Story 22



This story starts with shadows that were dancing on the walls, whispering secrets of love turned sour.

Ethan, once bright-eyed and full of promise, now drowned himself in the bottom of a bottle, each sip erasing memories of his self-confidence. Megan, with her heart stitched together by hope, toiled endlessly at two jobs, her hands calloused, yet, tender as she was fighting to mend their love.

Every paycheck was a desperate plea, funneled into the hands of doctors and therapists who promised salvation. Yet, with each session, Ethan seemed to slip further away, while Megan clung to the notion that love alone could heal him.

Nights turned into endless nightmares, filled with tears and prays.

One moment, as she caught his reflection in the glass of an empty whiskey bottle, Megan realised she was drowning, too. Their love, once a blossoming flower, had become a suffocating vine, wrapping around their souls. And as the storm raged on, she had to decide: to save herself or him.

Story 23



There was no one in the world who hated men as much as Alex’s grandmother. In her eyes, they were the source of suffering and betrayal, the personification of everything bad. She hated them passionately because her only daughter, Jordan, full of hopes and dreams, was trapped in an unsuccessful marriage and eventually broke it off, leaving traces of bitterness in her heart.

Jordan, tired of her mother’s constant criticism, named her daughter Alex – in honour of her uncle with whom only shadows of memories were associated. But the grandmother looked at her granddaughter with discontent and hostility, seeing in her something exorbitant. Every time she was saying the name Alex, the grandmother smirked, as if this name was a symbol of many mistakes and humiliations.

Alex grew up in the atmosphere of incessant hatred. Her childhood was filled with silent condemnation, and she, like a delicate flower, blossomed among thorns. She tried to find her own way, but her grandmother’s shadow always hung over her, making her feel the heavy burden of the family curse.

Story 24



Dr. Calvin Harper was consumed by his obsession. In the dim light of his cluttered laboratory, surrounded by bubbling beakers and scattered research papers, he was seeking the ultimate breakthrough: a source of nonstop energy for the brain. Caffeine coursed through his veins, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the bittersweet scent of dark chocolate. He experimented tirelessly, blending fruit shakes bursting with vitality and scattering pumpkin seeds like breadcrumbs toward a solution.

Days melted into nights, sleep a distant memory, as he dwelled deeper in his pursuit. The initial euphoria of each concoction gave way to fleeting moments of clarity, only to be followed by the fog of fatigue that crept in like an unwelcome guest. His mind – a labyrinth of thoughts – began to lose its edge. Friends expressed concern, but he brushed them off, too lost in his data and dreams.

Yet, in his fervour, he overlooked the simple alchemy of life: sunlight, movement and rest. It was during a rare moment of quietness, the sun breaking through the lab’s grimy windows, that realisation dawned upon him – a mind, like a machine, required care, maintenance and balance, not just fuel.

Story 25



In a small park in a sunlit afternoon, two gentlemen found themselves embroiled in a heated debate on the nature of happiness. Mr. Thistle, the stout fellow with a belly that jiggled like jelly, declared, “Happiness lies in wealth! Just think of the glorious feasts I could have, the fine suits I could wear!”