Psychological
Deafening Silence. Content Warning.
Tremors ravage my hands and arms, and my knees bounce up and down like I have springs in my sneakers. Figures in scrubs race back and forth along the corridor, their faces drawn, pale, severe. The smell of bleach is all around me; suffocating, nauseating. A noxious, perfumey scent lies on top of it (gardenias, I think), trying to mask the odor, but it only feeds the pounding ache growing behind my right eye. There's another smell beneath it all - much more potent - that twists my guts up in painful knots. I can't quite place what it is, but it reminds me how much I despise hospitals.
By Natalie Gray2 years ago in Fiction
Dead eyes. Top Story - October 2023. Content Warning.
The moment the wooden oak doors open I miss the safety of the Hallway. Miss the comfort of the tiny bench where all the anxious feelings for the next few moments were only thoughts weighing on my shoulders.
By The Invisible Writer2 years ago in Fiction
Her Last Farewell
Eleanor hated funeral homes. Lonely, loathsome places, in her opinion. She hated the way those places made her feel. The way she shrank under the stern gaze of looming windows. The stale perfume of wilting roses and carnations thickening the chilly parlor air. The hollowing of her stomach every time she approached a casket, that final “good-bye” stuck in her throat like a knot of spiders. And the heavy dread that lurked in the shadowy corners of the overcrowded rooms, a sinister reminder of the inevitable. Eleanor had bid farewell to most of her family, friends, and even a few strangers in rooms not unlike the one in which she now found herself. The furniture, the wallpaper, the flowers, the murmuring crowd, all identical from one to the next. Even the corpses had begun to blur together into the same ambiguous visage. Except for this one. The body that now lay stiffly reposed in the silk-lined coffin was more familiar to her than her own reflection. She had spent sixty-seven years memorizing every angle and curve and twinkling aspect of the man that rested before her. The once brilliant smile of vitality and mischief now winced under permanently closed eyes, and the knotted hands closed over the sunken chest cavity belied their former gentle strength, now a mere gnarl of skin and bone. Her darling Theo. His was the only familiar face to her in the parlor. His, and the woman’s.
By Sara Little2 years ago in Fiction
Unspoken Reality. Content Warning.
As Martin stood over Diane, looking deep into her eyes, he remembered back all those months ago to the first time they met. It was a charity gala that his company was invited to attend and as she was the chief of police, she was there to represent the department. Martin had always had a problem with these events, because he felt most attendees missed the point and were only in it to advantage their career and reputation. That was why he was initially reluctant to approach Diane. If it were not for her flowing golden-coloured locks that caught the light of the hall the event took place in as she mingled with the guests, he might not have bothered.
By Paul Stewart2 years ago in Fiction
The Mind Games
Chapter 1: The Whispering Shadows A chilling wind cut through the desolate streets, casting eerie shadows that danced on the old, crumbling buildings. Lucy, a psychiatrist known for her expertise in criminal psychology, had been called to examine a patient at the Brackenwood Asylum, a place known for housing the most disturbed minds.
By Safwa Elouizi2 years ago in Fiction
Echoes of Eternity
There was nothing left to say. Years hung around her neck, heavy as an old mill stone. The kind of stone she had never seen. Yet she wore those years as a Queen might her crown. To say that one aged with dignity would be to compare them to her, and the comparison would be weak.
By Alexander McEvoy2 years ago in Fiction
"The Lighthouse of Dreams"
Once upon a time, in a quiet coastal town named Harbor's Haven, there stood an old, weather-beaten lighthouse at the edge of the world. This lighthouse was more than just a beacon of light to guide ships safely to shore; it was a symbol of hope, dreams, and second chances.
By PAPITHA P.R2 years ago in Fiction
Whispers of the Heart: A Dance Beyond Words
In the soft embrace of a golden-lit room, Emily and David stood locked in a gaze that spoke a language only they understood. The air crackled with anticipation, heavy with unspoken emotions. A silent dance unfolded, their souls entwining, revealing the intricate tapestry of their relationship's depths.
By Kageno Hoshino2 years ago in Fiction
The Massacre Tapes
It happened last year, or somewhere in the middle of last year. Our town witnessed the single greatest horror in the history of any town anywhere; I'm sure of it. It was first said to be an unknown phenomenon of some kind, and people were blaming it on a disease we didn't know existed yet. But it was far from it. Let me tell you what happened. Men, in their 20s, would start randomly being found dead doing perfectly normal things. There was one named Christopher—I forget his last name—who died whilst he was on his way to work. He didn't appear to have any cuts and bruises, no marks to the skin. Nothing happened to him that could've been inflicted by someone else. Everyone, at that time, just shrugged it off as a death of natural causes. But then, more things happened.
By Annie Kapur2 years ago in Fiction
Whispers of the Abyss
In the small, picturesque town of Havenwood, nestled deep in the heart of New England, life moved at a gentle, unhurried pace. The streets were lined with ancient oak trees, and the townsfolk went about their business with a contented sigh, as if the world outside held no secrets. Havenwood's quiet existence, however, was about to be shattered.
By Abdulrahman Mahmoud2 years ago in Fiction
Unspoken
Choking on words unspoken, they stood there in a staring contest. Not a childish one. No. One that only comes from having met a familiar stranger. The kind that makes you feel safe in the danger they bring to your life. You don’t remember who they are. Or rather, who they were. But you know their familiarity as soon as they’re near. Something all too clearly queer.
By Atomic Historian2 years ago in Fiction
