Living Untethered Novels & Stories

“Because being unconscious for hours is not a crime.” Alex let out a sharp, humorless scoff. “Oh, you’ll see it for yourself.” His hands trembled, not slightly, but enough that his phone nearly slipped from his grip. He caught it just in time, jaw tightening as he unlocked it. For a second, he hesitated, like he wasn’t ready to relive what he was about to show. Then he turned the screen toward them. The video played, and silence fell. It was heavy and suffocating as

Gentry went completely bankrupt. In the end, they rented a small, dilapidated apartment in the city's old quarter. With them was William, whose trauma now left him prone to bouts of uncontrollable outbursts. Every month, without fail, I would transfer 1,500 dollars to their bank account to provide them with basic support. I wasn't that heartless, so I didn't make them write apologies before they could spend the money. I only deducted half of that month's money if they tried to pressure me into acknowledging them as family. After a few rounds of this, they finally stopped insisting.

The community center, which had once been her sanctuary, was now just another place that had let her down. Nysaa arrived at Dr. Ruiz's home, her heart heavy with the burden of her predicament. The house, usually a place of comfort and solace, felt strangely empty without her therapist's presence. Nysaa made her way to the living room and slumped onto the couch, clutching the termination letter tightly in her hand.

“Then we protect the child anyway. Because no matter what, you survived. And they survive. And that’s all that matters right now.” Ruby clung to him, letting her sobs shake her body. Her mind raced, fragments of the last few days spinning together Dante’s gas, the loss of one baby, the surviving one, the testing, the ambiguity. It was a nightmare she couldn’t wake from. Dante moved closer, deliberately, each step measured. “It’s funny, isn’t it? How fragile life is… how fragile you are.” His gaze swept over her, almost caressing the fear he invoked. “Kelvin fights and shields, yet none of it changes the fact that you are… vulnerable. That the tiniest uncertainty can destroy him, destroy you…

Antonia slowly lowered the phone, her hands trembling as she stared at the blank screen. She had been completely abandoned by her closest ally, left utterly defenseless against the storm waiting for her just outside the office door. Antonia paced the floor of her office, her mind racing at a frantic speed. Think. There has to be a way out. There is always a way. In every corporate takeover, every complex contract, and every impossible negotiation, there was always an answer. There was no way she would let her precious life, her autonomy, and everything she had meticulously built be seized like this.

he said. “No,” she agreed. “I just needed to know I could stop.” They began to build rituals not routines meant to optimize, but habits meant to anchor. Evening walks. Unscheduled mornings. Shared meals without screens. Moments of quiet connection that didn’t need to be named. ************************************************************** One afternoon, Lena wrote a single sentence in her notebook: I am not moving toward my life anymore. I am standing inside it. She closed the book and didn’t feel the need to add anything else.

He felt the weight of the question settle into his nature. Beth's shape flickered as he processed and calculated. He was struggling with something that was hard to categorize. "They call themselves the Unbound, " Veth said. "Beings who escaped the wounds pulled before reality stabilized enough for the network to form. They have existed in the void between dimensions watching and waiting. They observed the infrastructure grow from a distance they could not bridge." Arbiter Stross moved forward. His ancient form carried the alertness that came from recognizing something in the communication. "The Unbound " he repeated. "I have heard whispers of beings. Those who fled when the wound opened and

The wrongness that had lived in this ground for weeks began draining out of it, not all at once but steadily, the way a held breath finally lets go. The network went quiet. Not empty. Not broken. Just still, in a way it had never been since the binding. All twenty-three of us present, connected, breathing. Anders stood beside me in the dirt and neither of us moved for a long moment. I did not look at what was behind us. I looked at the ground where the seventh thread had been, and I thought about territory and grief and the particular kind of purpose that only comes from carrying something long enough to finally know where to put it down.

It was about becoming something that could survive after it. One evening, as they sat together watching the city lights flicker on, Nathaniel spoke without prompting. “I don’t feel finished,” he said. “No one ever is,” Lillian replied. “But I feel… grounded,” he continued. “Not because things are stable. Because I’m not disappearing inside them.” She reached for his hand. “That’s the work.” He squeezed back, the gesture unguarded. Reconnection, he realized, was not a spark. It was alignment. The quiet, persistent choice to remain accessible even when retreat felt easier.

Why do I act like all is fine, When it has never been? Dear me, what's happening? Life is beautiful sometimes, Other times really harsh. Sometimes a bed of roses, Other times a house of thorns. Too conflicting sometimes Dear me, I'm in a world, I didn't even choose. Told to do things, I have no say in. Told to act in ways, They want me to. Is it really my life or theirs? Dear me, who am I really? Tyler Stuart's Abandoned Journal