Wilbur Greene

“Whispering Pines” by Wilbur Greene

Submitted to Contest #253

The cabin nestled in the heart of Whispering Pines stood as a testament to the beauty of simplicity. Surrounded by towering pines and kissed by the golden rays of the setting sun, it exuded a charm that seemed to whisper secrets of serenity to all who approached. The gentle rustling of leaves and the distant call of a loon on the nearby lake created a symphony of nature that was both soothing and timeless. This was a place where the world slowed down, where the burdens of everyday life seemed to melt away into the crisp mountain air. Emma an...

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“The Overenthusiastic Detective” by Wilbur Greene

In a quaint and eerily silent town, where shadows cast longer tales than the objects that birthed them, there lived Malcolm Grant, a sleuth of peculiar disposition. While the cobblestone streets echoed with tales of detectives driven by tormented pasts and unspeakable traumas, Malcolm was an anomaly in this tapestry of dark narratives. His fervour for unveiling mysteries, for delving into the enigmatic crevices of the human psyche, was not birthed from a heart scarred by tragedy but from an insatiable thirst for the thrill of the chase. Th...

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“Shadows Within” by Wilbur Greene

Submitted to Contest #215

The town of Blackthorn, draped in history and whispered secrets, sprawled out like a living relic. Cobblestone streets and gas-lit lanterns framed row upon row of gabled houses, their wooden facades gossiping of times gone by. Every resident knew each other, and every story, true or not, was passed around like a cherished heirloom. Children raced past white picket fences, urged by hushed tales of the foreboding mansion on Hawthorn Hill — its crumbling walls and overgrown ivy testifying to years of neglect. The mansion's dark windows seemed t...

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“Existential Ink” by Wilbur Greene

Submitted to Contest #208

In the quiet town of Belmont, life tended to move at its own, unhurried pace. Main Street, lined with family-owned businesses, bore silent testimony to the passage of time. The town's calendar revolved around the school games, Sunday church services, and seasonal festivities. It was a life untouched by the capriciousness of the big cities, one that thrived on routine and familiarity. At the heart of this tranquil normality were four lifelong friends - Mark, an affable mechanic who ran the local garage, Lucy, the spirited school teacher, Pe...

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“Project Genesis” by Wilbur Greene

Submitted to Contest #207

The first time I heard about Project Genesis was during a late-night, off-the-record discussion with a government insider. As I nursed my scotch, listening to the tales of a secretive lab operating under an almost mythical level of security, I couldn't help but be intrigued. The details were sketchy - a classified location, groundbreaking work that would 'rewrite our understanding of reality.' It was all tantalizingly vague. In the weeks that followed, I found myself drawn into a rabbit hole of whispers and innuendos, each hint adding anot...

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“The Ghost of Moonlit Bayou” by Wilbur Greene

Submitted to Contest #206

Nestled along the Southern fringes of Louisiana lies the deceptively serene town of Baywater. At first glance, one would mistake this place for a postcard picture of the quaint southern life—whitewashed picket fences, gentle rolling hills, and the constant chirping of cicadas that punctuated the humid air. However, those who lingered beyond the comforting veil of sunlight knew better. As the day succumbed to twilight, an unsettling aura would envelop the town, stemming from the mysterious Moonlit Bayou. The Bayou, a sprawling swamp area, was...

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“The Nightclub Epiphany” by Wilbur Greene

Submitted to Contest #199

In the murky realm of the twilight hour, pulsating neon lights gnawed at the tender underbelly of the evening sky, spreading psychedelic tendrils of orange, violet, and electric blue. Their kaleidoscopic dance threw distorted reflections onto the wet asphalt, weaving a path towards a vortex of syncopated rhythms and deep beats — the club, a modern cathedral pulsing with its own synthetic heartbeat. Here I was, a dark silhouette swallowed by the gaping maw of this techno temple. A self-portrait painted in soft hues of isolation, an alien na...

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