Surrealism Stories

A corridor that eats. A boy who cries for others. A girl made of clocks. Two teenagers wake in a living hallway that feeds on their pain. One feels everything. One feels nothing. Both are breaking. Stitched eyes. Ticking skin. Walls that breathe. Memories that leak. They've met 100,000 times before. They don't remember. They'll meet 100,000 times again. They won't forget. This is not a love story. This is a digestion.

A collection of poems I wrote so that it would leave me alone. Some of these should have stayed in my head Read if you're not afraid to feel something.

In the quiet, federally-approved suburb of "The Gardens," Eli Peterson's life is a masterclass in predictability. He wears the same khaki uniform, drinks the same instant coffee, and pressure-washes his driveway with a devotion that borders on the religious. In a world of gray-beige houses and identical mailboxes, Eli is safe. Eli is normal. But Jennifer, the woman at 416 Evergreen Lane, is an anomaly. Jennifer is a cartographer of places that don't exist. Armed with a brass theodolite and shimmering parchment, she maps the "Subliminal Sea" and the "City of Forgotten Names" right across Eli's manicured lawn. When the boundary between Eli's mundane reality and Jennifer's impossible territories begins to "glitch," Eli is forced to confront a devastating truth: his perfect life might just be a gilded cage, and the woman he's drawn to might be the very system designed to keep him inside. In a reality where every sunset is programmed and every lawn is a lie, can you ever truly find the edge of the map?

What happens when reality surrenders and time itself rots away? A group of survivors from different eras awakens at The Farm-a place where the rules are dead and memory is the only currency. Here, the path isn't walked; it is compiled. PANDEMONIUM is the testament that trauma isn't meant to be worshiped, but transmuted into a broken world that the system cannot detect. Written under the logic of code and the pulse of the Grimdark.

This isn't just a book; it's a structural rebellion. This is an anthology of experimental fiction designed to challenge how we consume stories. From a protagonist who realizes they are being deleted in real-time to a mystery where the clues are hidden in the page numbers, each entry dismantles a different pillar of traditional writing. Expect narratives that move backward, dialogue that speaks directly to your inner monologue, and plot twists that happen outside the margins. It is a journey for the reader who is bored with the "beginning, middle, and end" and is ready to see what happens when the storyteller stops playing fair.

Some frequencies are meant to remain dead air. It is October 1998, and Arlo Banks is suffocating in a purgatory of yellowed plastic, stale marijuana smoke, and the claustrophobic sub-basements of Channel 8. As a night-shift archival assistant and a functional burnout, Arlo escapes his mundane reality by abusing heavy strains of marijuana and diving deep into early internet lore and urban legends. When his passive-aggressive manager writes him up for unauthorized napping, Arlo retaliates by raiding a condemned sub-basement and stealing a sealed box of VHS tapes. He hopes to unearth a profitable piece of lost media to boost his reputation on the message boards. Instead, he brings home a biological puppet. The tapes contain The Happy Hollows, a rumored "Holy Grail" of lost media. But the broadcast does not stay on the screen. The footage begins to mimic Arlo's reality on a delay-a delay that is rapidly shortening. Arlo initially relies on the "Stoner Defense," rationalizing the bizarre events as weed-induced paranoia, hallucinations, or an elaborate prank. But the physical world begins to rot. His environment mutates into a tactile nightmare of "Damp Plush". Glass softens into gelatin , blood thickens into strawberry preserves , and human flesh takes on the texture of distressed velvet. Hunted through infinitely stretching hallways by a towering mascot named Uncle Corduroy and a swarm of Clay-Kin, Arlo must navigate the collapsing boundary between reality and the broadcast. He has to sever the signal before the frequency overtakes him entirely, transforming his own anatomy into polyester stuffing and rusted wire.

Just a surrealist angst that I tried to write.

In the dreamscape, death has a bone-chilling permanence and reality's rules bend and twist in a realm of breathtaking magnificence and gut-wrenching uncertainty. Kiyoshi-Kiyo-sees this otherworldly world as more than just a dream; it's a second life, a place where he lives and breathes, only to awaken each morning with his memory erased, the events of the night lost to the void. Kiyo must discover the secrets of the dreamscape before it consumes him completely and makes the escape permanent as the line separating his dreams and reality blurs.

Everything was white. White was everything. All he could see were his hands, floating in an infinite pool of white, and the piece of paper with light grey ink he could barely read. Scrawled across in perfectly lettered cursive were five words: "You are prohibited from existence." --------------------------------------------------------------------- Virgil Bard has been sentenced for a crime he didn't commit. Murder. Not just any murder, however, the murder of the President of Scrya. The true nature of the homicide remains unknown. Due to this, blame has fallen upon petty thief who ended up in the wrong place, in the very wrong time. Will he be able to find his way out of the void he has been stuck in? Will he be able to clear his name? Read to find out.

"A warrior no one remembered, who survived a war no one knew." In this introspective tale we see a lost soul set on a path very few have endured, and fewer have come out retaining their sanity. With nothing but his own will supporting him, will he be a pillar others aspire to reach, or become a grave all choose to avoid?

This is a story about unconventional individuals. It might seem somewhat funny that a word whose root and etymology derive from "indivisible" ends with "dual". This reflects the very chaotic and uncertain nature of all things. The individuals depicted here often struggled to face, embrace, or accept their own duality. This is a story about travels. One could ask which story is not, and that would be a very fair question. So let me rephrase: this is a story about unexpected travels. The kind where the destination is unknown, the outcome unpredictable, and the events uncertain. It is also a story about flying away. Flying away deeper and further into the silky comfort of a blank yet doubtful future, which can only be better than the mistakes of the past. Why do people start travelling? There are as many answers as there are individuals, if not twice as much. A dichotomy between the various reasons easily emerges, even though they often combine into a weird blend: necessity or desire, compassion or revenge, regrets or hope. I often remember the story of my friend E. as he used to tell me, before he was driven away by his own obsessions. - Updated weekly

a second art book

Luna and Solar seem to have stumbled upon something outside of reality itself. With the help of the eccentric rebel Alan Wells, they go up against a terrifying dictator, bureaucracy and their own minds to defeat the evil Mark, undo the Zone of Nothingness's infuriatingly strict censorship laws, and get home.

'The Land of the Dead'... That is the name given to the afterlife of those who have had their very lives snatched away, taken unfairly from the cruel world and a life that was once promised. But as death claimed their souls so mercilessly, a new. bizzare life bloomed. A second life, a second world, and a second chance at existence. And within this world of ghosts lies a small but marvelously fascinating and terribly odd town where Remie Oddie, a young, strange girl owns her magical teashop where wonders never seize and monotony simply has no space for existence.

In a world suspended between existence and oblivion, what does it mean to truly be?

"In a world where reality frays at the edges, a masked boy slips into his imagination. Church organs play backwards, toys are carved from knives, and a new phobia - anthroclaoustrophobia, the fear of soulveil - takes root. With only two characters, this surreal horror explores queerness, identity, and the fragile line between memory and madness. Inspired by haunting music but wholly original, this story blurs the boundary between nightmare and dream, inviting readers into a faded, eerie world where nothing is certain and everything is unsettling."

"We all left the scene of the crime, committed by death, with stony faces. Every man glancing at another, before withdrawing into our individual abode of thoughts to begin a service of silence, probably for the dead man. The realization that the man with the smile could have been any of us made the silence heavier, the fact that we shall meet the same fate one day fueled the silence as we journeyed on" Reality is the only thing that is real. A collection of vividly descriptive short stories, presenting reality and the mind

There is another dimension beyond that which is known to fictional characters. A collection of short stories, poems, snippets, vignettes, and everything else that crosses my mind and has no place in my current publications, or is waiting in the wings to find its forever home. Here is either where ideas are born, or where they go to die. We will be cruising at an altitude of morally dubious. The time is lost. The weather is sarcastic with a high chance of misdirection. Please, sit back, fasten your seatbelts, and enjoy the ride. Just know, there will be turbulence, and there is a shortage of chairs.

The ramblings of the tired [Words: 1,369]

To sick my soul, as sin's true nature is, Each toy seems prologue to some great amiss: So full of artless jealousy is guilt, It spills itself in fearing to be split -Hamlet (4.5)