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Most recently published stories on Vocal.
The Dollar Imperative: Why Pakistan’s Digital Economy Is Pivoting to Export SEO. AI-Generated.
If you look at the balance sheet of any successful company in Karachi or Lahore right now, you will notice a distinct pattern. They aren’t worried about the fluctuating price of electricity. They aren’t panic-buying gold to hedge against inflation.
By Mahnoor Qureshi6 minutes ago in Journal
10 Vintage Slowcore Tracks From Decades Past
While slowcore has enjoyed a major resurgence in the 2020s, the genre actually dates back to the eighties. Some of the tracks on this list might sound strange and unfamiliar, while others had a clear influence that's carried slowcore for decades. If you're trying to relax, study or enjoy a quiet evening at home, here's a look at a genre that existed well before Soundcloud.
By Kaitlin Shanks12 minutes ago in Beat
The 777 Rule for Healthy Marriages Why Every Couple Needs
My husband set a reminder on his phone. Tuesday, 7 PM: "Date night." I wanted to throw the phone at him. We'd been married eight years. Two kids. A mortgage that made me nauseous every month. And now my husband was treating me like a dentist appointment? Something to schedule, check off, forget?
By Understandshe.com17 minutes ago in Families
The Secret to Having It All: Lessons from Adriana Kostov
In today’s fast-paced world, women are often asked the same challenging question: “Can you really have it all?” Balancing career ambitions, personal growth, family, and social life can feel like an impossible juggling act. Yet, Adriana Kostov, a trailblazer in the financial industry, argues that it’s not only possible but achievable with the right mindset and determination.
By Financial Services Media17 minutes ago in Writers
French Fury: The Jet Powered Mach 0.6 Interceptor That Could Reshape Air Defence
It seems that I’m writing stories about new drones and drone defences every week. Last week it was the Estonian Micromissile Mark 1. This week’s offering is a French drone capable of Mach 0.6 (700 kph/440 mph) with very high manoeuvrability.
By James Marinero25 minutes ago in Journal
Dream Log #9
This was a dream from last which I think was triggered by bumping into somebody I used to work with. She has retired from the care home I used to work with. I feel a bit too exhausted to try and make this short dream to make it over the 600 word count requirement from Vocal, so I will convert it into a poem so it will will automatically pass the filter and I feel like writing a poem because the imagery felt nostalgic and daunting at the same time.
By Chloe Gilholy36 minutes ago in Poets
How to Stop Russia Using Starlink to Control Deadly Drones Against Ukraine
This morning I read that Musk’s SpaceX has applied for a licence to increase the number of Starlink satellites to 1 million. I reacted rather strongly. There’s already too much junk in orbit. When I’m at sea the night sky is already spoiled just after sundown by strings of Starlink satellites. Yes, I’m becoming old and curmudgeonly, but now Musk’s expanding constellation is helping Russia murder Ukrainian citizens.
By James Marinero36 minutes ago in Journal
The Day ‘Stop’ Meant Nothing”
A quiet sign, a loud tragedy, and the cost of a world that won’t pause The stop sign had been there longer than anyone could remember. Its red paint had faded into a tired maroon, edges nicked and scarred by time, winters, and neglect. It stood at the corner like a patient elder, asking—politely, repeatedly—for the world to slow down. Most days, people barely noticed it. Cars rolled through the intersection without fully stopping, drivers glancing left and right just long enough to convince themselves it was safe to keep moving. Cyclists treated it like a suggestion. Walkers passed beneath it, trusting that someone else would obey. The sign did not shout. It did not move. It simply waited, believing in the rules it was made to represent. On the day everything changed, the sky was overcast—one of those gray mornings that feels unfinished, as if the sun forgot to show up. The air carried a cold stillness, the kind that makes sounds sharper and silences heavier. Snow threatened but didn’t fall. Life continued in its ordinary, careless rhythm. And then, somewhere beyond that quiet corner, violence arrived without asking for permission. There are moments in life when you realize how fragile the idea of “normal” really is. How quickly it dissolves. How easily it abandons us. That day, the word stop lost its power—not just on that sign, but everywhere. Gun violence does not announce itself. It doesn’t send warnings ahead of time. It doesn’t respect neighborhoods, routines, or innocence. It crashes into lives like an unwanted storm, leaving behind questions that never find answers. Afterward, people gathered near that intersection. Some stood silently. Others cried. A few argued—about causes, about laws, about what should have been done. The stop sign watched it all, unchanged, unmoved, still doing its job. Still asking the same thing it always had. Stop. But stopping is not something we are good at anymore. We rush through days like they owe us something. We scroll past suffering. We debate tragedies instead of mourning them. We turn real pain into statistics because numbers feel safer than names. Slower than grief is reflection, and reflection requires us to pause—something our world resists with impressive determination. The stop sign is a simple object, but it carries a complex promise: that if we all agree to pause, we can protect one another. That shared responsibility can reduce harm. That rules exist not to control us, but to keep us alive. Gun violence exposes how often we break that promise. After every incident, we hear the same phrases. Thoughts and prayers. This is complicated. Now is not the time. Each sentence is a way of rolling through the intersection without fully stopping. A way of acknowledging the sign without obeying it. Somewhere beneath the surface of all this noise, there are people trying to survive quietly. They don’t always protest. They don’t always speak. They float through the aftermath—traumatized, exhausted, invisible. Like something drifting beneath frozen water, their pain is easy to miss if you aren’t looking for it. Silent survival doesn’t make headlines. The survivors carry it with them to grocery stores, classrooms, and bedrooms where sleep comes reluctantly. They flinch at loud sounds. They measure exits when entering rooms. They learn to live with a background fear that never fully fades. And still, the world asks them to move on. The stop sign remains, doing what it has always done. It does not blame. It does not choose sides. It simply insists that some things require our full attention. That speed is not always strength. That hesitation can be an act of care. But caring takes effort. It requires us to sit with discomfort instead of rushing to conclusions. To listen without planning our rebuttals. To acknowledge that prevention is harder than reaction, and patience harder than outrage. In a culture addicted to momentum, stopping feels unnatural. We mistake motion for progress. We confuse volume with action. We demand quick fixes for slow-burning problems. Gun violence does not thrive in silence alone. It thrives in avoidance. Avoiding hard conversations. Avoiding responsibility. Avoiding the pause that might force us to change. The day “stop” meant nothing was not a single day. It was a culmination. A buildup of moments when we chose convenience over caution, speed over safety, certainty over compassion. That’s what makes the sign so haunting. It reminds us that the tools for prevention are often already in place—but they only work if we agree to honor them. You can repaint a stop sign. You can replace it. You can install brighter lights, louder warnings. But none of it matters if we don’t believe in the message behind it. Stop is not weakness. Stop is not surrender. Stop is not delay for the sake of delay. Stop is a decision. A decision to value life over haste. A decision to notice the people we usually overlook. A decision to treat prevention as seriously as punishment. Long after the crowd dispersed, the intersection returned to its routine. Cars passed. People walked. The sign stood quietly, holding its ground. It did not know about politics or policy. It did not understand arguments. It only understood its purpose. To protect. Maybe that’s what we’ve forgotten—not just how to stop, but why stopping matters. If we paused more often, we might see what’s drifting beneath the surface of our communities: grief waiting to be acknowledged, fear waiting to be eased, resilience waiting to be supported. If we stopped, even briefly, we might hear the quiet voices drowned out by louder ones. We might notice the warning signs before they become memorials. The stop sign will keep standing there, faithful and ignored, until we decide its message is worth following. The question isn’t whether the sign is clear enough. The question is whether we are willing to listen.
By Inayat khan44 minutes ago in Humans
