The 9-year-old Maryam sat on the carpet, dissatisfied with the chore she was given. She stared at the large dresser in front of her, which her mother had insisted she clean it out as a part of spring cleaning, saying it was high time she learned some responsibility. But all Maryam felt was resentment for this tedious chore, and the order seemed oppressive. She pulled open the first drawer, sending some dust into air. Insi...

In a remote part of a kingdom, Jarek lived alone with his mother Elara in a small cottage, just outside a village. The whole area used to be occupied by orcs, but the armies of the kingdom had driven them out. It had been many years since an orc was sighted, and people had begun to forget about them, mentioning them only in fairy tales for their children. Elara's husband had turned into a worthless drunk shortly after the...

The Orphanage agreed to shelter the children with no further consideration. Someone filed a petition after the stubborn incident. Curious people tried to find clues about the identity of the petitioner, but the orphanage authority wouldn't disclose the benefactor. This act of secrecy brought doubts among the people. Mila, who shares my adjacent apartment, said, "It's the father of one of her illegitimate children. You’ll...

You might call me a successful entrepreneur, or businessman. A lot of people would envy my position. I am in my late fifties, and you could call me a career-minded individual. My name is Tristram Foley. It used to be Gary, but Gary is a dull name. I didn’t change it officially, just told new people I met, and they knew no different. I’m not the most attractive person you’ll ever meet, but certainly not the worst. When I s...

In the quiet corners of a forgotten village, where cobblestone paths crumbled under bare feet and chimneys exhaled tired wisps of smoke, lived Adelaine. Her days began with the sun slicing through the thin curtains of her single-room cottage and ended under a quilt patched with memories of colder winters. But her heart was never truly there. Adelaine often sat by the window, her gaze fixed on the horizon, where she imagin...

I slipped on my moccasins and walked to my desk where I gathered my notebook and psychology textbook. I lifted my head and stared out the window of the top-story dorm room I shared with my roommate, Chloe. It was a dreary, spring morning. Gray clouds veiled the blue sky. Rain was imminent, I was sure. “Looks like it’s going to rain,” Chloe said as she opened the door and walked in the small room. I broke my gaze from star...

“I can explain,” he pleaded, though it came out more like, “I cah eshlaih,” with his mouth stretched around the barrel of my shotgun. I raised my eyebrows, dark rage bubbling inside. “Explain?!” I spat. “Oh, this ought to be good. Let me guess, you came round to balance the books, tripped on the rug, your clothes fell off, and you landed in my miraculously naked wife?” Bryce held up his hands and shook his head against th...

I came out of my bedroom to find my housemate Charlotte gazing at herself in a full-length mirror. She looked quite pretty dressed up in a long blue dress for her sister Sara’s wedding. Her brown hair was trimmed and styled better than I had ever seen it before. A little silver pendant holding a ruby hung from a chain around her neck. Charlotte had even put on makeup beyond just lipstick, a rarity for her. “What do you th...

October 30, 1938 About a half mile into the Detroit-Windsor tunnel, I smell oil burning from running the engine so hard. I pat the dashboard of my old pickup. “Hang in there, baby.” I’m struggling to drive while rotating my head like a damn owl, worrying the walls will collapse around us at any moment. The Detroit River would surely swallow us whole. To make matters worse, we lost the radio when we went underground, so I...

Chapter 1 Atticus sat with his friends at Pizza Hut, the atmosphere buzzing with excitement and relief after they had all successfully passed their final exams. The aroma of freshly baked pizza and the sound of cheerful chatter filled the air as they indulged in a well-deserved celebration. Atticus was described as an athletic-built young man with milky white skin, raven black hair styled straight to his shoulders with a...

There’s a Blondie record playing on the jukebox in the corner. It’s one you’ve heard many times before but it still pulls you in with its goodness. There’s optimism here, full-on powerpop positivity, to take hold of you in the moment as the night sky falls and you’re in your land of dreams once again. Sitting in the corner with the others, listening to tales of wantonness and revelry, making plans for the next few hours b...

I’m searching for the lost forty-five. Jack was talking about it last night in The Crown. It was when an old northern soul record came on the jukebox, one that they play regularly in there, and which can’t fail to make your feet tap and your body start to move as if you were on a dance floor in Wigan back in nineteen seventy-four or thereabouts or perhaps in Studio 54 in New York City a few years later. It got Jack going,...

The record’s an instrumental called Grow Your Own. It’s a Small Faces b-side from some time around ’65 I think. Back at the old alma mater, Miles used to play it to death. We used to sit in his room in hall, getting dragged into its brilliance, playing it as loudly as possible until we got complaints. I’ve had complaints about the volume of my music all my life. I suppose I always will. Right now, the majestic Hammond org...

You could almost be mistaken for thinking that spring’s upon us. The sun’s out at last. It’s been a long, dark winter. We need the sunshine again to bring the good times back into our lives, let us understand what matters. I’m strolling through the park, along the path, hands in my pea coat pockets, shoulders hunched. In spite of the sun, it’s a dirty sort of day, wind blowing, grass muddy, trees bare. I’m dreaming of the...

Early morning. Eleven o’clock. It’s about the time I usually make my entrance into the world. I’m coming downstairs in my bathrobe and the letterbox clatters. Two letters fall through onto the mat. I go over and pick them up. They’re both for yours truly. The address on one of them is handwritten, in a scrawl I know well, and has a London postmark. The other’s official, with the name of a council about a hundred miles awa...