Script

My Grandmother’s Mirror Only Reflects the Dead
The Mirror’s First Secret I almost sold the mirror the day after Grandma Lillian’s funeral. It was an ugly thing—a heavy oak frame carved with twisting vines, the glass smoky with age. But Mom insisted: "She wanted you to have it. Said it was special."
By MUHAMMAD Abbas9 months ago in Fiction
The Iron Man of Prague
This is a play written in 2023 about a ghost in Prague. It was first performed at the ProEnglish Theatre in Kyiv, Ukraine. Characters:
By Steven Christopher McKnight9 months ago in Fiction
When Steel Learned to Dream
The first time ARI-7 saw the sky, it didn’t know how to describe the color blue. It simply logged the data: Wavelength 450–495 nanometers. Sky clarity: 97%. Radiation level: safe. Threat level: null.
By Asif Nawaz10 months ago in Fiction
💔 We Were Everything But Not Meant To Be
🌅 Chapter 1: The Kind of Love That Comes Once You know how people say, some people just feel like home? She was that. Not a place.
By FH STORYLINE 10 months ago in Fiction
The Village That Answered No One
THE VILLAGE THAT ANSWERED NO ONE Written by Haroon Bahramzai Somewhere in the fog-soaked valleys of northern Europe, tucked between two forested hills where GPS signals fade and birds fly cautiously, there once stood a village called Eld hollow.
By Haroon Bahramzai10 months ago in Fiction
Book Review: So Far Gone by Jess Walter. Content Warning.
Overview "So Far Gone," published on June 10, 2025, by HarperCollins, is Jess Walter’s eighth novel, a fast-paced, comedic yet poignant road novel set in contemporary America. The story follows Rhys Kinnick, a retired environmental journalist who, disillusioned by a polarized society and personal failures, has lived off-grid in a cinder block cabin in Washington state for seven years. When his grandchildren, Leah and Asher, unexpectedly arrive at his doorstep, fleeing their stepfather’s ties to a Christian Nationalist militia, Rhys is thrust back into the world he abandoned. The novel blends dark humor, social commentary, and heartfelt redemption as Rhys embarks on a chaotic quest to rescue his family and confront the fractured state of modern America. Walter’s signature wit and humanism shine through, making "So Far Gone" both a thrilling adventure and a reflective critique of extremism, isolation, and the search for connection.
By Am@n Khan 10 months ago in Fiction
Time is Money 💰
In the city of Chronovale, time wasn’t just measured—it was currency. Every citizen wore a sleek, silver wristband that ticked down their life’s seconds, each tick a coin spent on survival. Rent, food, love—everything cost time. The wealthy hoarded years, their wristbands glowing with surplus, while the poor scrambled, their bands dimming toward zero. Elias Kane was one of the latter, a street artist whose wristband flickered at 3 days, 7 hours, and 42 minutes.
By TrueVocal10 months ago in Fiction
Her Smile Was the Last Clue
The Girl Who Smiled at Rain It all began in the quiet town of Willowbrook, where the rain fell almost every afternoon, and the streets smelled of old books and roses.
By Muhammad Hayat10 months ago in Fiction
Rave Scripts #2: Aces
Mike Henderson, a shift manager in his thirties at the bustling Aces gambling casino, moved with urgency down a corridor lined with doors. He was searching for his friend, opening and closing each door along the way. When he finally swung open the door to the security room, he was met with an unexpected sight.
By Rave Scripts10 months ago in Fiction
The Crimson Sly and The Rum Runner's Gambit. Content Warning.
The year was 1924. Four years after the Volstead Act outlawed alcohol across the United States, crime had spread like wildfire. Gangs, corrupt lawmen, and smugglers waged silent wars beneath the surface of daily life. One of these wars erupted in the quiet streets of York, Pennsylvania, under the shadow of night.
By Rave Scripts10 months ago in Fiction
The Keeper of Forgotten Colors
The world had forgotten color when Elara was a child, the Fade stealing hues like a thief in the night. Skies turned to ash, forests to charcoal, and eyes saw only gray. Paintings crumbled, flowers withered, and the word “blue” became a myth. Elders spoke of a time when rainbows arced and sunsets burned, but to Elara’s generation, it was folklore. Yet Elara, now twenty-three, was different. She remembered. In a crumbling lighthouse on a jagged cliff, she became the Keeper, weaving colors from memories in a world that had none.Each night, Elara climbed the lighthouse’s rusted spiral stairs, her hands stained with impossible shades. In a room of shattered mirrors, her loom—a relic of bone and wire—hummed with power. She wove blue from her mother’s shawl, its sapphire folds swaying as she sang lullabies. Red came from the apple she’d stolen at seven, its juice sharp on her tongue. Gold flared from sunsets she’d chased across cliffs, their warmth lingering in her chest. Every thread cost a memory, erased forever. Her mother’s voice faded, then the apple’s taste, then those sunsets’ glow. Elara gave them willingly. The world needed color more than she needed her past.Below, the town of Graysill scoffed. “Colors?” fishermen muttered, kicking gray pebbles. “Delusions.” But children left offerings at the lighthouse—pebbles smeared with charcoal, chalk, anything resembling hue. Elara collected them, her heart aching for their hope. One stormy night, a girl slipped inside. Kiv, ten years old, with slate-gray eyes, stared at Elara’s glowing threads. “You’re real,” she whispered. “Can you make green?”Elara’s breath caught. Green was her last untouched memory: her father’s laugh, fishing on a lake under emerald pines. “It costs me,” she said, voice like sea fog. Kiv stepped closer, her small hand brushing Elara’s. “Then let me help.”No one had offered before. Elara hesitated, then taught Kiv to weave—not with threads, but stories. Kiv spoke of a kite she’d flown, its tail a ghost of green in her mind. The loom sparked, green shimmering, but Kiv’s eyes stayed gray—she couldn’t see it. “Keep telling,” Elara urged. Kiv’s voice grew bold: meadows where she’d run, limes she’d tasted, a jade pendant her mother once wore. The green thread thickened, vibrant, alive, curling like vines in the air.Rumors spread. Children crept to the lighthouse, then adults, each carrying fragments—memories of crimson roses, violet storms, amber dawns.
By TrueVocal10 months ago in Fiction
Why Not Science. Content Warning.
This was a 48-hour project. I lived in Austin & South Texas for 13 years. My friend in Austin texted me about the tyranny and theocracy that has taken over his state. THIS IS A FICTION STORY! I CREATED ALL THE CHARACTERS, METAPHORES IN THE VIDEO, AND NEEDED TO SAY THIS!
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 10 months ago in Fiction