Stories tagged “psychological”

  • Memories of a crying shame.

    “Do you see me?” Her voice dared not quiver, for she would not give in. “Quiet, we shall not have this.” His face was stone cold, emotionless, yet she knew he wavered. “We? So you’ve finally acknowledged me?” H...

  • Life Choices

    The greatest things in life are the things you have created. Your children, your work, your lifestyle, your choices. You believe in them and defend them. Unless you have neglected them. Then your lack of assertiveness was your choice. Your children are...

  • The Ultima Project: Prologue (Mature)

    Dr. Stromb’s eyebrows met, “To which Asset are you referring, Mr. Smith?” The agent snuffed out his cigarette, and blew out a puff as he spoke, “Kendra Kurtz,” “She’s our best infiltrator,” Stromb said, n...

  • Your reality is your own— [part I]

    (but you can’t just choose to be sane.) . OPPOSITE IS SAME MADNESS IS SANITY LIES ARE TRUTH THIS! IS! MINDSCREW! …just pulling your leg. . There were three men. “Your reality is your own,” the first declared, and was inspired. &...

    • Posted over 7 years ago.
  • A Glance Encounter

    They pushed him into the room and closed the door. Desperately, he tried the handle. It didn’t budge. They’d locked the door. He turned and looked at the room. Concrete walls, concrete floors, a concrete ceiling that was slightly too high u...

  • Abandoned

    The room was dark, a pair of black curtains prevented any light from entering. In the centre of the room lay a patient; he was hooked up to an assortment of machines. The silence was broken only by the rhythmic beeping of a heart-rate monitor which rev...

    • Author: Ronin
    • Posted about 6 years ago.
  • Rue de Oleander

    Rue de Oleander, Kale found, was aptly named. Tree-lined, with each row house speckled with oleander of every color. It seemed a peaceful place, quaint, distinctly Parisian. Yet something in him knew that under the surface was something else. The naggi...

  • Lucidity

    I was thrown high and lucid by the bottle of painkillers in my hand; it blurred the fine line of distinction that lay between me and reality. Or perhaps that line had been blurred long ago. Now, it had become completely opaque. The rough wind battered ...

    • Author: Henjo
    • Posted almost 6 years ago.