A short story – Every morning at 8:12 am, the man sat on the same wooden bench near the duck pond in Willow Park. He wore a gray overcoat and held a worn leather satchel on his lap. His name was Edward Hale, and he had been waiting there for 163 days. Rain. Sun. Wind. […]
A short story – The hallway was always silent at 6 a.m. — just the soft hum of the heater, the distant moan of the elevator, and the low shuffle of Mr. Arman’s footsteps on the cold tile floor. He never walked fast. He moved like someone who knew the building better than anyone else.
A short story – Lena zipped her jacket up to her neck. The morning air bit her skin, cold and sharp like broken glass. Pines whispered in the wind around her, tall and silent, standing like dark statues under a gray sky. The trail sign read: “Echo Ridge Trail — 7 Miles to Summit” She
A short story – The air in the luxury car showroom smelled like polished leather and ambition. The marble floors gleamed, catching the reflections of chrome grilles and high-heeled shoes. Salesmen in slick suits prowled the floor like panthers in cologne, eyes always scanning for wealth stitched into suits or heels. Chris stood near the
A short story – The room was quiet, except for the low hum of the ceiling light—an endless buzz that felt like it was stitched into the silence. The man sat alone, elbows resting on the edge of a steel table, his fingers interlocked, not out of prayer, but out of habit. His name was
A short story – The hospital garden was the only place where time didn’t buzz. Dr. Raya sat alone on the weathered bench beneath the jacaranda tree, her stethoscope still around her neck, half-eaten sandwich in hand. The scent of blooming lavender and antiseptic clung to her like a contradiction. It was one of those
A short story – The door creaked open with a sound that felt like a sigh.Elliot hadn’t stepped into his mother’s house in over four years.He paused at the threshold, staring into the quiet that met him like an old friend wearing grief. The living room still smelled of cinnamon and old paper.The curtains were
A short story – Camille Vierre didn’t walk into rooms—she conquered them.She was a self-made tycoon at 35, with blood red lipstick, heels like daggers, and a heart lined with platinum. To her, kindness was weakness. Patience was for the poor. She didn’t smile—she approved. Waiters? Nameless.Drivers? Invisible.Janitors? Ghosts.Assistants? Disposable. She had once fired a
A short story – They buried Daniel on a Tuesday. It rained, of course. Not the dramatic thunderstorm kind—just a gentle, persistent drizzle that soaked through coats and skin and settled in bones. The sky had the color of wet cement, and the air smelled like old leaves and wet grass. It was the kind
A short story It was one of those golden, humming lunch breaks at Brookvale Junior High School. The hallways pulsed with chatter and shuffling sneakers, trays clattering in the canteen, and the sun casting lazy rectangles across the floor through the corridor windows. Billy Jensen jogged back toward Class 2-B, his backpack bouncing on one
