Adventure

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
The Empty House
One silent morning, I woke up earlier than usual. The air felt cold, and the sky was covered with light clouds. Everything outside was quiet. Even the birds were not making much sound. It was the kind of morning that feels different, but you cannot explain why.
By Its_Shani 3 days ago in Fiction
T Comics Presents #3
T COMICS PRESENTS: Von Vultur New York City The Crow's Nest Bar June 13, 1984 10:01 am Jeffrey Gladwell felt oddly good as he was winding his way through a part of the city to a bar he had never heard of before. As good as he was at following the directions and winding his way in the summer heat of a sunny day, he wasn't in his twenties anymore. He was a sixty-year-old man trying to stay relevant enough to keep a job doing what he loved as a reporter. Despite a sudden pep in his step, he was eager to meet an old resourceful contact named William. William had been a source for things of a weird and supernatural nature and occasionally of a more criminal nature as well. With his help, he managed to make something of a living working for various newspapers. Now, times have changed. The paper he's working for now has him doing "kiddie fare" that has more appeal to kids than the adults he was used to dealing with.
By Derrick Billups 3 days ago in Fiction
Amelia and the Secret in the Moon
Far to the North, where the sun sleeps for much of the year, lived a little girl, Amelia. She lived with her father but he was often gone hunting over the frozen artic steppes. With no other children to play with she found herself making friends with the small animals of the Tundra: a lone baby reindeer who lost its mother, a small arctic fox, and an owl. Most of the time she was alone and she spent her time taking care of the house and using her imagination to keep her company.
By Eda Marie4 days ago in Fiction
City of plague:A new Yorker’s pandemic chronicle Pt 12.
I woke early that morning—not because I had work to go to, and not because I had anything urgent to do—but because fear had stolen the night from me.
By Peter4 days ago in Fiction
City of plague:A new Yorker’s pandemic chronicle Pt 11.
We stayed home to avoid the virus—not to avoid hunger. No matter how dangerous the world outside became, the body still demanded its daily tribute. Food was not optional. It was the quiet law of survival, older than fear, older than disease.
By Peter4 days ago in Fiction
Moving Day
Boris ran his gloved hands through his long, tangled, black hair as the wind whipped through it. His merciless, ice-blue eyes squinted as he looked out across the limitless expanse of the ocean from the back of his nameless black horse, the horse’s hooves stamping impatiently on the surface of the sea upon which it stood as nonchalantly as can be.
By Shannon Hilson4 days ago in Fiction
I Pretended to Be Strong So My Child Wouldn’t Worry. AI-Generated.
The hardest part of being a parent is not the work. It’s the pretending. Not pretending to love your child—because that part is easy. Love comes naturally. It grows quietly in the spaces between bedtime stories, school lunches, and small conversations about homework.
By Jenny 4 days ago in Fiction
We Never Said It Out Loud, But We Were Struggling. AI-Generated.
There was a time when our apartment looked normal from the outside. The lights were on every evening. Dinner was cooked most nights. Our child laughed while watching cartoons in the living room. Sometimes we even joked with each other about small things—burnt rice, forgotten groceries, a misplaced phone charger.
By Jenny 4 days ago in Fiction
My Child Is the Reason I Keep Going. AI-Generated.
The alarm rings every morning at 5:30. For a few seconds, I lie still in the dark, staring at the ceiling. My body feels heavy, as if sleep has glued me to the bed. Outside the window, the city is quiet, caught in that brief moment before the first subway trains begin rumbling beneath the streets.
By Jenny 4 days ago in Fiction
I Smile in Public, and Collapse in Private. AI-Generated.
The first thing people notice about me is my smile. It’s the kind of smile that makes customers feel comfortable, coworkers feel relaxed, and strangers think everything in my life must be going just fine.
By Jenny 4 days ago in Fiction
Every Dollar Means a Little More Safety. AI-Generated.
At 5:30 a.m., the alarm rang like a small emergency in the darkness. I opened my eyes before the second beep. For a few seconds, I didn’t move. The room was still. The faint blue light of early morning slipped through the curtains and rested quietly on the wall.
By Jenny 4 days ago in Fiction