Classical

I Still Receive Messages From My Wife—Three Years After Her Funeral
Every message knows something only the dead should remember By Anees Ul Ameen The first message arrived on a quiet Sunday night, exactly three years after my wife’s funeral.
By anees25 days ago in Fiction
The Town That Forgot Tomorrow
The town of Bellmere had one strange rule: no one talked about tomorrow. At first, Maya thought it was a joke. She had arrived in Bellmere on a rainy evening, her car breaking down just beyond the town sign. The sign itself was old and rusted, with faded letters that read: Welcome to Bellmere. Nothing unusual until she asked the mechanic when her car would be ready.
By Asghar ali awan25 days ago in Fiction
Persephone's Porch
"Circe, for Chrissakes, put Cerberus on his leash to keep him off the porch. I don't need him dragging three sets of drooling jowls across it when the nymphs just cleaned." Persephone pulled her blonde hair back and tied it in a loose knot to keep it off her face. "I can't believe Hermes is bringing the whole famdamnily."
By Harper Lewis25 days ago in Fiction
The Day Everyone Stopped Looking at the Sky
On the morning the sky changed, no one noticed. Cars moved through traffic like obedient insects. Coffee cups steamed in bored hands. Notifications buzzed, chimed, and blinked like impatient fireflies demanding attention. Heads were bowed—not in prayer, not in reflection, but in devotion to glowing screens.
By Yasir khan27 days ago in Fiction
The Love That Changed Shape 🌿
At first, it looked like the end. That was how people would have described it if they had seen them that morning—two people standing too far apart for a goodbye that used to be easy, holding silence where affection once lived. But love, as it turns out, doesn’t always disappear when it stops looking familiar. Sometimes it simply changes shape.
By Zidane27 days ago in Fiction
Small Heat
The fire was tiny enough to disbelieve. Two slender pieces of wood sat under the kettle, slanted just so, their edges already burned. The flame between them didn’t rise or roar. It remained low, almost bashful, like it wasn’t sure it deserved to be there. Snow encircled everything—on the ground, on the lip of the fire pit, packed tight and quiet. The cold seemed older than me, older than my thoughts, like it had always been waiting.
By abualyaanart28 days ago in Fiction
I Want to Be Immortal, But Not in Hell!
"Please, stop torturing me!" Putin pleaded to the demons who were propping his eyelids with hot metal rods and cutting off his lips to remove excess Botox.
By Lana V Lynx28 days ago in Fiction
Do You Remember?
”Do you remember?” “Remember, what?” “Do you remember how we met?” “Of course I remember when we met.” “But do you remember HOW we met?” “How? How. Well, yes.. what exactly are you goin’ on about, Vera?” “It’s been decades since I’ve thought about it” “Go on.” “Well, don’t you remember, Oscar? We were two very lost souls. So lost in the rubble we couldn’t find our own feet. “Ah, yes.” “Our hearts were shredded into the finest confetti, it’s a miracle they could even hold a beat!” “Mm, It’s coming back to me.” “Meddling on lonesome blues and cheap whiskey.” “Merely kids, we were.” “Down by that old river, some nights so misty!” “Oh, yes. That sure was a mighty beautiful river.” “and the bands would play until sunrise for all our lonesome souls to vanquish into spiritless nothingness.” “They knew we needed sleep at some point, just to wake up the next evening to do it all over again.” “A small light in the darkness.” “Hm, I am still not understanding why this faint memory has arised in you, Vera, are you okay?” “Do you remember when you looked at me? From across the dock?” “Well, yes. I saw a sad girl sitting on shore, digging her toes in the sand, curly dark locks drifting with the wind.” “Yes, and I looked up at that exact moment.” “A picturesque moment, a sight to be seen.” “That was the first time I smiled in months.” “Truly?” “Truly.” “Hm. Why is that?” “Well, I saw a handsome young man staring right back at me, with a hungered look in his eyes, a look I couldn’t quite read.” “and that made you smile?” “No one had ever looked at me like that in all my young years, if they ever even looked at me..” “You were… dauntingly beautiful, Vera. I couldn’t look away.” “I was not!” “You were! I saw a lost soul, like mine, toes so deep in the sand you couldn’t see them. An aching heart so shredded it was like fire works going off around you.” “and that made me beautiful?” “It made you real. It meant you could feel, deeply. And when you can feel, deeply - well, that’s the purest of beauty.” “and you saw all that just by looking at me?” “I felt you in my soul, and it made me feel.. not so lost anymore.” “Oh… Oscar.” “What is this all about, Vera?” “Well, to be honest, I was beginning to feel a little bit lost again.” “Oh, Vera..” “When you looked at me from that rickety ol’ dock, something in my soul ignited.” “You felt it too?” “Very much so.” “Hm, you never made a mention of that.” “Well, growing up crushed by the weight of endless trauma, you learn to hide such feelings.” “Fair.” “I just… I just needed that reminder, of what ignited my soul in the first place.” “You mean.. by giving you this look?” “Yes! Oh.. Yes, that look!” “You will always be the girl of my wildest imagination, Vera. Without you, there would only be darkness.”
By Kendra J. Anthony28 days ago in Fiction
The Baker's Paradox
Rutaa wiped the sweat draining off his bald head like a stream before drinking an entire goblet of water. The water wasn’t cool, nothing in his bakery was cool at the best of times, but the festival wasn't the best of times for a baker. He appreciated the humble reprieve none the less.
By Matthew J. Fromm29 days ago in Fiction
THE LORD OF THE DYNAMOS
James Holroyd was the chief attendant of the three dynamos that powered the electric railway at Camberwell. A practical electrician from Yorkshire, he was a rough, domineering man—fond of whisky, violent in temper, and proud of his knowledge. He mocked religion, believed only in machinery and profit, and treated those beneath him with cruelty.
By Faisal Khan29 days ago in Fiction
The Silent Climb
In a peaceful village nestled between vast hills and serene lakes, lived a boy named Ayan. He was known for his quiet nature, yet his mind was bursting with dreams. Unlike his peers who were satisfied with routine, Ayan longed for adventure, exploration, and achievement—all synonyms of the ambitions he nurtured silently.
By meerjanan30 days ago in Fiction
The Silent Climb
In a quiet village nestled between green hills and calm lakes, there lived a boy named Ayan. He was quiet by nature, often seen sitting under the old fig tree with a faraway look in his eyes. While others played, he would sketch mountains, write in his worn notebook, and stare at the peaks beyond the horizon.
By meerjanan30 days ago in Fiction