Stream of Consciousness

Past Lives. Content Warning.
War made for odd couples. To Private Jim Mclellan, Sepp seemed a good man; better at least than some of the monsters he heard stories of deeper into the Reich. Real monsters. This Sepp almost reminded Jim of his uncle; the one from Wisconsin he met a few times at Weddings.
By Matthew J. Fromm21 minutes ago in Fiction
The Ghost on the Map: My 2,000-Mile Journey to a Paris That Isn’t There
If you type "Paris" into Google Maps, the algorithm will dutifully drop a pin on the City of Light. It will show you the winding Seine, the star-shaped sprawl of the Place de l’Étoile, and enough crêperies to feed a small army.
By George Evana day ago in Fiction
Marrow Creek #2
78110-A | ACTIVE | NAME: _ | STABLE Phone vibrates on a kitchen counter. Early morning. Sunless. Pale. Washed. "There is a door that opens...
By Kristen Keenon Fisher2 days ago in Fiction
Beyond Twilight.
Twilight arrived before I realized the day was ending. The light didn’t vanish all at once; it thinned, softened, and shifted into something quieter. I stood there watching the sky change, and it struck me how familiar the moment felt. Not because of the colors, but because of the slowing. The steadiness. The sense that something was closing without drama or regret.
By Novel Allen2 days ago in Fiction
On and on: The Static Object . Content Warning.
Sunday February 8th, 2026 5:43 AM He wakes before the sun and regrets it. He’s not even sure what woke him. The house is quiet as ever.
By Sam Spinelli2 days ago in Fiction
The Lantern in the Fog
The fog settled over the village like a blanket soaked in silence. At first it was gentle, wrapping the streets in a quiet hush. But as night deepened, it thickened into something heavier, almost alive, crawling along the cobblestones and slipping into the cracks of every home. It was not the kind of fog that simply blurred the edges of things. This fog carried a chill that touched the marrow, a weight that pressed on the heart, and whispered doubts in voices that sounded eerily familiar.
By Sound and Spirit3 days ago in Fiction
Perfectly Preserved Envy.
My youth is perfectly preserved in a special wallet within the mind palace of my existence. Every so often, I open the wallet - frown and grimace at her lovely soft chocolate exterior - my once richly layered lovely young self. Oh, how I have become so envious, when I compare her to my convoluted and annoying mature self.
By Novel Allen3 days ago in Fiction
The Course of True Love
For months I have admired you from afar. Across the office floor, I drink in every detail of you as if you are a rich red wine. I dream of the life we could have together. I picture our first date, the wedding that will follow, our house, even the children we will have. A boy and a girl, one for me and one for you.
By Sebastian Swift3 days ago in Fiction
The Shape the Memory Requires
Serenity accomplished. Silence restored. Power comes from necessity. Not protection. Fear. Uncertainty bleeds. Trust was never promised.
By Paul Stewart3 days ago in Fiction
Eyes
I was seven years old the first time I got married. I remember the weight of the dress before I remember my own name. It was heavy and white and warm, like it had been waiting for me longer than I had been alive. The fabric pressed against my shoulders with a seriousness I did not yet understand. The room was filled with the aroma of flowers I couldn’t name, their scent thick and unfamiliar; and the walls seemed older than the building that held them as if the space itself had been borrowed for the occasion. There were people there. I remember that much. Their voices softened as I entered, the way voices do when something inevitable is about to happen. No one smiled too widely. No one whispered. They all seemed like a blurry memory; a background character of my story. I am even unsure of the season but I do know I wanted to hold onto the feeling and the intensity of the dream; and take it with me but I couldn’t remember everything once I woke up.
By Cadma4 days ago in Fiction
The 12:33 from Ipswick
- At 12:33, the Ipswick–London local departs Platform 4. - At 12:47, the conductor discovers a passenger slumped in Seat 22B.
By Novel Allen5 days ago in Fiction
Doing the Right Thing Poorly. Content Warning.
Get tae fuck outta mah face. That’s what ah said tae him. Ah suppose yer probably wondering why ah’m writing this. Well, without sounding all philosophical and all that pish — why does anyone dae anything? Anyone write anything?
By Paul Stewart7 days ago in Fiction