Series

City of plague:A New Yorker’s pandemic chronicle Pt 19.
In the Chinese lunar calendar, the first day of the fourth month is my birthday. Birthdays are strange things. They mark the beginning of a life, a moment that seems enormously important—yet none of us ever choose it. It simply arrives, quietly deciding the starting point of our existence.
By Peter14 days ago in Fiction
Fear Controlled Me for Years — Until That Day. AI-Generated.
I didn’t know when fear first moved in. It didn’t arrive like a storm. There was no dramatic entrance, no single moment I could point to and say, that’s when it began. It came quietly—like a draft through a window you forgot to close.
By Peter15 days ago in Fiction
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 Peter15 days 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 Peter15 days 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 Peter15 days ago in Fiction
Hippieland Vol. 4
"Keep those coconuts hangin', coconuts!" I exclaim as I end the live feed of The Hippie Beachbum Show as "Franklin's Tower" by Grateful Dead plays in the background.
By James Staskus16 days 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 Peter16 days 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 Peter16 days ago in Fiction
Above From Below
Part One Beneath an unusually dark sky, a building in the middle of nowhere, West Texas, sits as it gets pelted by heavy rain mixed with hail. The warning systems at the National Weather Service were right, and the storm was developing into a supercell. It gave off strange atmospheric readings that kept the one person assigned to the observation post busy.
By Jason Morton16 days ago in Fiction
LHS Class of 01 Reunion '16
The central arena, once a flat expanse of polished hardwood that had witnessed countless slam dunks and frantic scrimmages, was now a shimmering sea of color and texture. Marc coordinated the placement of round, metallic tables that were covered in shimmering silver cloth, each topped with crystal vases filled with deep‑red roses and white lilies, the flowers’ petals soft against the hard surface. Peter, ever the detail‑oriented, arranged a series of small LED lanterns around each table, ensuring that the light would bounce off the polished surfaces and create an ambient glow reminiscent of a warm, inviting lounge rather than a stark school gym. “If we angle the lanterns just right, the reflections will make the whole room feel like we’re inside a giant disco ball,” he said, his eyes alight with the sort of childlike wonder that only a well‑planned event can inspire.
By Forest Green16 days ago in Fiction
LHS Class of 01 Reunion '16
It was a damp, early‑winter afternoon in 2016, and the echo of squeaking sneakers and the faint hum of the gym’s fluorescent lights filled the cavernous space as Marc lugged a massive roll of glossy, burgundy‑tinted tablecloth across the polished wooden floor. The scent of fresh paint from the recent renovations mingled with the faint, lingering aroma of disinfectant, giving the room an oddly comforting, institutional perfume that reminded him of countless high‑school assemblies. As he unrolled the fabric, he could hear the clatter of metal ladders being set up by Scott, whose formerly lanky frame moved with an almost frantic efficiency, while Peter, ever the meticulous planner, consulted a crumpled checklist that read, “Balloons, banners, lights—don’t forget the photo wall!” Their collaborative energy turned the otherwise sterile gym into a bustling workshop, each of them determined to transform the space into a nostalgic haven for the class of ’01.
By Forest Green16 days ago in Fiction
Deadly Subconscious. Content Warning.
March,20th-2027 Dear me, Whenever you find this, know that I’m sorry you have to deal with the aftermath of my actions. And please remember I have my reasons….
By Ollie J Arts16 days ago in Fiction