The Writer of Smoke
Ephemeral truth burns brightest.
Each word vanished but left warmth behind.
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Valentine's Dates Over the Years
Colin grinned as Brooklyn slipped into the living room. “Is it all set?” he asked. The twenty-one year old grinned. She was in her last year of college and Colin knew that Lincoln was proud of her. Although she had been away at college, she’d eagerly helped Colin plan his surprise for Lincoln. “I’m so glad you’re finally doing this,” she said.
By Reb Kreyling8 days ago in Chapters
FLUENT IN FORBIDDEN — CHAPTER ELEVEN
"The clock has struck three, the coffee is cold, and the shadows are beginning to speak. Welcome back to the desk of The Night Writer, where the stories are brewed in the dark. Tonight, we find that the hardest thing to translate isn't a language—it’s the silence of a man who has lost everything but his life."
By The Night Writer 🌙 2 days ago in Chapters
At My Wits’ End
Life is about taking out the trash and calling it trash because you have every reason to. It wasn't meant to be linear, they say. But the times you tried to make it straight led to problems, and you didn’t have the tools to put any of it to use. You don't put your right shoes on the right feet; you put the left shoes on the left feet. The grey hardened slab will trip you up anyway.
By Caitlin Charltona day ago in Humans
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