging it made it worse. Maybe silence was safety. A loud snap split the air as the leaning streetlight finally broke in half, crashing onto a parked car. People stepped around it casually. I looked at the sky again. It was nearly all gone now. Only a thin strip of blue remained, trembling like fragile glass. My reflection appeared in a nearby shop window. Behind me stood the faceless crowd again. But this time, they weren’t watching. They were fading. And in the reflection, I saw something else. Cracks spreading across my own skin. Thin. Dark lines tracing my arms. I touched my face. Smooth. Untouched. But in the glass, I was breaking. The last piece of blue sky shattered without sound. Everything turned white. Blinding. Endless. I waited for panic. For screams. For collapse. Instead— Voices. Calm. Measured. “Beautiful morning.” “Everything’s fine.” “Nothing unusual.” The white brightness softened. Buildings reappeared. The sky returned — perfect blue. No cracks. No smoke. No blankness. The streetlight stood upright again. The car was undamaged. People walked past me with mild annoyance. I rushed home. The ceiling was whole. The walls smooth. My parents sat at the table drinking coffee. “Rough night?” my mother asked lightly. “You remember it,” I said. “You have to.” My father folded his newspaper. The headline read: CITY REPORTS RECORD STABILITY He met my eyes. “For things to remain,” he said carefully, “some things must go unseen.” My reflection in the window smiled before I did. And that was when I understood. The cracks hadn’t been in the world. They had been in me. And everyone else had learned the secret long ago: Ignore the fracture. Ignore the smoke. Ignore the missing sky. Because if even one person refuses to pretend— The illusion breaks. And maybe the world with it. So I sat down. Picked up my cup. Looked at the perfect ceiling. And said nothing.
By Inayat khan4 days ago in Fiction
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