Observations Stories

Dr. Jane arrives in London with nothing but a medical bag, an empty purse, and a house she can barely afford - number 28, Brixton Hill. On her very first night, she's dragged into the dark by a stranger in a black coat... and comes face to face with Violet Holmes: brilliant, reckless, and rumoured to be the last living connection to a detective who vanished seven years ago. Together they move into a crumbling old house. Together they get pulled into London's most guarded secret - a kidnapped boy, a family too powerful to name, and a killer who doesn't miss twice. But Violet has secrets of her own. Disguises. Disappearances. A smile that doesn't always reach her eyes. When a bullet meant for Violet finds Jane instead, one truth can no longer stay hidden: Violet Holmes is London's most famous consulting detective - and Jane has just become her Watson.

Twenty strangers awaken inside a facility with no memory of how they got there. The only way out is to survive a series of deadly games where every decision carries a cost, every mistake could be their last, and trust is the most dangerous gamble of all. As the number of survivors dwindles, unlikely bonds begin to form in a place built on fear, forcing them to choose between saving themselves and protecting the people they've come to care about. But the deeper they descend into the facility, the harder it becomes to ignore one unsettling question- If the games are only meant to decide who lives... why is someone recording every choice they make? Some truths are more dangerous than death. And sometimes... surviving is only the beginning.

【 AN INSPIRATIONAL BOOK】 Life Lessons Hidden in Plain Sight

History of time and space

poem, duh

A simple observation leads to the wondering of my mind which results in my appreciation for you. Enjoy -PjoemsIJot

My friend asked me to say nice things about her one day and I managed to postpone this exercise by assuring her I'd do so by way of a letter. This is the letter I have attached with her permission.

Yna, a charming and quiet girl, deceives and plays with the minds of people all for the sake of her own twisted pleasure, with the reason being "They all deserved it anyway". (P.S, I lwk have no clue wut I'm doing, so ye please do go easy on the criticism)

You spend enough time with another person, you end up falling for them. The observation of the mundane, everyday moments between a couple married before love that illustrates how they slowly fall for one another.

A collection of poems that I have created. Ramblings of the heart. Torment. Painful goodbyes. Heartbreaks. Or simply night musings. Celebration of life, love and death or anything in between. Added chapter banners: 14 July 2026 Copyright © 2020 - 2026. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author.

Short story I wrote while sitting down on my favorite bench.

Phillip Quinn, survivor of death, blessed with superb observation powers, and self described collector of people, is invited to Quinton Reznor's Antebellum mansion to participate in his yearly hunt for a treasure that may or may not exist. This coveted invitation is only open to a few people every year and the guests consist of memorable characters. In true mystery fashion, the host ends up deceased. Quinn once again is wrapped up in the intrigue as accusations fly and motives pile up.

Planet: Earth Mission: observe the "Humans" and how their life differs from ours. Report back to the Home Planet in 8765.81277 hours

i think a lot while i am driving to school. while i am sitting by the window in a café. while i am observing people darting back and forth, running from every directions. while i am in class. while i am laying quietly listening to my favourite song on the radio. while i am reading a book. while i am gazing at the stars. while i am laying awake at 3:00 am. i think a lot. some may say too much. thoughts come and go. sometimes colorful. other times a swirling darkness. whatever form they take, to me they are beautiful. but i tend to forget them as soon as they go. i used to keep them in a notebook with nothing but scrippled lines on the cover. but a notebook is not permanent. not public. not, well, i don't know. so i start this, a book, something for myself and my ego. something for my like-minded, too. and most importantly, something for all the little things that went by without receiving as much recognition that they deserved. something like a remembrance.

I started working at a community library a year or so ago. I started writing about the library on my second day. The odd characters - both patrons and volunteers alike, the fight to keep our doors open and Mr Big Business upstairs away from our little space, the odd notes found in donated books, and of course, the ghosts, were grist to my writing mill. And now, after everything that's happened, I think my notebook notes need to be read by someone other than myself. Someone else needs to know about the Library.

This here is a poem about life, focusing on the constants of the day, the year, and how a writer tries to see and ultimately derive pleasure from his/her observations.

~Writings ~Rants ~Letters ~Short Stories ~Observations