0 Comments
0 Shares
0 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Wistful SilenceThe soup was cold. That was the first thing I noticed, and perhaps the most important. It sat in the chipped ceramic bowl on the scarred oak table, a grayish-yellow liquid that had settled into a congealed skin, looking less like nourishment and more like something biological and rejected. I stared at it. The steam, which should have been rising in faint, curling ribbons, was long gone. In its...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CellarThe air in the cellar tastes like iron. You are breathing hard. Your lungs burn. The torch in your hand flickers, casting long, dancing shadows against the damp stone. You are a thief. You know this. You have been a thief for years. Your fingers are stained with the grime of other people’s secrets. You are here for the gold. That is the story you tell yourself. That is the lie that keeps your...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ParadoxThe rain lashed against the high, narrow windows of the sub-basement office, a rhythmic percussion that seemed to count the seconds down to your inevitable dismissal. You sat behind a desk cluttered with slide rules, topographic maps, and the heavy, leather-bound logs of the Department of Structural Integrity, your fingers tracing the grain of the wood as if searching for a fault line in the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful MirrorThe hand of Professor Elias Thorne, resting upon the mahogany arm of his reading chair, had begun to tremble. It was not the violent shaking of palsy, nor the erratic flutter of a leaf caught in a sudden gust, but a low, rhythmic vibration, like the hum of a cello string plucked and left to decay in the silence of an empty hall. I watched it from across the study, my own hands folded tightly in...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden HarborThe ink on the parchment was not black, but a deep, bruised purple that seemed to pulse in the candlelight. I held it up to the window of the carriage, watching the rain streak the glass, blurring the gray expanse of the city into a smear of charcoal and ash. The document was simple, a list of names. My name was at the top, underlined twice. Beneath it, my father’s name, struck through with a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful GridThe grid was not a prison, Eleanor told herself, as she stood at the edge of the gravel lot, the wind tearing at the hem of her coat. It was a map. A blueprint for a life that had been systematically dismantled, brick by brick, letter by letter, until all that remained was the negative space where a person used to be. She had spent three years in the basement of a logistics firm in Chicago,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale AltarThe rain fell in sheets. It was the kind of rain that erases footprints. I walked the gravel path. The stones were slick. My boots slipped. I did not fall. I am old. I know how to walk. The Abbey loomed ahead. It is stone. It is grey. It is alive. Or perhaps it is dead. I cannot tell anymore. The ivy chokes the windows. The bells do not ring. They are silent. They have been silent for years. I...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden FarceThe dream began not with a whisper, but with the heavy, suffocating weight of velvet. Elias Thorne awoke in the grey light of his London flat, the taste of copper and old dust clinging to the back of his throat. He was a man who had spent the better part of his life chasing shadows in the labyrinth of the Metropolitan Police, a detective whose mind was a sharp, cold instrument, yet his soul was...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded PortraitThe alarm in the dormitory bled a low, electronic hum into the grey morning, a sound that had become the only clock Caelen trusted. He sat on the edge of the narrow cot, his boots already laced tight, the leather creaking softly in the silence of the bunk. Around him, the other recruits lay in various states of waking, their breath misting in the cold air of the barracks. Caelen did not look at...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek