Decadence Stories

Short-story, excerpt, opening

the evocation of indulgence commonplace amongst consumerism.

An article about the unruly behaviors of young nurses in our public hospitals. This piece has been inspired by the way our old people are treated disrespectfully.

Politics, I hear is not an experience for the weak at heart. some people are made while some were self made. But in an hopeless situation of the political imbalance of the country of Abinsol. The people have no choice but to continue with the trend laid down by the people they looked up to as a point of emulation. Here, a journalist narrates his ordeals of survival amidst the state of pandemonium. Please vote and comment to lemme know how i'm doing with the book.

Consequences - the game in which we write a short story by passing it around a table. Each person takes it in turns to write a line. To make it more interesting, they can only see the one line before theirs. Everything else, including the opening line, is hidden until the paper is unfolded to reveal the story revealed. The prompt for this week's stories was "Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, it's..." In Creative Writing's take on the superhero genre, watch as our heroes take on a Ninja Turtle, a Puffin Lord, Donald Trump, a latex allergy, sentient sausages and Adam the Stranger. Jay Jay the Jet Plane is also there. And Luke still has a beak.

A city scorched by sun and politics. Magic folded into science. Bureaucracy wearing revolutionary masks. In this cycle of intertwined stories, characters move through eroding regimes, clandestine research, and the quiet violence of loyalty and betrayal. Gender, power, and identity blur at the edges, leaving room for irreverence, decadence, and moments of raw connection. Written in a style that balances intellectual rigor with sensual detail, this is prose for those drawn to political intrigue, queer realities, and the delicate tension between resistance and complicity. Nothing is pure. Everything matters. And sometimes, truth arrives-in capital letters.

A man grown, bonds questioned and answers found. (Inspired by "Not All Heroes Wear Capes" by Owl City) A short story that was written for a school competition.

your face like a knife

A series of hopeful/ hopeless short stories about our inner universe and the challenges we can't escape from.

Dexter Williams lived his life in search of pleasure. Seeking shadows and dust beneath the glowing facades. He saw beauty where others saw the spoiled remnants of society. He saw Andy, he saw himself, but most of all, he saw the stars at night.

This is an old piece but anywhere I post my writing I post this, it's one of my favorites. The explanation is at the bottom.

Elise begins her first year at a new school, in a new town, with the promise of a new start. But ambitions quickly crumble as she falls into her old habits; the nightmares of her past begin to materialize before her once again. Aided by a mysterious force of darkness, Elise must embrace the hideous ghosts that haunt her in order to carve a path through the weave of fate, and free her from the shackles of destiny.

Des tags, du blabla et plein d'autres trucs inintéressants :)

The seventeen-year old is Queen. She should be happy about that, right? She's not only married but she's married to the king. She's not only married but she's married to the king. She's got a husband who has money and power and rank. Someone she can honour and obey and give herself to. Someone who will provide for her as long as she stays in line. As long as she stayed quiet, stays submissive, stays without an opinion, stays calm and ladylike and (of course) beautiful. As long as she stays worthy of love, worthy of belonging, worthy of what he gives to her. The seventeen-year old is Queen. That means she has giant, ornate palaces, crystal chandeliers, hundreds of dresses, and a bunch of food she can't actually eat but can indeed stare at (fat women aren't attractive after all). The peasants, the people lower down on the hierarchy, don't have that. They don't have food, often, as the price of bread can soar too high for them to buy it. They don't have warmth in the winter, or medicine for when they're sick. What they do have is hard work. Hard work and calloused palms, calloused fingers, calloused feet. And her heart reaches out to them. But what does her heart know? It's not her place to have opinions. She has to be loyal. To her man. ... Unless... unless her loyalty truly belongs with someone else. Maybe the thing she has to be is brave.

à travers cette composition il s'agissait de traité divers thématique notamment la décadence de la société sous-couvert de "civilisation", l'ingratitude humaine, la tromperie de la croyance chrétienne, la déchéance de la communauté, et enfin la supériorité divine !

Where Namjoon finds something in their bedroom late at night. [Short story made for a class assignment] @yourspanishunnie

In the summer of 1928, the Overlook Hotel stands alone in the Colorado mountains-remote, immaculate, and deliberately unreachable. Open only a few months each year, the hotel has already earned a reputation among a certain class of guest: those wealthy enough, powerful enough, or famous enough to disappear for a while. As Independence Day approaches, a carefully curated group arrives for a private week-long celebration. Hollywood royalty fleeing the glare of studio scrutiny. Political figures eager to speak freely without consequence. Financiers, fixers, and discreet intermediaries whose fortunes depend on what is not recorded. They come by invitation, following rumors rather than advertisements-rumors of perfect discretion, unspoken indulgence, and a place where rules quietly dissolve. The Overlook promises what no city can in 1928: privacy. Prohibition does not apply here. Gambling exists behind closed doors. Affairs begin without witnesses. Deals are made without paper. And beneath the glamour of tuxedos, flapper dresses, champagne, and fireworks, something older and less easily named seems to watch from the long corridors and high timbered ceilings. Over the course of several days leading up to the Fourth of July, the guests indulge, negotiate, betray, and unravel-some discovering that the isolation they sought has sharpened their desires, while others find the mountain air brings buried impulses to the surface. The hotel does not judge. It does not intervene. It merely remembers. July 4th at the Overlook is a story about power, secrecy, temptation, and the thin veneer of civility that separates celebration from collapse. It explores how places-like people-can develop reputations, and how the promise of absolute freedom can be more dangerous than any explicit threat.

i hate to call them poems, but... this is a box of my "seven pieces of despondency." *** i just wanted to disclaim that english isn't my native language and i'm still learning, so i'm sincerely sorry for any mistakes that i could've made here. hope you understand. also i don't really like poetry and this is my first time writing something like that so... but i am trying my best <3