0 Comments
0 Shares
2 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Wistful IncenseThe air in the Assessment Hall of the Meridian Institute for Cognitive Optimization was not merely stale; it was pressurized, a thick, metallic fog that seemed to coat the back of your throat with the taste of copper and ozone. You sat in the center of the room, a circular dais of polished obsidian that reflected your own distorted face back at you, a shimmering, liquid mirror that warped your...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful CrossroadsThe iron bar of the cell groans under the weight of your history, a sound like a dying animal, and you are already bleeding from the knuckles where you have struck the cold stone in a fit of righteous fury. You do not remember why you are here, or who has locked you away, only the suffocating certainty that you are guilty, that you have committed a heinous act against the order of things, a sin...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant WoundThe bird was dead. It sat on the kitchen table. A wren. Small. Brown. Broken. Marta looked at it. She did not blink. Her coffee went cold in the mug. The steam stopped rising. The room was still. "It is done," she said. Her voice was flat. Dry. Like sand. She picked up the body. It was light. Feathers stuck to her fingers. She looked at her hands. They were shaking. Not from fear. From effort....0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded AtticThe rain does not fall so much as it hangs, a suspended gray curtain that blurs the boundary between the road and the sky, turning the landscape into a watercolor sketch that is slowly being wiped away by time. You are driving the old sedan, the one with the rattling transmission and the cracked windshield, through a territory that seems to have been forgotten by cartographers, a place where...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant BladeYou are bleeding. It is a hot, wet thing, sliding down your wrist and pooling on the cold tile. You do not flinch. You are used to pain. Pain is just another form of data, another signal in the noise of the body. You look at the knife. It is a hunting knife, serrated, dull. It was not meant for this. It was meant for the woods, for the game, for the quiet things that die in the grass. But here,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful CampusThe rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a heavy, grey curtain that smelled of wet wool and ancient stone, wrapping around the shoulders of the traveler who had walked for three days without rest, his boots caked in the red clay of the valley below, his mind a turbulent sea of questions that no amount of silence could calm. He was a man built for the rigid lines of command, his...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden QuestThe damp air in the basement office smelled of wet wool and old paper. I sat in the only chair that was not broken, my hands resting on my knees, feeling the weight of my own silence. The light from the single window high above was pale, filtering through a layer of grime that made the afternoon look like a bruise. I was a sergeant, a man who had spent twenty years enforcing the law in this...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful PetalYou wake in a field of ash. The air tastes of copper and old rain. You are not alone. You are never alone in the dream. They stand in a circle. Tall men. Grey suits. Their faces are smooth, featureless masks of porcelain. They hold no weapons. They do not need them. They have already caught you. You look at your hands. They are shaking. The soil beneath your boots is soft, yielding, like wet...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CompassThe border does not end, it merely becomes a line so thin that only those who have walked it long enough can see where the stone stops and the mist begins, and I stood there for three days without moving, my boots sinking into the wet earth of the valley floor, watching the light change from the pale, cold blue of dawn to the heavy, bruised purple of dusk, and then back to blue, a cycle that...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek