Adventure

I Stopped Waiting for Opportunity — I Started Creating It. AI-Generated.
I used to believe in timing. Not in the mystical, poetic way people write about in books, but in the practical, almost superstitious way that keeps you still. I believed the right moment would come, like a train pulling into a station—predictable, inevitable, meant for me.
By Peterless than a minute ago in Fiction
Hue and The Discovery of Manipo (Chapter 1). AI-Generated.
Being able to manipulate time — and slip into nearly any moment in history — comes with advantages so vast they’re almost impossible to rank. But two always rise to the top.
By Lorenzo Blandabout 13 hours ago in Fiction
City of plague:A New Yorker’s pandemic chronicle Pt 18.
One evening, my phone rang unexpectedly. The caller ID showed the name Mr. Li, president of the Southern Hometown Association. I knew him well. He was a respected figure in the Chinese community—calm, thoughtful, and never someone who called without a reason.
By Peterabout 14 hours ago in Fiction
City of plague:A New Yorker’s pandemic chronicle Pt 17.
Directly across the street from the building where I worked stood an old commercial property that had quietly witnessed decades of Manhattan’s restless life.
By Peterabout 14 hours ago in Fiction
The Forest Wants Me Back
Milkweed sticks to my shins. My ankle, pricked by a thorn, yields a tiny droplet of blood that turns to wax in the hot sun. Cockleburs cling to my cotton socks.
By Bride of Sounda day ago in Fiction
The Colorado Kid. Content Warning.
The sun was setting low over the mountain. Pike’s Peak loomed in the distance casting a shadow over the dusty streets of Spencer, Colorado. The lights in the houses along the house row been lit and the good people of Spencer had taken to their homes for dinner and rest.
By William Kinga day ago in Fiction
City of plague:A New Yorker’s pandemic chronicle Pt 16.
The sky that morning looked as if it had sunk into a deep gray abyss. Then, without warning, the rain began. At first the drops were scattered, but soon they grew heavier—big, bean-sized drops pounding the pavement with relentless persistence. The rain fell harder and harder until the entire city seemed swallowed by it. It had already been raining for an entire morning, stubborn and unyielding, as if the storm had made up its mind not to leave.
By Petera day ago in Fiction
City of plague: A New Yorker’s pandemic chronicle Pt 15.
During the long months of lockdown, when people were asked to stay home to avoid the virus, the city seemed to lose its heartbeat.
By Petera day ago in Fiction
Why a Real Zombie Apocalypse Would Probably Fail
They’re the living dead. Our nightmares wrapped in rotting flesh. Brain-hungry monsters that shuffle through our favorite shows and movies like they own the place.
By Areeba Umair2 days ago in Fiction
Namieda
"Tell us a story, Nami". Little Joya pleaded. "I shall tell you of a young girl named Namieda, who yearned for more than just the ordinary. She embarks on a magical journey, both literally and within her mind. She travels near and far. Now she is much older and sits with her grandchildren, regaling them with her journey. Nami still wears flowers in her hair and dresses in her flowery dresses, sandals and comfortable flats.
By Antoni De'Leon2 days ago in Fiction
City of plague:A new Yorker’s pandemic chronicle Pt 14.
In late March 2020, New York City began to drown. The number of COVID-19 patients surged with terrifying speed. Each day, more than three hundred new patients were admitted to hospitals across the city. Ambulances howled endlessly through the streets, their sirens piercing the air day and night, racing from one emergency to the next. Their cries became the soundtrack of a city under siege.
By Peter3 days ago in Fiction
City of plague:A new Yorker’s pandemic chronicle Pt 13.
When the COVID-19 pandemic descended with merciless speed, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention—known to most of us simply as the CDC—finally released its first official public guidance. Citizens were instructed to wash their hands frequently, using soap and water for at least twenty seconds. Not a casual rinse, but a deliberate ritual: palms rubbing palms, fingers interlaced, nails scrubbed, the narrow spaces between fingers carefully cleansed. Foam, they emphasized, was essential. Soap bubbles could penetrate and disrupt the virus’s fragile outer layer, rendering it inactive and stripping it of its ability to infect.
By Peter3 days ago in Fiction