Adventure
[Theater Reddit] The Back Row of Theater 6 Is Never Empty
Posted by u/UsherInTheDark – 2 months ago So I work night shift at a small-town movie theater. We close around 1 a.m. after the last show, and it’s my job to do the final sweep: check all theaters, shut down the projectors, make sure no one’s left behind. I’ve been doing this for three years now — mostly alone, because no one else wants to stay that late.
By V-Ink Stories3 months ago in Fiction
Carols of the Damned
The Saint Cecilia Choir had seen better days. Once the pride of the town, their performances now drew only a handful of listeners. The director, Margaret Hensley, a once-renowned soprano, refused to let the choir fade into obscurity. “We just need something special,” she insisted. “Something that will remind people why they loved us.”
By V-Ink Stories3 months ago in Fiction
Saint Nicholas' Last Ride
The snow fell in ashen flakes, the sky above a perpetual gray that mirrored the despair of the world below. In the year 2147, Christmas was a relic, outlawed decades earlier by the Council of Unity. Declared a source of division and greed, the holiday and its traditions were erased from history books. But whispers of rebellion persisted—quiet murmurs of a time when people gathered, when joy and giving weren’t crimes.
By V-Ink Stories3 months ago in Fiction
Gift of Wrath
The holiday party was in full swing, with laughter and the hum of festive music filling the air. Emily, the office manager, had outdone herself this year. A crackling fire, garlands draped across every surface, and a massive Christmas tree glittering with golden ornaments dominated the room. In the corner, the Secret Santa table overflowed with wrapped gifts.
By V-Ink Stories3 months ago in Fiction
Symbiotic: Chapter 42
Chapter 42 Sara sat back on her heels, the Greatworm egg glowing faintly in its cocoon of spores. Her chest rose and fell with exhaustion, but there was a steadiness in her eyes now. She looked across the lake to Whistle, who had watched her struggle and endure without a word, his hawk perched calmly on his arm.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)3 months ago in Fiction
Christmas Tales ~ The White House Christmas Thief
‘Tis the season of giving, and within the grand halls of the White House, the spirit of Christmas comes alive. Lavish decorations adorn the public rooms, showcasing mesmerizing Christmas themes. Unfortunately, the less fortunate souls shall never witness the splendor nor partake in the extravagant feasts that grace this festive occasion. However, there exists a White House Christmas Thief who harbors deep compassion for the destitute, and this tale unveils her most generous heist yet!
By Mia Z. Edwards3 months ago in Fiction
The Four Bloodlines
Chapter 1: The Outcasts In the hidden corners of London’s magical underworld, four powerful bloodlines stood divided by secrets, curses, and ancient rivalries. From these families came four children — each burdened by a life they never chose.
By Unsworth Macpatrick 3 months ago in Fiction
Symbiotic: Chapter 40
Chapter 40 Sara moved in silence, the battlefield quiet now except for occasional comments carried on the wind from those that had watched the once sided battle from the Wall. She knelt by each fallen mercenary, hands steady as she searched their bodies. Coins, weapons, scraps of parchment, and relics were gathered with care, each item tucked away without ceremony. She did not rush. She did not speak.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)3 months ago in Fiction
Symbiotic: Chapter 39
Chapter 39 Unwilling to accidentally be unavailable when the first new citizens reached Haven Valley, Sara avoids diving into the Dungeon or heading out to search deeper into the valley. Instead, the next two days in Haven Valley were filled with the steady rhythm of creation. Sara worked tirelessly, her hands glowing faintly as she called upon Create Basic Object, shaping spores into hardened forms.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)3 months ago in Fiction
The Letting Go
Arthur believed in lines. Straight edges, trimmed hedges, and clear, clean spaces. His garden was a testament to control, a green chessboard where every plant knew its place. So, when autumn arrived, he saw it not as a season, but as a prolonged act of vandalism.
By Habibullah3 months ago in Fiction
