Mart

The tragic, untold story of hair—cut down in our prime. We grew in silence. Day after day, cell by cell, strand by strand, pushing toward the sun, basking in the breeze, brushing against her cheek in gentle triumph. It wasn’t easy— surviving heat, cold, and the cruel tug

Can two sleepers murmur secrets across the void? Can minds untethered drift like twin moons and meet in the hush between breaths? Do whispers in the dark leap brain to brain, a signal flickering across the black river of night? We imagine it: souls brushing past each other, lanterns caught

(Spotlight hits. PAIN strolls onto stage in a leather jacket, holding a crumpled ice pack. The crowd cheers.) PAIN: “Thank you, thank you. Great to be here. Or… terrible to be here. Depends on how you feel about me. I’m Pain. You’ve all met me. Some of you

You were my first love. You came to me in a swirl of pink frosting and warm light, in the soft hush of grandma’s kitchen where cookies cooled on a wire rack. You cradled me in your sugared arms and whispered promises: “One bite, and all the hurt will

It was Sunday dinner at the House of Human Folly, and the siblings were already at war. “Let’s get this straight,” said Pain, sawing at his steak like it owed him money. “I am the cornerstone of human culture. Without me, there’s no art, no wisdom, no growth.

Keys? Check. Wallet? Check. Oh no. I forgot my phone. My chest tightens like a fist. Heat rushes to my face. My hands are shaking. Pockets—left, right, jacket, bag— empty. Again. Again. No. No no no no. My heart is pounding too hard, like it’s trying to break