Literary Fiction

Mira’s rental car crawled up the winding mountain road, each turn revealing another breathtaking vista of snow-capped peaks and plunging valleys. She should have felt awe, wonder, maybe even a spark of joy at the majestic landscape. Instead, a dull emptiness gnawed at her core, as it had for months now. The quaint town of Everdale came into view, a cluster of rustic buildings nestled in a high alpine meadow. Mira pulled into the gravel lot of the Pinewood Lodge, cut the engine, and sat motionless for several long moments. With a deep sigh, she finally gathered her resolve and stepped out into the crisp mountain air. ...

Zara Voss squinted at the holographic display, its ethereal glow casting dancing shadows across her face. She adjusted a dial, and the shimmering cityscape before her warped and twisted, buildings stretching impossibly tall before collapsing in on themselves like a fantastical house of cards. “Damn it,” she muttered, running a hand through her unkempt dark hair. The lab around her was a mess of tangled wires and humming machines, littered with half-empty coffee cups and crumpled notes. She’d lost track of how many hours—days?—she’d been working on this latest project. ...

The sharp clack of Mira Chen’s heels echoed through the empty school hallway as she strode toward the debate team’s classroom. Her ponytail swung in rhythm with each determined step, a metronome keeping time with her racing thoughts. Today was the day - new recruits, new season, new chance to prove herself. She paused at the door, smoothing her blazer and taking a deep breath. Show time. Mira swept into the room with a bright smile, immediately locking eyes with Ms. Holloway. The debate coach gave an approving nod as she scanned Mira’s crisp, professional attire. ...

Ava Chen stood at the edge of the construction site, her eyes fixed on the skeletal framework of steel and glass that stretched towards the sky. The wind whipped her hair, carrying with it the scent of concrete and possibility. This was her vision taking shape, her dream materializing one floor at a time. “Impressive, isn’t it?” A familiar voice cut through her reverie. Ava turned to see Dominic Reeves approaching, his silver hair tousled by the breeze. Her mentor’s presence still commanded respect, even as a part of her bristled at his sudden appearance. ...

Ava’s fingers trailed along the spines of the books, savoring the tactile sensation of worn leather and crisp paper. The familiar scent of aging pages enveloped her as she moved through the stacks, a comforting ritual she’d performed countless times over her years as head librarian. But today, a bittersweet undercurrent tainted the experience. Her gaze drifted to the notice posted near the circulation desk, its stark digital display a jarring contrast to the analog surroundings: ...

The gentle rustle of pages filled the air as Meredith Sawyer methodically worked her way through a stack of ledgers. The warm glow of her desk lamp cast long shadows across the library’s main room, now empty save for her presence. Outside, twilight settled over Willow Creek, painting the sky in muted purples and deep blues. Meredith’s brow furrowed as she tapped her pen against the open book before her. Something wasn’t adding up. She’d been reviewing the library’s financial records for hours, a task she’d undertaken hundreds of times before. But tonight, a nagging sense of unease had taken root in the pit of her stomach. ...

The wind-whipped spray stung Mira’s eyes as she peered through binoculars at the churning gray sea. No sign of the tagged fish she’d been tracking for weeks. She lowered the lenses with a sigh, her data sheets fluttering in the gale. “Anything?” called Dr. Reeves from the research vessel’s cabin. Mira shook her head, salt-crusted hair whipping across her face. “Nothing. They should be migrating through this channel by now.” ...

The steady tick-tock of dozens of clocks filled the small workshop, a symphony of time keeping perfect rhythm. Emilia Frost’s nimble fingers worked with practiced precision as she adjusted the delicate gears of a pocket watch. Her brow furrowed in concentration, she barely registered the chiming of the hour. “Emilia?” Her father’s weak voice called from the adjacent room. “Is that you, my dear?” Hastily, Emilia set down her tools and hurried to Theodore Frost’s bedside. The once-renowned clockmaker was a shadow of his former self, his skin sallow and his frame gaunt beneath the bedcovers. ...

The rhythmic hum of the photocopier filled the small alcove as Mira Chen impatiently tapped her foot. She glanced at her watch, then back at the machine, willing it to spit out her reports faster. The quarterly marketing presentation was in less than an hour, and she still needed to review the final numbers. “Come on, come on,” she muttered under her breath. “Talking to inanimate objects again?” a quiet voice asked from behind her. ...

Mira Chen stared at the blinking cursor on her computer screen, willing inspiration to strike. The sleek lines of her latest building design refused to coalesce, remaining stubbornly fragmented in her mind. She sighed, pushing back from her desk and rubbing her temples. The muffled sounds of the architecture firm drifted through her office door - phones ringing, printers whirring, the low murmur of voices discussing projects far more exciting than hers. Mira’s gaze drifted to the window, where fat raindrops streaked down the glass, mirroring her mood. ...