Sometimes all you really need is a place to call home. *** Claire is lost and scared and utterly alone. Her family is in shambles after the death of her older sister Ina, and she's left to pick up the broken pieces of herself as her life heads into a downwards spiral of loneliness. Her heart leads her to 5:48, a little cafe by 33rd street, where she finds her new home. With a broken heart and a speech disability, Jasper has his heart and mouth sewn shut by the winding threads of hurt and fear. Painting and serving coffee in cafe 5:48 are one of his last few saving graces, but the smile he's been painting on himself will soon fade away as everything he's ever held dear slips away from his grasp. Ezra is out-of-sync and oddly cold by the way life has treated his young self. Abandoned by his single mother at an early age, he has grown up thinking that he is a mistake. His constant shaking hands are a reflection of what he often thinks of himself, but the delightful pastries he bakes for 5:48's customers are a reflection of what others see of him. Drew is a quirky rarity. He is a dash of loud, a pinch of exuberant, and a cup of eccentric - just like the meals he serves in the cafe as the only chef there. Behind his playful grins and outlandish clothes, however, are his jutting ribs, hollowed cheeks, and too-thin arms. Sometimes he cannot stomach being in his own skin as much as he cannot stomach food. This family has gone a long way from finding each other, and they'll be going a long way together too as reality comes catching up to them, threatening the newfound happiness they've found with each other. Secrets are revealed, pasts become presents, and lives are changed. Slowly but surely, they find their way back home. *** NOTE AS OF 08/2026: This is the old version of the story from 2012, posted in FULL. Another story that will be considered a reprise of this old version is in the works, and will be posted under the name "Hiraya House."

My parents always warned me about the drugs on the streets, but never did they say anything about ones with emerald eyes and a beating heart.

The story of Avenging Annie the Banshee. (A Creepypasta Original)

" I don't need to write a paragraph comparing your eyes to stars, or string together sentences about how your touch makes me shiver. Our love was poetic before I scribbled one stupid messy word down about you, I loved you with every bone in my body, and if that isn't poetic, I don't know what is." I screamed.

[jack gilinsky] in·som·ni·a noun habitual sleeplessness; inability to sleep. ___________________ I haven't gotten up in days. I just lay in bed, writing about all the things that we could've been And all the things we will never be. Sometimes, I don't even write. I just put the date on the top, right hand corner of the lined page and let my tears fall, dampening the paper by each droplet. I haven't eaten since you left. My mom is getting concerned, but I could see why. Her daughter is bed bound, won't eat. Can't sleep, and won't talk. It has been absolute hell since you left 2013-2015 [2014 -2015 all rights reserved ] ShaeFoster