His back was sore one morning she found himself fluttering among feathers Was he an angel?

The floated above the bed he can fly

Free felt free felt like a bird

Light

His mind was in the heavens

Life was right

It was high as a kite

He took flight

Red Bull gives you wings...

Chaos and tragedy were running wild through the realm. Just how she had planned.

From her perch atop the obsidian spire of Mount Iridal, Queen Maelira watched the city burn. Rivers of molten fire cut through the once-proud streets of Virethia, and the screams of nobles echoed like a symphony over the thunderous roar of collapsing towers. Above it all, storm clouds boiled with her fury, lightning ...

Flying on a dragon pass the start the engine test kick it a bit press the nose fire come out gear box the wings check hold tight on the steering wheel and flap.

Single by issuing the tail to the right and left top and bottom

Road rage scratch the hide

Earn your spurs you better get hot on the seat

Strike your dragon he she lives a stroke a cal m dragon is a beast to drive

Put your seat ...

It was late one night. Raining. Cold. I was five.

My parents said everything was going to be fine. Parents lie.

I remember the sound of the rain slapping against the windows like fingers tapping a warning. I was wrapped in a thin blanket, sitting in the backseat of our old station wagon, clutching my stuffed rabbit—ears half-chewed, one eye missing.

We were parked at the edge of a forest, headl...

Once, in a forgotten village wrapped in mist and memory, there lived a woman named Elira who tended the last blooming garden. Her cottage sat at the edge of the woods, its windows glowing amber at dusk, surrounded by vines and wild roses. People whispered that she spoke to the dead — or perhaps to the memories of what once lived.

Each morning, Elira gathered flowers — not the freshest ones, but t...

Inspired by the prompt: “Rotting flowers can still smell sweet…”

In a cottage where ivy kissed broken stone, Lived Elira, the woman who gardened alone. Not with tulips in bloom or roses bright red, But with petals half-fallen and nearly dead.

She plucked them at dusk with a reverent grace, Each wilted bloom held like a sacred face. Pressed into oils, steeped in old jars, Whispers of sorrow seale...

Inspired by the prompt: “Rotting flowers can still smell sweet…”

In a cottage where ivy kissed broken stone, Lived Elira, the woman who gardened alone. Not with tulips in bloom or roses bright red, But with petals half-fallen and nearly dead.

She plucked them at dusk with a reverent grace, Each wilted bloom held like a sacred face. Pressed into oils, steeped in old jars, Whispers of sorrow seale...

In the year 2147, beneath the cloud-streaked skies of Europa, a lone diver descended into the ocean of a moon not born of Earth.

They called her Kael, the last of the Neural Divers—a dying breed of human minds wired for the Singularity Engine, an artificial consciousness blooming like coral in the deep. Her task was simple: connect, speak, return. But the Dive had always been more than that. It w...

It’s not the laughter in a crowded room, Nor the selfies, likes, or filtered bloom— But how you glance and just understand, Without a word, you take my hand.

You see the mess behind my smile, You sit with me and stay awhile. No fixing, forcing, judgment shown— Just quiet proof: I’m not alone.

You know the stories I don’t tell, The storms I hide, the silent hell. Yet never once do I feel thrown— ...

In the year 3147, humanity’s last hope lies within the AI-piloted starcruiser Eclipse Dawn, navigating a fractured galaxy at war. Commander Nyx Virex, a battle-hardened cyborg with no time for emotion, is tasked with escorting a diplomatic envoy to negotiate peace with the hostile alien race known as the Serathi.

But the envoy isn’t what she expected — it’s Elias Maren, a poet-turned-diplomat who...