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Submitted to Contest #339
The garage in 2016 didn't smell like a beginning; it smelled like the end. I remember the weight of the air, heavy with the exhaust and the even heavier silence of a soul that had simply run out of reasons to try. I was a casualty of a four-hour nightmare with Xander—a brutal, gruesome fight that had left me alive in body but extinguished in spirit. I sat there, thinking, I’m just so tired. I’ve fought enough. I am done!Then came the miracle.He was four weeks old, a tiny, brindle scrap of life rescued from a crack den. When the vet told me h...
Almost is never enough. It’s a hollow place, a minimal space where chivalry and mannerisms go to die; a landscape where the possibilities of love, of connection, of something real, always fall at the feet of "so close, yet so far." I’ve learned to see these things in real time. It’s like fast-forwarding through a movie I’ve already watched—I see the ending while we’re still at the beginning, watching the cracks form before the weight is even applied. Some people call that pessimism. I call it pattern recognition. The day began in a graveyard...
Submitted to Contest #337
Long distance is a funny phrase. People hear it and think kilometres, time zones, airports. I’ve learned it’s not that literal. Sometimes the longest distance in the world is sitting across from someone who thinks they know you. Sometimes it’s the space between a message sent and a message ignored. Sometimes it’s the silence someone uses like a leash. I never signed up for a long-distance anything. I don’t have the patience for digital romance or the stamina for emotional hide-and-seek. I like things real, in front of me, where I can see the...
There is a specific kind of exhaustion that comes from being a woman with a "history" in a world of men who have only ever had a "lifestyle." It’s not just the physical toll of the CRPS—the way my nerves feel like they’ve been replaced with frayed copper wiring—it’s the mental gymnastics of trying to be "low maintenance" for someone who wouldn’t know how to maintain a pot plant, let alone a human being with depth.Our story didn't start with a spark; it started with a series of muffled thuds. I told him, clearly and in plain English, that I’m...
The kitchen floor was a lake of shadows and spilled grief. Isabella stood on the coal-black tiles, her tears making small, shimmering pockets across the faux-stone surface. In the oppressive 40-degree heat of a Perth afternoon, the air was so thick it felt like water, and in that haze, she saw her.A figure, woven from the dim light of the hallway, stood across the kitchen."Oh, you startled me," the figure said, her voice a soothing ripple against the mechanical hum of the air conditioner. She pointed to the wet trail Isabella had left behind...
Submitted to Contest #335
CW: Mental health, substance abuse I. The Stranger in the Hallway They don’t tell you that when a White Knight saves you, he might eventually send you a bill. They don’t warn you that some rescuers only pull you out of the fire so they can keep you in their own private cage. The first lesson I learned—the one I am still swallowing like glass—is this: the price of "free" help is often your soul.I stand in the dim, grey light of the hallway, leaning heavily on my cane. The air in this house is thick, smelling of old wood, stagnant laundry, an...
Once upon a time—though not in a castle, nor in a land of dragons or kings, but in a small, quiet home by the sea—there lived a woman named Rosemary and her old dog, Lamb. And on one particular Christmas morning, long before the sun even thought of rising, Rosemary awoke with a heart full of purpose. The alarm didn’t need to go off. She was already awake—like a child on Christmas morning, wired to rise before dawn, her heart racing with the spirit of the day. While the rest of the world slept in quiet anticipation of their own celebrations, ...
Henry VIII is incorrectly remembered as the king who chopped off all his wives’ heads. The myth is neat, dramatic, and easy to teach: six wives, six executions, a tyrant who devoured women as casually as he devoured banquets. The truth is messier. Only two of his wives were executed—Anne Boleyn, his second, and Catherine Howard, his fifth—both accused of adultery. The others were divorced (or rather, their marriages annulled), died in childbirth, or survived him.But history prefers its villains simple. A king who killed two wives is complica...
The engine is off. The silence is thick, but it’s not the cheerful hush I remember. The car park once echoed with the cooing melody of magpies, a melodic signal of a new, promising day. Now, the silence is thick, smothering, and utterly uncomfortable, frozen solid. It’s the moment after a sound barrier has broken, and my ears are still ringing with the shock of release.My finger is hovering over the 'Sent' folder on my phone screen. It's done. I have sent the email to Emily, the one meticulously listing every betrayal, every lie, every bound...
The True Inheritance The night ritual is sacred. Not just the final, deliberate pull of medication from the bong—a necessity to quell the internal rave of CRPS—but the quiet, dark peace of knowing the day is done and the world has, mercifully, shut up. I, Isabella, am thirty something years old, and my current life—structured, quiet, and largely spent not screaming—is a fortress built meticulously over ten years to keep the noise and chaos of my family outside.It was 9:02 p.m. The clock on my phone shone the absurd time. Who, in the name of...
*Isabella lives in a house that was supposed to be a lifeline. Instead, it became a theatre of cruelty. Trapped by contracts, loyalty, and the one creature who never betrayed her—her dog Mid-Knight—she endures emotional warfare with quiet defiance. In a world where love becomes a trap and freedom demands betrayal, Isabella learns that hell isn’t a place. It’s a performance. And it has no home.* Mid-Knight whimpered. Isabella didn’t move. She stood at the kitchen bench, hands deep in a bowl of boiled chicken and rice, mixing CBD oil through...
Content WarningThis story contains emotionally intense themes including power exchange, ritualised intimacy, spiritual manipulation, and psychological liberation. It reimagines the myth of Adam and Eve through a satirical lens, exploring trauma, consent, and autonomy. Readers may encounter references to submission, betrayal, and spiritual bypassing. While no explicit violence or sexual content is depicted, the dialogue engages with erotic subtext and emotional control.Recommended for emotionally mature readers comfortable with mythic subvers...
Submitted to Contest #318
Isabella is the last choice. Not the first flame. Not the favourite. She’s the fall-back. The echo. The soft landing when better options vanish. Even the Devil only visits when others don’t answer. He wears many faces. Not just lovers. Friends turned foes. Doctors who speak in riddles and silence. Systems that smile with empty hands. Governments that file her under too hard. He is all of them. He is the pattern. He is the rhythm of being almost enough. She remembers the moment her body betrayed her. Complex Regional Pain Syndrome. A curse. A...
The fatigue had settled into her bones long before the night began. It was the kind of exhaustion no sleep could touch—the slow erosion of being unseen, unheard, sidelined in every way that mattered. She could still show up physically, but inside, she was a ghost. When people listened only to reply, not to understand, her words dissolved into static. Her heart was denied. Her voice echoed only in the hollow chamber of her own mind. She opened the inbox.... Dallas had praised her body like it was a gift he’d unwrapped, but never asked what it...
South Australia Police DepartmentIncident Report – Case No. 0822-ISAR Filed: August 22, 2025Reporting Officer: Sgt. M. CallahanDivision: Missing Persons / Cyber Crimes TaskforceSubject: Isabella Ryan (F), 32, resident of Kaldivis Bay, South AustraliaStatus: Missing – High RiskLast Known Contact: August 20, 2025, 17:42 AESTSuspect: Alias “Justin” – identity under investigation Summary:On August 22, 2025, Isabella Ryan was reported missing by her housemate, Husani, following a series of increasingly disturbing communications with a man she met...
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