Edward Smith
Bio
I can write on ANYTHING & EVERYTHING from fictional stories,Health,Relationship etc. Need my service, email [email protected] to YOUTUBE Channels https://tinyurl.com/3xy9a7w3 and my Relationship https://tinyurl.com/28kpen3k
Stories (65)
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Every Sunday at 4:17
Every Sunday at 4:17 p.m., Eleanor brushes her husband’s hair. The nurses know not to interrupt. They used to ask why that time. They don’t anymore. Hospitals teach people the mathematics of grief. After a while, no one questions the arithmetic.
By Edward Smith20 days ago in Fiction
Letter To My Unborn Child
Dear child, my joy knew no constraints as I write this letter to you; my pen shook its whole body in gusto upon realizing this letter was meant for you, my writing pad wore a look of glee after being informed of the purpose of this letter, the stars glow with a smile upon my wise decision to write you, the moon hallowed my thought to ensure I do not forget a message…
By Edward Smith26 days ago in Journal
The Lantern That Learned Your Name
The town of Greywick learned early not to ask questions at night. By day it was ordinary—brick storefronts, a river that pretended not to remember what it had carried downstream, houses with porches that sagged the way old men sigh. But when dusk arrived, the town changed its rules. Lamps flickered on in windows. Doors closed. Dogs went quiet. And if you were smart, you did not linger where the streetlights thinned and the dark began to feel… deliberate.
By Edward Smithabout a month ago in Fiction
The Bloom and the Bullet
The dust doesn’t just coat your boots on Persephone Station; it gets into your soul. It’s the colour of dried blood and old regrets, and it swirls in the thin, recycled air like a ghost that won’t leave you alone. I’m Marshal Silas Rook, and my job is to keep the peace in this tin can hanging in the void between nowhere and oblivion. My peace is usually kept with a six-shooter named Widowmaker and a sawed-off shotgun called Final Argument.
By Edward Smithabout a month ago in Fiction
