Internalmonologue Stories

"I have spent my life perfecting the art of being 'fine'-a linguistic shield that ensures no one ever looks at the bruising beneath the skin." In the heart of a city that never stops breathing, I move like a ghost. To the world, I am a portrait of professional success. To myself, I am a cartographer of a soul that has lost its way, navigating a "Calculus of Loss" where the remainder is always a heavy, haunting silence. Written in vivid, lyrical prose, this is not just a story-it is a sensory descent into the internal architecture of regret. It is the anatomy of an echo, the weight of unsent letters, and the friction of a heart rubbing against a life that no longer fits. From the sterile glass cages of the skyline to the rain-slicked neon of midnight diners, Whispers in the Abyss of Solitude explores the "no-go zones" of the human psyche. It is a journey for the thinkers, the watchers, and those who know that the most terrifying abyss isn't found in nature, but in the quiet moments between breaths. A deep, introspective navigation of the self. For fans of atmospheric prose, philosophical reflections, and the beauty found within the blur.

In a world built on calculation and control, Ayanokouji believed relationships could be managed like systems-stable as long as the structure held. When Kei finds something he never learned how to give, Ayanokouji is forced to confront a truth he cannot outmaneuver: some losses are not failures, but consequences. This is a story of quiet fractures, uncomfortable growth, and the moment when letting go becomes the most deliberate choice of all.

"They all love the girl I pretended to be. Now, they can't stand the girl I've become" To the world, she was the golden child - Straight A's, a perfect smile, and a future bright enough to blind. But perfection is a heavy mask to wear, and eventually, the straps being to break. As her grades slip and her friends vanish, she realizes she has spent so much time being who everyone else wanted that she has forgotten who she actually is. This is the story of a girl who outshone the world until she finally burned out. Warning ⚠️- Suicide - Triggering words - Major character death

"He loves me, he loves me not..."

At the end of the world, a lonesome figure treks through the forest.

[COMPLETED] "The only thing I'm truly afraid of is my striding silhouette, mimicking the portraits pacing apace the path of life" A poetic story of a depressed artist's quest through madness with the guidance of a depraved angel Note: For the best possible formatting on mobile, read in landscape mode.

Tara, a girl who loves sleeping because her dreams are better than her reality but her reality doesn't let her sleep peacefully, Just existing her life hoping it will get better someday. Sagun, a boy who is rude careless, but who enjoys his life to the fullest. Tara is tired. Tired of being totally misunderstood, of hiding her thoughts, of carrying pain no one sees, but Sagun? Sagun is loved, fearless, unbothered & adventurous. When their worlds collide, It gets messy. It's slow, but It's real. It's messy. It's healing. It's a total chaos. Basically, it's just life - but with a plot.

"The spring hasn't arrived yet. The park's ponds haven't thawed. The flowers haven't bloomed. The sun, still in slumber. The only song that I can hear is that of a lonely heart. With each beat, my hands grow colder. I can no longer feel the warmth of my mother's hand in mine. What a terrible gift to remember all that you experience as an infant. Maybe it wouldn't have hurt so much if I didn't recall her. Waking up to my mother's beautiful amber eyes that outshone the sun. Her sweet touches, her silky hair. Her every word was music to my ears." A short story inspired by a prompt on reedsy.com: "Write a story about someone walking through a park on a spring evening, told only through internal monologue."

His hands tighten on the wheel, eyes glancing from the speed on his car to the heating settings to his back mirror to his radio to his side mirror and again to his back mirror to the moon no no no go back to the mirror not the moon stop thinking about the moon stop thinking stop thinking- Just. Stop.

A woman tries to escape her past, but when a journalist making a documentary comes to dig a little deeper trouble starts to stir as old family secrets are uncovered.

Hak x Yona AU A one-shot of Yona's internal monologue where she finally realizes what she fights for.

A short story about love and loss, and coping with both.

~ He knew he wasn't gay. But Joe? Joe had always been special to him. More than just a best friend. [...] He wasn't gay. They were friends. Nothing more, nothing less. Then, when Joe started dating a girl, why was he feeling that way? Why did he still feel that way? ~ My monthly contribution of writing triden fics until Trump mandate end (starting before he starts lol)

"If Hikaru dies, it will be on a rainy day, because if he's not allowed to mourn him, then maybe the sky will." Conflicting feelings that could, maybe, just maybe, lead to a potential relationship. This story is on my Archive Of Our Own account as well, under the same username.

A short story about a man whose life is a self-constructed black hole and his chance encounter with an elderly, blue-eyed wastrel. Contains: minor dissociation, minor suicidal ideation

A man struggles with two companions during a stay at his Mother's house

You're welcome for the fuckery that is my mind on constant society as if it's the weed of the FUCKING joint being passed to my fucking brain It doesn't make sense Nothing in this makes sense ((Begone wench of filth- You whore of desperation and fortitude)) I'm sorry what? ((Filth)) ((Filthy mugwump))

Vampires do not have reflections, and castles do not have hearts. But Dracula is no ordinary vampire, and Castlevania is no ordinary castle. If castles can fight, maybe they can think too. The (Netflix) series, and Adrian's childhood, told from the perspective of the castle. INCREDIBLE cover art (and art for Ch3) by Junki Sakuraba on instagram and deviantart!! (https://www.instagram.com/junkisakuraba/ , https://www.deviantart.com/junkisakuraba)

He held a worn polaroid in his hands and gently outlined the date that he never wanted to forget with his fingers. Was that day so magical? He could hear the ocean waves beating against the small pebbles of the beach and felt the fast and heavy beating of both of their hearts. He felt full, he felt loved and cared for. He felt safe and sound when icy arms wrapped around his waist, when warm lips pressed against a prickly cheek. Because the scariest part of love is that you are absolutely vulnerable to your dearest, and the person who makes your heart beat is the one who can make it go through such torments and agony that are tens and hundreds of times greater than all the happy moments that you have lived together. "Oh, love isn't there to make us happy. I believe it exists to show us how much we can endure." Hermann Hesse, "Peter Camenzind" this story is co writen with @FacelessFigure, and the cover is made by her < 3