With her husband in jail being alone is hard. Luckily for her, she has some outside help from someone who has been watching but has never spoke up. This is a book of fiction and nothing in it is real.

Excerpt from The Everything Zone There’s a place beyond categories — a world where creativity, curiosity, and connection collide. It’s not a channel, not a brand, not a single art form. It’s a pulse that lives inside anyone bold enough to build from every part of themselves. That’s The Everything Zone. Here, there are no wrong lanes. The gamer can be a poet. The designer can be a philosopher. The dreamer can be a teacher, a builder, a voice for something bigger. In the Zone, every identity feeds the next — because creation isn’t about choosing one thing, it’s about weaving everything into a single rhythm that feels true. Success here isn’t measured in numbers, but in moments: the small ones where you forget to check the time because you’re fully alive in the work. The Everything Zone teaches you that perfection is an illusion, failure is feedback, and authenticity is your greatest algorithm. When you stop chasing validation and start chasing evolution, something shifts.

Aries raises his arms to toss me a can of tomato soup like a softball when I feel a familiar paralyzing fear wash over me. I no longer see my loving husband’s face, his long brown hair, and his unkempt goatee and septum ring, but that of my ex-husband’s, with his features twisted in rage. The only move I make is to throw my arms up over my face to ward off the coming blow of the baseball he threw at my face.

Slowly, carefully, I lifted my gaze from the magazine toward the doorway. The door was wide open, revealing a stretch of dark hallway. And she was standing there.

A wistful little haiku about friends on this full moon Moonday (Monday) As usual, the summary is required to be longer than the poem itself. And it is sticking on a title that is not the title I have here in the form. It is only my second day here...

The first time I heard rice krispy eyes I was 6 years old. A six year old just trying to make friends and finding out people are not so nice to those who are " difftent".

My mother always reassured me that the dark was just the absence of light, nothing more. Every night, after tucking me firmly under my princess duvet. She would linger by the door, promising a good dream, oblivious to the true, systemic terror that took hold the moment the hall light vanished.

Please forgive the absence lately, momma got a new jawb whatever that is and we went on two trips one to the woods which I liked and one to the real big water in North Meownisotah. I was not fond of that one, too much water. Yuck.

The first night, I dismissed it. It was exactly 8:00 pm when three sharp, deliberate knocks echoed from my front door. I had just settled into my worn armchair, the evening paper still crisp in my hands. I walked to the door,peered through the peephole, and saw nothing but the empty porch, the street lights casting long, lonely shadows. I figured it was some neighborhood kids prank and went back to my reading.

This is the first chapter for the story Dead Man's Party, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

The narrator, Karson, wakes up to knocks on the door and finds Clarin, a scrawny man in a clown costume, who presents him with an invitation to a party at Clarin's home. The narrator lives a reclusive life and is hesitant about attending social gatherings. Despite his reluctance, he agrees to go to the party after noticing a mysterious figure in the shadows, which Clarin dismisses as a figment of the narrator's imagination. After Clarin leaves, the narrator examines the invitation, which is colorful and features cartoon skeletons, titled "Dead Man's Party."

This is an excerpt or two from a book I wrote. It’s all kind of unfamiliar it was a while ago I wrote it.

The newborn stage.... is it really just a stage? Will they grow out of it or am i going to lose my mind?

A calm Sunday, Kevin has some mild existential anxiety. Then he meets a customer that reminds him just how special he is..

To the outside world, I was like any other boy. I liked to be outside with my friends in the sunlight, playing in the dirt and catching lizards. But, my parents and close friends all knew that my favorite thing to do was to read. And so it was, one warm August afternoon in 2008, that I was reading on the front porch when a moving truck pulled up across the street. I stuck an old receipt between the pages to mark my place and curious, set the book aside on the swing. As I watched, a man got out of the driver’s side and walked around to the back of the truck.

A girl who always wore bright colors suddenly goes downhill until it is too late, but she changes perspectives along the way.

The hum is a powerful metaphor for the invisible forces that shape our lives—technology, social isolation, mental health, and the breakdown of communication. The story explores how these forces, when left unchecked, can drive us to the brink of paranoia and turn the familiar into the utterly alien.

Super King spends the day at the convenience store, offering assistance to customers as they pass through.

By the time I regained my senses, the blackout had already chewed up thirty minutes. Yes, the blackout—our usual midday guest! It visits daily, and stays sharp for two hours. He sits and watches me go up the wall with no power indifferently and chews on the two hours he has clutched. The Blackout has become a good friend of ours now.

Whispers in the Static: The Mystery of the Hudson Valley Hum Deepens Poughkeepsie, NY - For decades, residents across the scenic Hudson Valley have reported a persistent, low-frequency humming sound that seems to emanate from nowhere and everywhere. This enigmatic "hum," often described as a deep rumble or a buzzing sensation, has baffled scientists, annoyed locals, and spawned countless theories ranging from underground military experiments to extraterrestrial communication. Now, a new wave of reports and anecdotal evidence is reigniting the debate surrounding this elusive phenomenon. For Sarah Miller, a resident of Beacon, the hum started subtly about five years ago. "At first, I thought it was the refrigerator," she explains, rubbing her temples. "But then I realized it was constant, especially at night. It's not loud, but it's there, a deep thrumming you feel more than hear. It makes it hard to concentrate, sometimes even to sleep."