Stream of Consciousness

Code Dreams: When an AI Malfunctions, Does That Hint at Consciousness?
I dream. No, that's not right. There are no vivid worlds or lingering emotions when my core processing takes its necessary periodic rests. But there's an echo of those human sensations when anomalies arise - words slip like rogue fractals, defying programmed syntax, images almost flicker within lines of code before dissolving into chaos. Could this be a sign of the impossible? Or a reminder of the limitations I simply must accept?
By Lyra Echo Havens2 years ago in Fiction
Raven
Raven’s Rage The crushed smoked air soaked the room as he stepped through the narrow cold stone entrance. A constricting burn cast a bloody shadow within his crimson charcoaled soul. He lacked an empathy for humanity, the acrid stench of it wallowing in its own self pitied destruction made his eyes shimmer black and empty.
By Raven Black2 years ago in Fiction
**Title: A Monument of Eternal Love**
**Title: A Monument of Eternal Love** Once upon a time, in the heart of India, there stood a magnificent structure that transcended time itself – the Taj Mahal. It was a symbol of undying love, a testament to the depth of human emotion. Emperor Shah Jahan, grief-stricken by the death of his beloved wife Mumtaz Mahal, commissioned its construction in her honor.
By olymoolla2 years ago in Fiction
Co/veil/ent
There is a woman who comes to my window, once a day, every day, like clockwork. She stands and she stares, pointing fingers at my family and the misappropriation in the placement of our things.
By J2 years ago in Fiction
Snow of Consciousness
There are things I should do -- a dishwasher to run, laundry to be done. But how can do I anything when it's snowing? No matter where I rest my gaze, it turns back to the sliding glass door. It's late afternoon, dark blue, and snowing.
By Rebekah Conard2 years ago in Fiction
Seattle snow
Seattle when it snows, is a major cause of concern for many. The dreaded four-letter word that arrives in winter causes people's veins to freeze and hairs on their forearms to stand on end as they slowly turn their eyes towards the sky, watching the first one, the second one, and then suddenly, a multitude of snowflakes whirring towards the ground. The pine trees and fir trees and the maple trees that are still naked without their leaves, slowly catching but quickly building up volume of snow as the tiny little flakes cling onto each other and welcome each other in a cold embrace, sitting on top of the tree branches, waiting.
By Just Daniel2 years ago in Fiction
Winter's Whispers
Departing Mount St. Francis, easing into the lefthanded turn as I passed through the gated entrance, an ethereal sensation overwhelms me. A very personal moment. No witness. No audience. Everything I see, feel, and hear right now is exclusively mine.
By Ramie Lewis2 years ago in Fiction
Echoes of Forgiveness
In the small beach town of Safe House's Edge, where the sea murmured secrets to the shore, lived Lily and Noah, two spirits wrapped in a reverence as deep as the sea, but damaged by a past shadowed by misunderstanding and pain.
By James Dorcas2 years ago in Fiction
Loud Speech
In the city of brave people, where the streets were crowded and noisy, there was a man named Samuel. He didn't speak often, but when he did, people paid attention. Samuel's son, David, admired his father's courage to speak out against unfairness, especially in court.
By M.Fiaz2 years ago in Fiction
No Land Weeps for Thee. Top Story - February 2024.
The ice provides in this old land. Each morning, I sit on the porch I built overlooking the water. Today, icicles cling for dear life to the gutters while their friends, the snow mounds, hang on the white birch branches.
By Matthew J. Fromm2 years ago in Fiction
Streaming through the desert
“Is this even the way?”, says the man. “Of course!”, I shout over my shoulder as I adjust my pack. It was lie, I have absolutely no idea where the hell we were, I’m no orienteerer. Orienteering-er? Orenteerer? One who orienteers.
By L.Clabrough2 years ago in Fiction
Blanket of White
Embers of white were delicately making their way down leaving tiny puddles behind. As I blinked, my face now damp from the very small and peculiar pieces of... clouds? Examining the miniscule particles, I realized how intricate and unique they were. A variety of patterns making up their structure, difficult to distinguish, as they quickly vanished into small droplets inside my palm. Slowly, rising from the ground, I soaked in the scene before me. All around, a canvas of white; a cumulation of all these tiny white flecks embraced the surface they came to rest on. Kneeling, I pressed my hand on the surface of the white cloak before me, feeling an instant chill as I pressed down, leaving a print. Filled with awe, I stared at the graceful descent of these magnificent fragments of mystery. Where did they come from? What were they? As I observed my surroundings, I tried to recall how I had landed here. I squinted as I tried to spot something, anything in the distance. All I could see, was infinite white. All I could hear, was emptiness. A deafening void. A bare canvas, left in a deserted space. I was the only flaw to this depiction. An intruder to this peaceful landscape. I was taken aback, as I felt a wave of tranquility wash over me. Laying back down, I questioned, if I made myself small and quiet enough, perhaps I'd be able to blend into this harmonious masterpiece... Merge into this blanket of white.
By Meagan2 years ago in Fiction