The Crimson Room
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- Partes 6
Trigger warning:
This piece contains themes of self-harm, emotional distress, and mental confinement.
Please proceed only if you're in the right headspace.
Feel free to skip if it may be triggering.
"The room's completely bloody. Not with blood, but it smells like it."
Trapped in a crimson room with no doors, no windows, and a corpse that looks like her - she begins to remember.
Every memory feeds the walls. Every wound writes itself into her skin.
This is not a horror story.
This is a girl's unraveling. Her remembering. Her crawling out of the dark.
A poetic, psychological short story for anyone who's ever lived too long inside their own mind.
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What Lies Within
They say you've been a patient here for months. But you don't remember anything. Not your name. Not your past. Just one thing: something is wrong. The journal on your nightstand is in your handwriting. But the entries keep changing. The only person you trust? No one else can see them. And the mirror keeps smiling back... when you're not. As reality unravels and the truth begins to surface, you're forced to ask: Were you ever a patient at all? A haunting, mind-bending thriller about memory, identity, and the terrifying cost of remembering.Concluida
Proposal of Submission - Psychic the Saga
Hello, I want to first thank you for taking the time to read my proposal, as I know that there are many others you must work through who have done the same as I; please, trust me when I say that your attention is greatly appreciated. I am messaging you today because I wish to submit a selection of excerpts taken from the series of science fiction/science fantasy stories I have written; called Psychic the Saga. I'm a former United States Marine, and a currently enrolled Aerospace Engineering undergrad at the University of Central Florida in Orlando. Over the course of the last eight years, during which the earlier stated experiences have occurred in my adult life, I have continually written the story I am now presenting for your consideration. Outside of writing as a hobby, and what was needed when submitting assignments, my only writing credential is a published engineering research paper in the European Physical Letters: 'Tailorable Twisting of Biomimetic Scale-Covered Substrate'; of which, my main contributions were that of the experimentation, and the editing/proofreading of the paper. In regards to my submission, the story of Psychic follows our trio and the rest of their friends as they fight for peace and stability within the newly unveiled realm of psychics, once hidden amongst the world for untold millennia. The statistics of Book One are as follows: word count = ~205279, page count = ~396, target audience = young/new adult (16~34 yr. of age). The reasoning behind this age range is two-fold: the concepts, morals and lessons, themes, and situations/ problems faced by the main characters are both relatable and beneficial for this age group; also yes, there is foul language, and yes there are very visceral depictions of violence. Also also (lol), I wish to give a disclaimer in terms of any romance, love, or anything else similar; I intentionally never take the story beyond anything more intimate than a kiss. So there. Sincerely, and with the utmost gratitude,Concluida
Anti-romantic
*Trigger Warning: This story contains references to grief, self-harm, and emotional distress. Reader discretion is advised.* In a world where memories refuse to fade, Suborno clings to the one person she can't let go-her sister, Sara. Frozen in time, Sara's lifeless body lies encased in glass, a chilling reminder of the day everything changed. For Suborno, it's not just preservation; it's devotion. But obsession has its price. Haunted by whispers only she can hear and driven by an unshakable need to protect Sara, Suborno walks a fragile line between love and madness. As her grip on reality begins to slip, she must confront the devastating truth behind her actions-and the toll they take on those around her. *"You smell like blood,"* the voice hisses again. Is it Sara? Or is it something darker? With each passing day, Suborno's pain transforms into something sharper, colder-a hunger for **revenge** against the world that took her sister away. But as the lines blur between justice and vengeance, she must ask herself: Is she protecting Sara... or punishing everyone else?Concluida
The Outcast
"Will you just shut up" !!!!! I shouted loudly turning towards her ,she was literally getting on my nerves now "Don't you dare shout at me...You brought me into this mess", She shouted equally loudly at me The pitch of her voice was shattering my eardrums and I was on the verge of literally killing her now.She was so tiny yet hell annoying The bulb to the patience area in my mind suddenly got switched off and I abruptly pushed her into the alley wall bringing our faces real close to both our comfort levels "Listen to me you little brat and listen good...My fuckin patience is hanging on a thin thread so if you want your annoying little self to stay alive and might I add in one piece I suggest you shut your filthy shithole" I whispered in her ear lowly making her shiver knowing already that no doubt the shiver came purely from the fear she felt from me and not anything sexual..Good....She should fear me I wasn't the one to be trusted I wasn't the one to be loved I am not a person you should take lightly I am the one you don't want to mess with I am the one you don't want to piss off if you don't want your existence to be utterly painful I am Dominick Slade And I am The Outcast......Concluida
Requiem
I woke up in a coffin. Buried alive. I remember everything. The suffocating darkness. The taste of dirt. The sound of my own, muffled screams. But the man who dug me up wasn't a savior. He was the monster who put me there. He calls himself Hawk. He's an arrogant, cold-blooded sociopath in a bespoke suit, and he just claimed me as his new... acquisition. His mansion is a pristine, glass-and-steel prison, and I am his new project. He calls it "training." I call it torture. He's a meticulous artist, and I am his new masterpiece. Every touch is a test. Every command is a lesson in degradation. Every punishment is designed to strip away the girl who was buried and forge a new, obedient doll in her place. He thinks he's in control. He thinks he's breaking me. He has no idea he's just sharpening his new favorite weapon. He wanted a pet. He's forging a viper. And this viper is learning to enjoy the taste of her master's blood. ________________________________________ A Note From the Author Welcome to The Requiem. This isn't a typical love story. This is a dark, depraved, secret-society romance. Before you enter, please be aware that this story is for readers who crave heroes who are unapologetic, irredeemable, touch-her-and-die monsters. This book is for you if you like: • A meticulous, "artist" hero who is a possessive, sociopathic stalker. • A heroine who isn't just a survivor. She's a monster . • Intense psychological "training," power-exchange, and degradation. • High-stakes, high-anxiety, and claustrophobic "buried alive" scenarios. • Angry, violent, and dubious sexual encounters. • Spanking, begging, leashes, and so much delicious humiliation. He didn't just break her. He forged her. Read at your own risk.
The Death Of Me
A girl has her problems, no matter what happens. There will always be a biological problem with a girl, even if she denies the problem’s existence. She will have your days whenever she is down. Her problems... killing her soul little by little. But she doesn’t always want the death to be apart of her. As she fights her depression, the numbers of scars rising and the blood being lost, Ever-Grace finds herself losing herself. With the departure of her friends companionship and her boyfriend’s love, will she ever be the same ever again? Will she ever be in love with herself like she used to be? With sanity ever be apart of her everyday life like it used to be? Will it come so easily like it once was...? Will anything ever be the same like it used to be or will it ever not? There are so many questions to be answered but nothing that the tendency of being answered. As time passes by with all the stupid emotion, she loses herself. She loses the love for herself that might never return. Or will it? Nothing is guaranteed. Not even the death of me.Concluida
The experiment.
They used my vulnerability against me. They used that weapon, to make me accept their stupid idea. And I of course, accepted it, I didn't even know what they were going to do. They tugged and poked and even shoved their disgusting finger in your wound, just to see you cry. To see you change. No pitty in their eyes. They just continue. They drag you around with metal chains, hit you and turn you into a experiment. But I had enough of the tugging, the clawing, the moaning, the crying and pleading for them to stop, but simply feeding them with our pain. They turned me into something, that neither do they know what I am. Their afraid of me, of my reflexes, my strength. I killed a lot of them. They say I have a cold heart, that I don't feel nothing. That's why they call me: Death -----------------------------------------************************************--------------------------------------------- Death. A teen girl, pitch black hair, black eyes, white skin. Her height is 5'8. People are scared of her, not just because of her strength but because of they way she kills. She lived in this hell hole, where they take her to rooms. Examine. Fight. She knows she won't be able to entertain them for long. She decides to run. Soul. Brown hair as mud, blue eyes as the sky. Hight 6'2. Tanned and toned body. Death's best friend in the hell hole they're in, he's as cold as she is. But shows a bit of sympathy. Well... More than her at least. He's been there for her, ever since she entered this place of crap. They're the two most feared. As some people say, they're a perfect couple. Killing. Fighting. Cold hearted creatures. Also known as D and S. Why? That's what your going to find out, joining this adventure with D and S.Concluida
The Room with No Corners
There is a moment before the dream begins where everything feels still. A breath held between worlds. In that moment, time doesn't move forward or backward-it waits. That's where I exist now. In the pause. In the static. I don't remember the exact day I started to vanish. Maybe it was slow. Maybe I was too quiet for the world to notice. They say the mind protects us from things we cannot bear. But what happens when the thing you're running from is yourself? Somewhere, there's a house that doesn't belong to any map. Its windows never reflect sunlight, and its walls curve so gently that you don't realize they're watching you. There's a girl in the mirror who looks like me, but she remembers things I don't. There's a bathtub filled with water so still it feels like a grave. There's a man I created-kind, warm, and perfectly not real. And there's a truth waiting at the end of the hallway. I'm afraid of it. But I think I've always known it. This story is not a confession. It's not a warning. It's just what happens when the silence gets too loud. And the corners begin to disappear.Concluida
They say you've been a patient here for months. But you don't remember anything. Not your name. Not your past. Just one thing: something is wrong. The journal on your nightstand is in your handwriting. But the entries keep changing. The only person you trust? No one else can see them. And the mirror keeps smiling back... when you're not. As reality unravels and the truth begins to surface, you're forced to ask: Were you ever a patient at all? A haunting, mind-bending thriller about memory, identity, and the terrifying cost of remembering.
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