Love

Seven Days a Week, I Return to Her
I usually wake up before my alarm sounds off because she hums before dawn, not audibly, but in the way a thought hums when it has been rehearsed so often it no longer needs sound. The apartment is dim, the city is still deciding whether it will wake me or leave me alone, and I pad across the floor to where she waits. She is matte black and silver, unassuming in profile, yet somehow radiant when the light hits the curve of her handles. I place my hand on her console the way some people touch a pulse point, and the day aligns itself. Seven days a week, without fail, I climb aboard and let the rhythm find me. This is not an exercise. This is a return.
By Anthony Chan3 days ago in Fiction
When the City Forgot the Stars
The city never truly slept. It only pretended to rest between waves of noise and light. Neon signs pulsed like artificial heartbeats, flooding every street with color. Giant billboards promised happiness in bold fonts and perfect smiles. Cars rushed past like they were late for something important. And above it all, the sky stood silent, empty, stripped of its stars.
By Salman Writes3 days ago in Fiction
Single Dad
I’m a single dad. I live in a big city. Big deal. My girlfriend Joan left me, and now I have our son, Marcus, who is three and very adamant that he will become the world’s first toddler circus acrobat. He seems to want to climb everything, everywhere we go, and seems to have it in to give me a heart attack before he turns four.
By Melissa Ingoldsby3 days ago in Fiction
To break tradition
He didn’t care about Valentine’s Day. He really hated it, actually. He took the approach of the character, Becker, when it came to love, remembering the line from the show:
By Melissa Ingoldsby3 days ago in Fiction
Our Song. Top Story - February 2026. Content Warning.
Evening has given way to night. Gently, I settle next to you on the comfortable, old love seat and reach for your hand. You snatch it away, again. It cuts me to the quick, but I hide the pain, understanding that the reaction is but part of your demented state. Since the accident, your presence here in our cozy home has been clouded by a haze I can't see. Nevertheless, I feel the frigidity of your expressions and it serves as an excruciating reminder of the immeasurable distance between us.
By Dana Crandell3 days ago in Fiction
Nosferotu Zavi. Content Warning.
~ Nosferotu Zavi ~ Backstory Blog ~ Nosferotu - one of the most rebellious of Lord Zavi's children - once he was eight years old, he was always sneaking out at night, many rumors claimed he never slept in their small castle.
By Mel E. Furnish3 days ago in Fiction
Naps at E48
It takes me a while to find it every time, even the one year when the woman behind the desk looked up at me and hesitated before scribbling the letter and numbers on a little sticky note. I knew I didn’t fit in, but she was the only person around to care: everyone else was long past the point of doing a double-take at my tattooed legs and arms, my shorts, the little gold ring through my septum glinting in the late May sun.
By GL3 days ago in Fiction
Take Care of Her For Me
He made me promise, and I have kept it. It’s the only thing left that I have of his life. We didn’t have much when we had the accident, and I have even less now.
By Meredith Harmon3 days ago in Fiction
Adam and First Woman
At the time, there were no other people to witness that the Eve we know of now was not the first woman ever created. And that's what the myth gets wrong, but God and Adam knew.
By Lana V Lynx3 days ago in Fiction
The Shelf Between Us
Every year, a mother writes a birthday card she never sends. When the letters begin to answer back, forgiveness arrives too easily—and hope becomes something she’s no longer sure she should keep.
By Erica Roberts 3 days ago in Fiction
When the Lantern Came Back On
When the Lanterns Came Back On The train station in Hangzhou smelled like metal, steamed buns, and winter coats that had not seen the sun in weeks. Li Wen stood near Platform Six, her phone cold in her hand, watching families spill out of the arrivals gate. Red suitcases. Red scarves. Red envelopes already peeking from pockets. It was two days before Chinese New Year, and everyone seemed to be going somewhere they belonged.
By Zidane4 days ago in Fiction
Tuesday at Six
Insults were her only amusement. If I were to bring anything now, it is the beauty inside me. Within. No? Don’t I bring enough? For a man, it seems not. Yet, still, there’s a bucket in my hand. No toilet that I could flush; yet, without security, I don’t bring enough.
By Caitlin Charlton4 days ago in Fiction