Stream of Consciousness

The Left Side at 7:42
Every morning at 7:42, the bell at Saint Alder’s rang once. It did not signal the start of school. Classes began at eight. It did not warn of danger. It was not loud enough for that.
By Lori A. A.about 5 hours ago in Fiction
Dust, Rust, & the Sifting Sand Blues
Dust, Rust, & the Sifting Sand Blues "It’s not about losing; it’s about the sovereign act of starting again." This visual album is a 26-year "blues scheme" finally brought to life. I first built these dreams in a sandbox back in 2000, but it took two decades of sifting through the dust of the river and the rust of the city to truly hear the melody.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli about 16 hours ago in Fiction
The Proposal . Content Warning.
“There’s something I’ve been w-w-wanting to ask you for a v-very long time.” He drops to one knee and gazes up at her— the crack of half-smile on his lips and the threat of a tear in his eye.
By Sam Spinellia day ago in Fiction
Relic
Every Saturday morning I write her a letter in place of a cup of coffee. The kettle can wait. The stove can click itself awake without me. What matters is the scrape of the chair across the tile and the pen uncapping with that soft, hungry pop, like the day taking its first breath.
By SUEDE the poeta day ago in Fiction
Sumimasen, Silent Rules
In Japan, unspoken rules guide every action. No one explains them, but everyone instinctively follows. "Sumimasen" is a Japanese word often used to say “excuse me,” “sorry,” or to politely get someone’s attention. It hints at the Japanese cultural focus on politeness and consideration for others.
By Lori A. A.a day ago in Fiction
When Hurt Changes Hands
The first time she said it, he believed her. They were at the kitchen table. Late. The overhead light was too bright, the kind that exposes flaws. She had just finished telling him that he was exhausting to be around, that his sensitivity made everything heavier than it needed to be.
By Jesse Lee2 days ago in Fiction
"Denial Is Not A River In Egypt"
Stanley and Robin were on the verge of divorce, so Stanley suggested they see a marriage counselor. Robin made the arrangement. She called the office, and there was an opening for the next day. It was meant to be.
By Denise E Lindquist3 days ago in Fiction
The Steep
"Is the water boiling?" "Not yet. You always ask too early." I prefer the sound of it beginning. The low hum before the rattle. It is as though the house were waking up.
By Edward Smith3 days ago in Fiction
Terms and Conditions Apply
The first time it happened, Mara was cutting limes. She was in the kitchen at work, the small one behind the café where the air always smelled faintly of citrus cleaner and burnt milk. Her phone lay face-down on the counter beside her apron, silent. She hadn’t touched it in ten minutes, which already felt rebellious.
By Jesse Lee4 days ago in Fiction
Harbingers of the Apocalypse
"For the love of Go....! What is this madness. What is happening. Am I dreaming". I am trapped in a nightmare. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse are riding towards me. I try to run...but I am paralysed with fear, rooted numb with horror - for terrifying are they to behold. My mind is fast forwarding backwards, like a movie reel spinning in reverse. I stare stupidly at the symbolic figures from the Book of Revelation, representing significant events that will occur at the end of days.
By Novel Allen4 days ago in Fiction
The night everything changed. Content Warning.
As soon as I saw it, I knew what needed to be done. I left without a second thought. I ran straight into the pouring rain and was soaked within seconds. I shivered and pulled my cloak tighter, but the buttons were broken and I couldn’t close it properly. One was missing, and the rest hung from loose threads. A cold draft slipped through, the wind flowing freely.
By Minou J. Linde5 days ago in Fiction
Performative Ritual
He has certain expectations for the women in his life. Her closet represents many of them; only whores show their shoulders or their knees. Skirts must be long. Tank tops are simply for other people. People who aren’t them. People who aren’t decent like they are.
By Leigh Victoria Phan, MS, MFA5 days ago in Fiction