thriller
Egg of the End
The excavation had been years in the making. Nestled deep within the sands of an isolated desert, the Temple of Aasha—the so-called “Womb of Eternity”—had long been a legend among archaeologists. Dr. Eleanor Voss and her team finally unearthed its secrets in the weeks leading up to Easter. At the heart of the temple lay the prize that would make history: an egg.
By V-Ink Stories2 days ago in Fiction
Candy Curse
Easter was always the busiest season for Mathias Grayson, the famed chocolatier of the quaint town of Willowridge. His confections were renowned—velvety truffles, delicate pralines, and his pièce de résistance: intricately molded chocolate Easter eggs filled with hidden surprises. People came from miles around to buy his creations, enchanted by their taste and beauty.
By V-Ink Stories2 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 Charlton5 days ago in Fiction
Tea Time
Like every morning, Ester watched as trembling hands lifted the robin’s egg blue teapot and poured the amber liquid into a matching teacup. Louis’ hands were wrinkled, weathered, calloused from years of work. She still loved holding those hands across the small kitchen table as they talked. She remembered doing it for fifty years, the hands had changed but they felt the same. It was a good day when she could think back over the years. It was better in the mornings. The fog of sleep when she woke up lifted and she remembered his name, but in a couple hours it wasn’t guaranteed.
By Raine Fielder5 days ago in Fiction
“180 Rupees That Killed a Man”. AI-Generated.
Nobody knew exactly when Master Ilyas came to this neighborhood and when he rented this room, but everyone knew that Master Ilyas was a migrant and belonged to an area in Ambala because he spoke the dialect that is spoken in Ambala. Master Ilyas lived in a rented room and the neighborhood boys would come to him to learn counting, recite multiplication tables, and write on slates. He had a pair of partridges and a purebred rooster. The partridges remained in cages, but the purebred rooster would stand a little distance from the door of his room. Master Ilyas had put a brass anklet on one leg of the rooster and tied a strong string to it, and tied the other end of the string to a nail hammered into the threshold of his room. All the people of the neighborhood respected Master Ilyas and would pass by his door saying 'Assalam-o-Alaikum'. Master Ji also did some other work, but nobody knew what it was. Perhaps he worked as a clerk in the vegetable market, or set up a stall in a distant neighborhood, or worked as a daily wage laborer painting and varnishing in a factory. Nobody knew about him very well, but everyone knew that Master Ilyas's livelihood was just barely sufficient. Actually, Master Sahib was a simple man and did not know how to keep up with the times. For some reason, his face was such that seeing it did not generate a feeling of love or sympathy in people's hearts, and for some reason, his conversation style was such that nobody would believe him. He did not lie. He did not cheat. He did not exaggerate. He did not boast. He did not scare anyone. Because of this People did not believe him. His conversation contained many grammatical and rhetorical errors, and the listener would get frustrated and leave his company. He was so simple and innocent that he didn't seem human. He seemed like a burden on the whole neighborhood and society, and since no one liked to associate with such people, he had no friends. That is why the neighbors respected him and would say "peace be upon you" as they passed his door. One winter evening, the landlord scolded Master Ilyas in harsh words and threatened that if he did not pay the past six months' rent of 180 rupees within three days, he would throw his belongings out. Master Ji was struck dumb with fear because he did not have one hundred and eighty rupees in a lump sum. He only had forty rupees, which he had made fifty by stringing a ten-rupee note with them. Earlier, the landlord used to take forty or fifty rupees and give a future date, but this time he became stubborn and threw the fifty rupees strung on a thread in front of the purebred rooster and said, "Go away! I will not take it. Give me the full one hundred and eighty." When he said this and left, Master Ilyas picked up the fifty rupees from the floor and put them in his waistcoat pocket. Then he went into his room, sat sadly on the cot, and due to severe grief, his voice was choked, and this was the first time someone's voice was choked without crying! Ghagha (choked voice) also means loss of voice in the throat. As promised, the landlord threw his belongings out. He placed Master Sahib's cot behind the two transformer poles and arranged the rest of his belongings around it. He put a new Chinese padlock on the room and rode his scooter home. His house was quite far from this neighborhood, and he used to come monthly to collect the rent for his rooms.
By Muhammad Haris khan 5 days ago in Fiction
