Adventure

Dead Ringers; Chapter 19
The nurse nodded, "Alright, I'll let her know." She turns and walks down the hall. "That doesn't look like a call."
By Katarzyna Crevanabout a month ago in Fiction
I Cried After I Lost the Weight. AI-Generated.
It wasn’t supposed to be emotional. That’s what I told myself. Weight loss was supposed to be practical. Measurable. Predictable. You eat less, you weigh less. Numbers go down. Life continues.
By Peterabout a month ago in Fiction
What Truly Changed Me Wasn’t My Diet. It Was My Mind.. AI-Generated.
For years, I believed change lived in food. In calories. In portion sizes. In carbohydrates and protein and sugar and restraint.
By Peterabout a month ago in Fiction
I Didn’t Lose Weight. I Lost Shame.. AI-Generated.
The first thing I lost wasn’t weight. It was eye contact. I didn’t realize when it began. There was no official moment, no ceremony marking the transition. Just a gradual lowering of my gaze.
By Peterabout a month ago in Fiction
How I Lost Weight While Working 12-Hour Days in New York City. AI-Generated.
The first thing people notice about New York is the speed. Everyone is moving. Fast. Purposefully. Without apology. The second thing they don’t notice is the exhaustion.
By Peterabout a month ago in Fiction
I Didn’t Have Time to Work Out. So I Lost Weight Anyway.. AI-Generated.
The lie I told myself was simple, clean, and socially acceptable. “I don’t have time.” I said it the way people say, “I’ll call you,” when they know they won’t. I said it to coworkers, to friends, to my doctor, and most convincingly, to myself.
By Peterabout a month ago in Fiction
I Once Feared the Mirror, Now I Dare to Look at Myself. AI-Generated.
For most of my life, mirrors were my enemy. I didn’t avoid them casually; I avoided them with precision. Bathroom mirrors, full-length mirrors, shop windows reflecting a distorted image of myself—I steered clear of them all. Each reflection was a reminder that I was too much for the world: too big, too slow, too undesirable.
By Peterabout a month ago in Fiction
I’m Not Lazy. I Just Lived in the Wrong Body.. AI-Generated.
It’s funny how life can make you feel trapped—not by circumstances, not by society, but by your own body. I didn’t grow up thinking I’d be “fat.” I just… existed. My body felt like someone else’s, a cage I couldn’t escape, a uniform that didn’t fit the life I imagined for myself.
By Peterabout a month ago in Fiction
I Didn’t Suddenly Lose Weight. I Suddenly Stopped Despairing.. AI-Generated.
It wasn’t a Monday morning miracle. It wasn’t some diet book, or kale smoothie, or Instagram influencer’s “miracle” routine that made me change. I didn’t wake up one day to see my reflection and think, Wow, I look great. No. The truth is far messier. I lost weight because, one day, I finally stopped despairing.
By Peterabout a month ago in Fiction
The Lindworm’s Mistress
Thora marched into her mother’s cottage, carrying a basket of freshly picked forest plants. “I overheard some huntsmen; everyone is talking about the Lindworm Prince seeking a bride.”
By Natasja Roseabout a month ago in Fiction
MISS WINCHELSEA'S HEART
Miss Winchelsea had long dreamed of going to Rome. For more than a month before her departure, she spoke of little else. She discussed Roman history, art, poetry, and famous graves as though she had personal ties to them. Some people admired her enthusiasm, but others found it excessive. A few even suggested that she was rather proud of “her Rome.” Still, Miss Winchelsea believed her passion was refined and intellectual, not boastful. She carefully prepared for the journey, selecting clothes that were sensible yet not obviously tourist-like. Even her red guidebook was hidden in a gray cover to avoid looking common. When the great day came, she stood at Charing Cross Station feeling dignified and adventurous.
By Amelia Millerabout a month ago in Fiction
THE LAST CARTOGRAPHER. AI-Generated.
The drones hummed overhead like mechanical wasps as Kiera pressed herself against the crumbling wall of what used to be the Seattle Public Library. In her backpack, wrapped in lead-lined cloth, was contraband worth twenty years in a reformation camp: a hand-drawn map of the Exclusion Zones.
By Alpha Cortexabout a month ago in Fiction