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Three years. It has been three years since that incident. Three years since I put myself out there and got into the dating field. Despite it being years since I met her, I hear her voice any time I’m alone, and I often felt her touch on my skin whenever I laid restless in bed. Not a day would go by without me reflecting on the past which I agree is unhealthy, but it was a force of habit. I feel that I owe you all an explanation.

It started suddenly. Autumn was coming to an end, the weather was rapidly deteriorating. Busy streets turned into canals filled with icy water and debris. Thin streams ran along the dirty walls and mixed with the long-term patina of rust. An atmosphere of decay, a thick, viscous feeling.

The homunculus was a thin, flat, disproportionate thing that was too smooth, too round, and seemingly forever dissatisfied with its own ludicrous appearance. The first time I ever laid eyes on it, I had just arrived at my tech job, fresh from a stay of extended medical leave, mind already ablaze with the problems of yesterday’s virtual meetings. A semicircle of young and middle-aged colleagues surrounded and watched in hushed excitement as the thing changed. What I initially recognised as an…

I used to think grown-ups always knew what was right. They seemed to have all the answers, like they were in control of everything. Back then, I thought there were rules for how things worked, even in little moments—like the way someone should look at you, or how a touch was supposed to feel. But nobody ever explained what it meant when something felt… different. When a look lingered too long, or a hand stayed where it shouldn’t.

Like most people of my generation, I'm a huge SpongeBob fan. Back then, the internet was relatively new it was 2010. I was browsing through SpongeBob related stuff when I suddenly saw a strange link. I don't remember the exact details, but I do remember the website's logo; it was red, and the link read: "SpongeBob Episode “This Is Not Hell."

I had always been a traveler; a rambler of sorts. I had never stayed in one place for long. I had to be on the go, exploring and studying out of the way places and interesting and odd things. The small village of Sneeuqfognik was one such place. The village may have been just a dot on the map, but it was home to a museum with over a million abnormal findings from all across the universe. A cursed museum.

There were six of us when we left the trading post and traveled in the western direction, following the river in the shadow of the Inech mountains. The market we had visited was one of the few places in the world where a ragtag group like us did not stand out from the crowd.

It’s a peaceful cloudy afternoon. I can feel the gentle autumn breeze on my skin as I take my relaxing afternoon walk after work. I like this time of day, at this time of year, where the temperature is just right, the sun is about to set and the hustle and bustle of the city is starting to quiet down, but it hasn’t become night yet. I like to take the opportunity to clear my head during these walks, to let my mind wander without any distractions. That’s why I didn’t initially register when my…

Amid the seemingly infinite expanse of the night-shrouded ocean, a solitary fishing boat ventured forth, its journey towards Bunker Island guided by the lone, silvery light of the moon. As the vessel gently rocked on the ebb and flow of the dark waters, its name, the 'Elizabeth Dane,' barely clung to the peeling paint at the stern, a testament to the countless expeditions it had weathered.

I have to write about this here because if I tell anyone in my life they will not believe me. I need to purge myself of these memories, I must share them with you.

Like me, if you were born during the 2000s, you probably grew up watching Cartoon Network, and if you watched Cartoon Network as a kid, then you most definitely watched "The Amazing World of Gumball." This story is about what my best friend and I saw when we went to visit Elmore. If you google "Gumball house IRL," you can actually find the address of the real-life house. In fact, every building in Elmore is real. Gumball’s house, the mall, and the school—they’re all there. But in the pictures,…

It's almost seven. Zoya leans back in her chair, stretching her arms with heavy sighs after a fifteen-page essay. It's due tomorrow, so there's still time for edits - but she's been staring at her screen too long. She peeks out her bedroom window to the right. The last creeping bands of pink and orange sun grow dim across the barren treetops of the forest nearby, bleeding into the horizon beyond her corner of the suburb. The autumn air is cool and fresh, the wind is tame and her work is done…

One night a child heard crying from somewhere in the house. She wandered the grand manor, in search of the source. Her little bare feet barely made a sound on the old, creaking wooden floor. In each room she looked, she found nothing—nothing but moonlight seeping through thin moth-eaten curtains or illuminating chipped porcelain sinks. Down hallways that had become galleries for pictureless frames. But still the wails persisted, muffled behind doors and walls.

The small town of Ravenswood was plagued by a terrifying creature, known as the Dogman. It was said to be a creature that was half-man half-dog, with glowing red eyes and razor-sharp teeth. It was a creature of legend, but the people of Ravenswood knew it to be all too real. It had been attacking and killing their livestock for months, and the town was in a state of crippling fear.

Sarah rolled over, glancing at the digital clock resting on her nightstand. She groaned when she saw the green numbers read 2:59 am. As she started to roll over again, a flash of lightning lit up her room and she froze. Her eyes darted to her bedroom window where she thought she had seen a dark figure climbing in, until another flash of lightning proves there’s nothing there. Sarah sighed and rolled over, mumbling to herself. She closed her eyes, drifting back into peaceful slumber.

Mankind should learn to stop its curious nature before it becomes our undoing. If only they knew what we knew, they would not want us to continue to search the depths of the God forsaken oceans. The horrors we saw through our newest equipment is something that I still can not grip my mind around. It plagues me to the point where when I'm done recounting my story, I will join the crew of project X-2. God or Gods that may claim me, please have mercy on my soul.

A magician came to our town one dreary day after a large thunderstorm. He carried a briefcase that he claimed was filled with people's hopes and dreams. The briefcase was large and wrapped in an exotic coating. Many witnesses described seeing it move under the magician's grasp.

This morning, I cleaned out my closet to create space, and I discovered a plastic bin filled with childhood memories. Being sentimental, I removed the bin and began searching through it. The bin mostly contained artwork from my elementary school years, and the majority of them were scribbles or fingerpaintings on bright construction paper. In particular, a crayon drawing of my entire 3rd grade class drew my attention. I have to say that I must have been quite the artist back in the day because…

Chatrove / Topic: Confessions Posted by Anonymous 2003-07-16 23:14 [Archived] I'll call her Amelia. Not her real name, of course, but the vibe matches. She and I were always cut from the same invisible cloth (anxious, awkward, forgettable). If we didn’t sit together in lectures, we simply evaporated into the crowd. When New Year’s came, we made a pact: we’d change. Not in some dramatic way, just enough to stop melting into the scenery. We wanted to be more outgoing, more open, easier to like.

I love the rain. I love how it seems to make everything feel… better. Smoother, somehow. Most people just enjoy the idea of rain. They like the sound it makes on the windowpane, or the cathartic feeling it gives. But it seems few actually enjoy the rain itself.