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The red countdown hit 02:59:59 as Maya Carter burst into the war room, coat dripping with rain, pulse pounding like a war drum. A storm lit up the Geneva skyline behind her, flashes of lightning mirrored in the sheen of the polished steel walls.The encrypted message waited on her terminal.OPERATION: ASHFALL Status: GREEN Strike Time: 03:00 CEST Target Zone: Grid 14-B, Northern Line Objective: Tunnel Collapse, Covert Interdiction Collateral Acceptable: YESMaya’s eyes scanned the mission summary, bile rising in her throat.They’re going to coll...
Golden sunlight poured through the towering west-facing windows of The Clay Hearth, a modest but magnetic pottery studio nestled between a vintage bookstore and a florist dripping in ivy on Maple Row. Inside, the scent of damp clay clung to the air, laced with a hint of lavender and kiln smoke. Dust motes drifted like enchanted snowflakes, catching light as they danced through the open beams. Shelves bowed under the weight of eccentric student projects: teetering vases, bowls with bold, defiant shapes, and mugs whose handles curled like slee...
Submitted to Contest #303
Late Autumn, 1987 — Coastal MaineBy day, the ocean mist crept up the harbor streets like a memory you couldn’t outrun. It clung to the weather-beaten docks and rusted chains, wrapping everything in a salty chill that seeped deep into your bones. By night, the foghorn sang through the dark like a warning no one listened to—low and mournful, cutting through the thick damp air, a lonely echo in a town that had long since forgotten how to dream.My name’s Mara Harlan. Boat mechanic. Part-time salvage diver. Daughter to a man who vanished into a l...
The last time Sam saw Grandpa Ray, the old man lay still beneath a quilt stitched with red cardinals and faded army patches. His hands were paper-thin and mottled. His voice had gone two days before, but his eyes still flickered when Sam, now twenty-five, leaned close and whispered, “I’ll fix it, okay?”There was a quiet desperation in that glance — like Grandpa was passing on more than just a goodbye. Like he was leaving Sam a burden wrapped in hope. Sam swallowed hard, knowing this wasn’t just about machines or memories. It was something he...
Leah Carter wasn’t the kind of girl people noticed. She liked it that way. Quiet corners, oversized hoodies, and earbuds in—those were her shields from a world that never seemed to understand her. Her locker, 213, was one of the few consistent things in her life. Far from the bustling main halls of Crestwood High, it sat tucked between two support pillars in the neglected west wing—a hallway that smelled faintly of mold and old paint. She liked it there. Nobody bothered her. Until Tuesday. She arrived early, like always, slipping down the si...
Dani had always been the type to take risks. They weren’t reckless—just adventurous, always searching for the next thrill. It wasn’t about doing something dangerous; it was about exploring the world around them in ways that others might shy away from. That’s how they ended up in the middle of a crowded street festival in a small town they’d only just discovered. The streets were alive with vibrant colors—streamers hung between the buildings, food carts lined the sidewalks, and banners in every color imaginable waved in the summer breeze.The ...
Dani Alvarez was halfway out the door when her phone buzzed. Rain hammered the pavement outside her apartment, and she glanced at the screen expecting a text from her sister.FROM: Unknown MESSAGE: Red Level. Secure package. Do NOT engage. Extraction ETA: 03:47. Coordinates attached. Burn after reading.She froze.This wasn’t spam. This was something else—something serious. Classified, even. Her finger hovered over the screen as the rain hissed beyond the windowpane. She tapped the coordinates.A warehouse. On the city’s edge. And an attachment:...
Samantha had always been a skeptic. Whether it was astrology, fortune-telling, or the idea of fate, she rejected it all. Life, in her view, was a tangled web of chance, cause and effect. Every action had a logical consequence. But all of that changed the moment she stepped into her local coffee shop and saw the barista behind the counter holding the very book she had lost years ago. It wasn’t just any book. It was a rare, out-of-print copy of *The History of Lost Things*, a book her grandfather had passed down to her when she was a child. It...
It started like any other Tuesday: drab, uninspired, and permeated by the faint scent of wet laundry and existential despair. I awoke to the dulcet tones of my neighbor's emotional support rooster, who had taken it upon himself to scream directly into my air vent every morning at 6:02 a.m. sharp. I had half a mind to call Animal Control, but last time I did, the rooster sent me a strongly worded letter signed "Yours Disrespectfully, Greg." I swung my legs off the bed and trod directly onto a Lego, which I hadn’t seen in three years and suspe...
I don’t care what anyone says—today is not a good day. Mom kept saying, “New beginnings are exciting, sweetie!” and smiling like that made everything better. But I didn’t ask for a new beginning. I liked the old one just fine. I’m sitting on the back steps of our porch, the wood warm from the sun and chipped in the corners where I used to dig for bugs when I was little. Okay, littler. I’m ten now, which is practically eleven, and I’ve lived here since I was born. Every scratch on the railing, every weird creak on the third step down, it’s mi...
Frank had been working at the Market longer than he cared to admit. Time, or whatever strange version of it existed here, had no real boundaries. It didn’t matter whether it was minutes or eons. The aisles of the Market stretched out in every direction, filled with impossible choices—rows upon rows of desires, regrets, and memories that never truly belonged anywhere. It was Frank’s job to oversee them.Most of the time, he was content with his place. He didn’t mind checking people out, guiding them through the Market. It was routine. Predicta...
The rain had settled into a steady rhythm, tapping against the pavement like a thousand tiny fingers. Portsmouth, New Hampshire, felt small tonight. The streets—narrow and winding, lined with centuries-old brick buildings and salt-stained windows—seemed to draw in on themselves, as if the town, too, was holding its breath. The faint smell of saltwater from the nearby harbor mixed with the scent of wet earth and stone, a familiar and comforting aroma that had been a part of Clara’s life for as long as she could remember. But tonight, even the...
Evelyn Hart rubbed her eyes as she leaned back in the worn seat of her Honda Civic, the soft hum of the engine the only sound keeping her company on the drive home. It was nearly midnight. The hospital shift had been brutal—eight hours turned into twelve, and her feet ached from standing, her mind heavy with images she couldn't shake. A man with a fractured skull, a little girl with second-degree burns, and an overdose case that had barely survived the night.She turned onto Main Street, passing the closed flower shop on the corner and the 24...
The city buzzed with the low hum of late-night traffic, a constant, rhythmic pulse that filled the air with a quiet urgency. Car headlights stretched across the streets in long, brilliant ribbons of white and red, cutting through the heavy mist rising from the wet asphalt like veins of light, throbbing with the lifeblood of a city that never truly slept. The rain had just begun to fall in steady sheets, each drop a shimmering bead against the harsh glow of the streetlights, turning the pavement into a slick mirror that reflected the blur of ...
The intercom crackled.“Final boarding call for Flight 217 to Istanbul. All remaining passengers, please proceed to Gate A11.”Dylan had exactly four minutes.He sprinted past a man fumbling with a tray of Cinnabon, pivoted around a stroller with a wailing toddler, and vaulted over a rolling suitcase someone had abandoned in line for Starbucks. The backpack on his shoulder bounced with every stride. Inside, carefully packed in a hard case, was the drive. Not just any drive. The drive.Three minutes.Across the concourse, a security officer’s radi...
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