thriller
Ra'ad Does Not Dwell in Time . Content Warning.
Ra'ad Does Not Dwell in Time By luccian layth Here collapses a corner of events — purely narrative, risen from the drain of our old house's gutter, seeping into the channels of a despondent city. Dark of atmosphere. Wretched to look upon. Like an old grey woman the ages have ruined, her sides ulcerated, spoiled like dried apple where worms have long since finished their work and moved on to something equally forgettable.
By LUCCIAN LAYTH21 minutes ago in Fiction
The Last Message at 2:17 AM
At exactly **2:17 AM**, Maya’s phone buzzed. She groaned, half-awake, blindly reaching for it on her nightstand. The room was dark, silent except for the faint hum of the ceiling fan. No one texted her at this hour. No one ever did.
By Noman Khanabout 2 hours ago in Fiction
Ping
Laughter at the beach tickles my ears, blending with the harmony of the crashing waves. Smiles on every beachgoer greet my gaze as the sun shines down upon us. The perfect day off. Away from the four walls of the office building located many miles away. Time to just lie back and enjoy the ocean view. My eyes close, allowing the gentle, serene waves to soothe my nerves and wash away thoughts of stress. Tension recedes from my muscles with each pat from the water on the shore while the sun kisses my dark skin. This is what they mean when they say tropical bliss.
By Iris Harrisabout 12 hours ago in Fiction
AI Interrupted
Kristin loves AI. Ever since AI became a thing, she has been on the phone or using it on her laptop, uploading photos and stories to her social media. It’s like it was made for her. It’s brilliant and perfect in her eyes. She can escape the daily grind of high school and other trivial matters thanks to AI. She spends her days creating things like an image of a goat eating at a diner with a monkey as a waiter. She proudly shows it to all her friends. Her friends seem to love the wild ideas she comes up with. They even insert their own ideas at times. Anytime there’s a new assignment due, she is thrilled because it’s an excuse to improve her AI technique.
By Meredith McLarty2 days ago in Fiction
The Door at the End of the Hall. AI-Generated.
The dream always began the same way. Margaret would find herself standing at the end of a long hallway — walls the color of old teeth, carpet the deep burgundy of dried blood, and a single door at the far end that seemed to breathe. Not move. Breathe. The wood expanding and contracting in a rhythm that matched her own pulse, as if the door had swallowed something living and hadn't yet finished digesting it.
By Alpha Cortex2 days ago in Fiction
The Midnight Letter
It was a rainy night when Clara sat by her old oak desk, staring at the pile of unopened letters that had accumulated over the past month. Her small apartment smelled faintly of coffee and rain-soaked streets, a combination that reminded her of long-forgotten days spent in her childhood home. There was something strangely comforting about the routine of going through letters, even if most of them were bills, advertisements, or notifications she didn’t particularly care about.
By Fawad Ahmad2 days ago in Fiction
Imaginary Friend
Chastelin didn’t think she would fit into the small suburban neighborhood. It had given off a robotic hum of small town paradise. The kind of place where the smiles were just a little too wide, but never overly genuine. A place her wilder youth would have called a cult and yet here she was fitting right in.
By Amos Glade3 days ago in Fiction
