“I’m going blind,” I told my wife when we moved to our new gothic-style home in Griswold on a breezy day in early April. It was a wedding gift from my estranged father —a beautiful two-story structure with pointed arches, board-and-batten siding, large stained-glass windows, and a steep-pitched roof that gave the illusion of a medieval tower. Before my gradual onset of blindness, Samantha and I loved looking at homes from this era. Now, our beautiful new home was a blur, another milestone I couldn’t see. “I feel dizzy.” “You have contacts, silly,” Samantha said, lifting a small box from our SUV. “Of course you’re blind. You’d better sit down.  Hey…are you okay?” “You’re right. I need to sit down.”…

I last saw my girlfriend around seventeen years ago. Although for me, it was last week. I know that doesn’t make much sense. I’m not even sure why I’m writing this. It’s not like anybody will believe it. And even if they did, the truth would only make things worse. I just need to tell someone, anyone, even if that “someone” is the anonymous hive-mind of the internet. Maybe then I’ll be able to sleep again. Perhaps even start to move on with my life. I doubt it, though. I don’t think I can ever “move on” from the way I feel right now. So, where to start? Well, you can call me Joe. Obviously, that isn’t my real name.…

I was always told to stay out of the old garden behind the house. My parents kept saying it was unsafe, overgrown, and full of thorns. I believed them, as children believe their parents. When I grew up and moved back into the family home after they passed away, I decided to clear out that forgotten space. I wanted to reclaim it, make it mine. While I worked, my shovel hit something hard. As I dug deeper, I uncovered a small, old box. Inside were tiny bones, neatly arranged, and a locket with a picture of a baby. And then it hit me. My heart started racing, and from the depths of my memory, something resurfaced that I had long…

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. I didn’t know back then. I didn’t know what I was supposed to feel. I was just a kid. I was just eight. Ruben was my best friend’s neighbor. He was older, maybe seventeen, and that was the best part—he was older.…

For as long as he can remember, he’s had dreams where he feels completely unable to move. In these dreams, he sees only darkness and hears whispers—soft, yet relentless. As the dreams are about to end, he often experiences sleep paralysis, which only prolongs his torment, making the nightmare last even longer. His parents have always dismissed his experiences, saying that they too have nightmares and that it’s normal. They would tell him he just needs to get used to it, insisting it’s nothing worth focusing on. When he turned eighteen and got his driver’s license, his nightmares seemed like nothing more than echoes of the past. One day, when he came home early from his friends, he overheard his…

“How the hell am I supposed to memorize all of this?” I texted my girlfriend. Century-old floorboards creaked beneath me as I paced back and forth nervously. “It’s gonna be fine,” she responded. “You got this.” I sighed. It felt like a thousand rubber bands were wound tight around the base of my skull, slowly squeezing every last bit of meaningful focus out of me. I knew I had to do well on this test. Anything less than an 80% would surely get me dropped from the class and if I got dropped from the class, I knew that I would never end up becoming a paramedic. And if I never became a paramedic, I knew that I would never…

I last saw my girlfriend around seventeen years ago. Although for me, it was last week. I know that doesn’t make much sense. I’m not even sure why I’m writing this. It’s not like anybody will believe it. And even if they did, the truth would only make things worse. I just need to tell someone, anyone, even if that “someone” is the anonymous hive-mind of the internet. Maybe then I’ll be able to sleep again. Perhaps even start to move on with my life. I doubt it, though. I don’t think I can ever “move on” from the way I feel right now. So, where to start? Well, you can call me Joe. Obviously, that isn’t my real name.…

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. I didn’t know back then. I didn’t know what I was supposed to feel. I was just a kid. I was just eight. Ruben was my best friend’s neighbor. He was older, maybe seventeen, and that was the best part—he was older.…

I was always told to stay out of the old garden behind the house. My parents kept saying it was unsafe, overgrown, and full of thorns. I believed them, as children believe their parents. When I grew up and moved back into the family home after they passed away, I decided to clear out that forgotten space. I wanted to reclaim it, make it mine. While I worked, my shovel hit something hard. As I dug deeper, I uncovered a small, old box. Inside were tiny bones, neatly arranged, and a locket with a picture of a baby. And then it hit me. My heart started racing, and from the depths of my memory, something resurfaced that I had long…

For as long as he can remember, he’s had dreams where he feels completely unable to move. In these dreams, he sees only darkness and hears whispers—soft, yet relentless. As the dreams are about to end, he often experiences sleep paralysis, which only prolongs his torment, making the nightmare last even longer. His parents have always dismissed his experiences, saying that they too have nightmares and that it’s normal. They would tell him he just needs to get used to it, insisting it’s nothing worth focusing on. When he turned eighteen and got his driver’s license, his nightmares seemed like nothing more than echoes of the past. One day, when he came home early from his friends, he overheard his…

“I’m going blind,” I told my wife when we moved to our new gothic-style home in Griswold on a breezy day in early April. It was a wedding gift from my estranged father —a beautiful two-story structure with pointed arches, board-and-batten siding, large stained-glass windows, and a steep-pitched roof that gave the illusion of a medieval tower. Before my gradual onset of blindness, Samantha and I loved looking at homes from this era. Now, our beautiful new home was a blur, another milestone I couldn’t see. “I feel dizzy.” “You have contacts, silly,” Samantha said, lifting a small box from our SUV. “Of course you’re blind. You’d better sit down.  Hey…are you okay?” “You’re right. I need to sit down.”…

“How the hell am I supposed to memorize all of this?” I texted my girlfriend. Century-old floorboards creaked beneath me as I paced back and forth nervously. “It’s gonna be fine,” she responded. “You got this.” I sighed. It felt like a thousand rubber bands were wound tight around the base of my skull, slowly squeezing every last bit of meaningful focus out of me. I knew I had to do well on this test. Anything less than an 80% would surely get me dropped from the class and if I got dropped from the class, I knew that I would never end up becoming a paramedic. And if I never became a paramedic, I knew that I would never…

I last saw my girlfriend around seventeen years ago. Although for me, it was last week. I know that doesn’t make much sense. I’m not even sure why I’m writing this. It’s not like anybody will believe it. And even if they did, the truth would only make things worse. I just need to tell someone, anyone, even if that “someone” is the anonymous hive-mind of the internet. Maybe then I’ll be able to sleep again. Perhaps even start to move on with my life. I doubt it, though. I don’t think I can ever “move on” from the way I feel right now. So, where to start? Well, you can call me Joe. Obviously, that isn’t my real name.…

“How the hell am I supposed to memorize all of this?” I texted my girlfriend. Century-old floorboards creaked beneath me as I paced back and forth nervously. “It’s gonna be fine,” she responded. “You got this.” I sighed. It felt like a thousand rubber bands were wound tight around the base of my skull, slowly squeezing every last bit of meaningful focus out of me. I knew I had to do well on this test. Anything less than an 80% would surely get me dropped from the class and if I got dropped from the class, I knew that I would never end up becoming a paramedic. And if I never became a paramedic, I knew that I would never…

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. I didn’t know back then. I didn’t know what I was supposed to feel. I was just a kid. I was just eight. Ruben was my best friend’s neighbor. He was older, maybe seventeen, and that was the best part—he was older.…

For as long as he can remember, he’s had dreams where he feels completely unable to move. In these dreams, he sees only darkness and hears whispers—soft, yet relentless. As the dreams are about to end, he often experiences sleep paralysis, which only prolongs his torment, making the nightmare last even longer. His parents have always dismissed his experiences, saying that they too have nightmares and that it’s normal. They would tell him he just needs to get used to it, insisting it’s nothing worth focusing on. When he turned eighteen and got his driver’s license, his nightmares seemed like nothing more than echoes of the past. One day, when he came home early from his friends, he overheard his…

I was always told to stay out of the old garden behind the house. My parents kept saying it was unsafe, overgrown, and full of thorns. I believed them, as children believe their parents. When I grew up and moved back into the family home after they passed away, I decided to clear out that forgotten space. I wanted to reclaim it, make it mine. While I worked, my shovel hit something hard. As I dug deeper, I uncovered a small, old box. Inside were tiny bones, neatly arranged, and a locket with a picture of a baby. And then it hit me. My heart started racing, and from the depths of my memory, something resurfaced that I had long…

“I’m going blind,” I told my wife when we moved to our new gothic-style home in Griswold on a breezy day in early April. It was a wedding gift from my estranged father —a beautiful two-story structure with pointed arches, board-and-batten siding, large stained-glass windows, and a steep-pitched roof that gave the illusion of a medieval tower. Before my gradual onset of blindness, Samantha and I loved looking at homes from this era. Now, our beautiful new home was a blur, another milestone I couldn’t see. “I feel dizzy.” “You have contacts, silly,” Samantha said, lifting a small box from our SUV. “Of course you’re blind. You’d better sit down.  Hey…are you okay?” “You’re right. I need to sit down.”…