Psychological
The Morning My Reflection Disappeared
I thought it was just another Saturday. Alarm at 7:00 a.m., the tail end of some weird dream I’d already forgotten, and that familiar battle between “I could sleep more” and “I’ll hate Monday if I do.” I stuck to the plan, got up, stretched, and let the sunlight hit my face like it always does on weekends.
By abualyaanartabout 3 hours ago in Fiction
Who's Gage
The cereal went soggy faster than I liked, but I still ate it that way. The house was quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator and the ticking clock in the hallway. Morning light stretched across the kitchen table and stopped just short of the bowl.
By Tifani Power about 11 hours ago in Fiction
Moby Dee
We all think we know the story of Moby Dick, a tale of human courage, obsession, and revenge against a monstrous white whale, a creature of evil nature. We also remember that in the end nature cannot be tamed or defeated: Moby Dick kills his obsessed hunter and leaves. This has become such a recognizable myth that the name itself -- Moby Dick -- evokes powerful feelings of fear and anxiety about the untamed monster whale in the vast ocean.
By Lana V Lynxabout 12 hours ago in Fiction
Someone Keeps Swiping Right on My Dating Profile
I downloaded the dating app two weeks after Valentine’s Day. Not because I was ready to date again. Mostly because my friends wouldn’t stop telling me to “get back out there.” My last relationship ended badly, and February had been miserable enough already.
By V-Ink Storiesabout 13 hours ago in Fiction
My Girlfriend Wants My Heart for Valentine’s Day
When my girlfriend first said she wanted my heart forever, I laughed. It was Valentine’s season, and she’d been in that overly romantic mood all week—pink candles, heart-shaped cookies, cheesy love songs playing in the apartment while she cooked dinner.
By V-Ink Storiesabout 14 hours ago in Fiction
The One's Who Come Back
The Therapist’s Room: The Ones Who Come Back Everyone knew the old story. When someone dies badly, they linger. That was the version passed around in whispers and television specials and badly printed paperbacks sold beside incense and dreamcatchers. A spirit with unfinished business. A presence in the hallway. Cold spots, flickering lights, footsteps overhead. The dead, apparently, became poets the moment their heart stopped. They floated about in old houses wearing sorrow and purpose, waiting to deliver messages in riddles to whichever woman in a linen blouse happened to be spiritually available.
By Teena Quinn about 21 hours ago in Fiction
Before Anyone Says So...
The Therapist’s Room: Before Anyone Says So The first sign of it was not dramatic. That is important. People always think beginnings arrive with cymbals. A speech. A slammed door. A woman standing in the rain with mascara on her chin and a suitcase she packed with furious clarity, as if life had waited politely for her to become cinematic.
By Teena Quinn about 22 hours ago in Fiction
Quiet Armageddon
“The price of oil has now reached over one hundred dollars a barrel. The highest it has been since twenty twenty-two.” Sylvia half-listened to the voice on the radio as she turned into the Tesco car park. She was more concerned with remembering what she actually needed: cat litter, milk, and probably bread.
By J.B. Millera day ago in Fiction
Lycan Lore. Top Story - March 2026.
As the students of my 10am mythology class take their seats, I decide to steer the day's curriculum away from Greek and dive into a Western European discourse on the misaligned beliefs of the Werewolf. A tale of truth or fiction. No one really knows.
By Lamar Wigginsa day ago in Fiction
