Stream of Consciousness

We Were At A Beach Party
Can you believe we went all the way to Mazatlan, Mexico, to attend this party, and the couple hosting kicked everyone out because of one stupid myth!
By Denise E Lindquistabout 4 hours ago in Fiction
Peace
Something's happening 'round here. Some folks just seem to be gettin' happy ever since Captain Groovy decided to run for public office. He decided to run as an independent on the Peace ticket and name the party the Groovy Party. The Groovy Party was the laughingstock of the political arena, their views on hate and violence were seen as ridiculous. No one took the party seriously, that is, until Captain Groovy became the party leader.
By John Scipioabout 11 hours ago in Fiction
Why?
The collar of my stark white shirt was soaked to the bone, just like the back of my neck. Like wet paper against my neck. I could blame the August heat or the diner's broken air conditioning. I was tracing the peeling part of the Formica table with my fingers, pressing my thumb into the deep grooves. Hard enough to keep from breaking.
By Manuel C.2 days ago in Fiction
Shadow On The Ledge. Content Warning.
‘So, you think life has meaning, yet here you are on the ledge? That doesn't add up.’ ‘Yes, it does. Imagine wanting to die and standing there on the edge, facing death. At first, your whole life flashes before you—each disaster feels overwhelming, piling up. The emotions freeze you. But as you stand there, something changes. Slowly, those disasters lose their weight. Painful memories fade, and suddenly, you start remembering good moments you had overlooked. It’s like your mind finally breaks free from focusing only on the bad and shows you small signs of hope you hadn’t seen before.’
By Moon Desert2 days ago in Fiction
Echoes of Resistance
The streets of Bristol were alive that day, though not with the usual hum of buses and chatter, but with the heavy pulse of voices that demanded to be heard. I had not intended to join the protest—I came to observe, to write, to bear witness—but once I stepped into the swell of people, the energy was impossible to ignore. The banners waved above heads, each one a story, a demand, a prayer. The scent of rain-soaked asphalt mixed with the faint tang of chalk from hastily scrawled messages, leaving the air electric.
By imtiazalam3 days ago in Fiction
The Shape of the Law From the Man of the Mountain
The man from the mountain did not come down shining but that was how people told it later, after years had worn the terror smooth and made a lantern of him in memory. When I first saw him descending through the dusk, he looked like someone who had been pulled through the inside of a storm and returned only in part. Dust clung to the hollows of his face. His robe was split at the shoulder. His mouth moved once before sound came out as if speech had been thinned by the height and had not yet thickened again in the air below; still the people surged toward him. They always did when fear and hope wore the same face.
By Cadma3 days ago in Fiction
Where did February go?
Is it really already the middle of March? All of February has blurred into one vast memory, and I don’t know what I did or where it went. Outside, there was frost, and for the first time in a long while, Prague was wrapped in a white coat and stayed that way, the way winters used to be. Like the city, I wrapped myself up too, and from the safety of my home, I watched from beneath the covers how quickly life can pass by when one isn’t paying attention.
By George Roast4 days ago in Fiction
Real men drink, right?
He has a problem. He’s felt it for years now, but he refuses to face it. He doesn’t want to admit it, to himself or to the people around him. All his heroes were the same. He likes to recall the scene where James Bond sits in a dusty pub in Latin America, a glass of whiskey in hand, his gaze fixed on a scorpion crawling across the bar. When he first fell for literature, it was Post Office and Women, which he read over and over again. Without those cans of beer and bottles of cheap whiskey, Bukowski’s work wouldn’t have been so raw, so honest. Even Vaclav Havel spent most of his nights in Prague bars; without that, he wouldn’t have been who he was. Those were the real men.
By George Roast4 days ago in Fiction
New Normalcy
I and my team of five were at least convinced that the HEIST was not the result of greed; rather, it was due to the banking system's stupidly overinclined and ever-increasing reliance on biometric identity verification. We thought it would work in our favor, but in a hyper-digital world, the tragedy isn't just that the body fails but that the body's degradation outpaces the rigidity of the encryption.
By Viral Rana4 days ago in Fiction
Frisson. Content Warning.
I feel a smidge retarded up there, whirling upside down by the skin of my thighs. I like the outfit though. The leather feels good— it's a tactile thing. The chains on it feel cold and crisp when I snap it on. I feel like the Batman of sadomasochism.
By Noah Husband5 days ago in Fiction
The Map of Remembering
The Road That Remembered Us A Mystical Adventure About the Journey Every Soul Is Walking No one remembers the moment the journey begins. Not really. We like to say it begins with birth. With the first breath. With the cry that tells the world we have arrived. But the old travelers say the journey begins much earlier. It begins the moment a soul agrees to forget.
By Flower InBloom5 days ago in Fiction
Dreaming to Drown
“Here you are.” Fire formed in the gray-bearded bartender’s eyes as he put a glass of whiskey down in front of his patron. His posture was firm and willing—a stark comparison to the man with rounded shoulders sitting at the bar.
By L.H. Reid6 days ago in Fiction