fabiochiu/medium-articles huggingface dataset:
Breakfast First!
By: Harish Maddukuri
Tags: Breakfast, Habit Building, Health, Lifestyle, Short Read

It is very important to start the day with the right energy to better face physical and mental commitments. Working, studying, and following all the commitments that the hectic life imposes on us without energy makes us nervous and inefficient.

In the morning, our body also needs to integrate the nutrients that have depleted during the night fast and to promote physiological hormonal stimuli.

A balanced breakfast should provide about 15% -20% of the daily calories and should be composed of all the macronutrients: proteins, carbohydrates, lipids, fibers from fresh seasonal vegetables (fruit or vegetables), accompanied by good hydration.

The choice of a sweet or savory breakfast depends both on personal preferences, but also on any metabolic needs. For example, in the case of impaired blood sugar, it is a good suggestion to consume a salty breakfast rather than a sweet one to keep the postprandial glycemic peak under control, thus allowing good insulin management.

Here are some ideas for nutritious breakfasts and according to the canons of healthy eating. They are simple breakfasts that take a few minutes to prepare.

The Sweet Breakfast

Below you will find alternatives to shortbread biscuits and snacks, which are only commonly used foods, but which contain many sugars and hydrogenated fats.

The suggestions that I propose instead are based on healthy foods that will make you feel satisfied, energetic, and full for longer.

Porridge with oat flakes and oat drink, dried fruit, a seasonal fruit, a cup of tea, coffee, or barley. Wholemeal rusks with ricotta, a seasonal fruit, dried fruit, a cup of barley, tea, or coffee A slice of apple pie with wholemeal flour, a seasonal fruit, extra dark chocolate, dried fruit, and a cup of barley, coffee, or tea Wholemeal flour scone stuffed with fresh ricotta, fruit compote, a seasonal fruit, tea, coffee, or barley Wholemeal biscuits, seasonal fruit, and cappuccino with vegetable drink

The Salty Breakfast

If we overcome some preconceptions that bind us to start the day with something sweet, then the savory breakfast will be very satisfying and satiating.

A slice of wholemeal bread, extra virgin olive oil, oregano, citrus juice, a cup of tea, coffee, or barley. A toast with wholemeal bread, wild smoked salmon, a seasonal fruit, a cup of tea, coffee, or fruit infusion Savory spinach pancakes, a spoonful of ricotta or cottage cheese, a seasonal fruit, and a cup of green tea A slice of wholemeal bread, a scrambled egg with herbs or cinnamon, and a cup of red fruit tea A slice of rye bread, a few slices of bresaola, a seasonal fruit, a cup of tea, coffee, or barley.

While these tips aren’t a substitute for guidance from a nutritionist, they can be a starting point for improving your lifestyle. They then become extremely effective when integrated into a nutrition plan prepared by the professional.

Hope you’ve learned something useful and one or two items from the above breakfast list may start your day with extra energy.
An Invisible Audience
By: Valentina Tuha
Tags: Short Story, Self, Fiction, Trauma, Short Read

Speaking only when no one is around.

Image by Vladimir Fedotov from Unsplash

When she was alone, there was no silence.

Almost never.

The moment she went for a walk, started cooking, or just sat back in a living room with her eyes staring at the night dark…

She started talking.

To herself.

To the people, she was imagining.

Once to a friend. Then to an interviewer. Then to the audience. To her mother. Or people she never really met in person.

The speech, usually stuck deep inside her throat, was flowing freely.

As if one was changing the TV stations.

Click. Click. Click.

So many thoughts.

So many potential endings of the situations that have never happened.

Thoughts that could help many, but never dared to beat the walls of her own censorship.

The doors of the room have opened.

Someone stepped in.

And her speech fell into the silence again, drawing in the words of others only.
The First Christmas Letter
By: Cindy Shore Smith
Tags: Relationships, First Christmas, Humor, Short Read, Christmas

CHRISTMAS

The First Christmas Letter

The virgin mother could use a little comfort and joy

Photo by Chris Sowder on Unsplash

Dear Family,

We made it here to the City of David but, let me tell you, a three-day donkey ride in the final stages of pregnancy has got to be one of the worst ways to travel.

Why couldn’t they send out census-takers instead of making everyone go through this insanity? Joe says governments like to see people follow orders, stand in lines and fill out forms. We haven’t agreed on a lot this trip but I think he’s got something there.

We got lost twice but could we ask for directions? Oh no! Joe thinks he’s got some kind of God-given sense of direction. Please, buddy. Be grateful for the carpentry skills and let other people handle logistics.

Speaking of plans, we got here and — no surprise — the hotels are all booked. Reserve ahead, I said. But no, Mr. God-Will-Provide said we would find something. We ended up in some sort of barn and I’m trying to bite my tongue but this place is a dump.

Time for the big news! I went to sleep the other night and in the morning — boom — there’s a baby! I don’t remember any of it but Joe says I was a champ. Jesus, we’re calling him, maybe Jeez for short. He is so sweet and quiet. I could do without these filthy sheep breathing on him but we’re making the best of it.

I’m not sure how anyone can sleep in this part of the world with the brightness of the star overhead. And don’t get me started on the all-night concert. Heavenly host, they call it, but surely the Creator knows we need our rest.

Some shepherds stopped by to “worship” little Jeez but I’m pretty sure they’d been drinking and meant to go someplace else. Later, three professors brought gold and some other useless gifts (We need another donkey, eggheads, not myrrh, whatever the heck THAT is!) I guess it’s the thought that counts.

Joseph had a dream about us going to Egypt instead of heading back home. Wish me luck talking him out of this nonsense because I just want to sleep in my own darn bed.

Hopefully I’ll see you all very soon. Love, Mary
Breathing Again
Tags: Poem, Genius In A Bottle, Poetry Writing, Poetry, Short Read

A little over a month ago, my wife and I contracted COVID-19. It was a hell of a battle, both physically and psychologically. I tried to describe how it feels to essentially be more of “myself” lately — breathing again, literally and figuratively. Stay safe, everyone. As always, thank you for your time.
Waiting
By: Darius Butkevicius
Tags: Toilets, Short Read, Ramblings, Prose Poem

Photo by Bekky Bekks on Unsplash

I had enough. It is the end, how much longer I can take? I am waiting, I am patient but it has its limits, too! I’ll wait a bit longer! Why it takes so long? What is going on?

That’s it, I am going in I can not wait!

As soon as I said these words, the door opened up! The guy left the toilet and I am running in!
Lost Hour
By: Valentina Tuha
Tags: Short Story, Philosophy, Fiction, Short Read, Life

Lost Hour

Image by Peter Lawrence from Unsplash

Or isn’t it?

Sitting on a train…looking out of the window…

Traveling.

Moving somewhere.

It seems like the lost hour.

Filled with boredom. Thoughts. Annoyance.

But isn’t it actually the most important hour of all?

Without that hour, nothing would have happened. Nothing would have changed.

No place would be changed.

One hour…

How much can we do in one hour?

How much can we…lost in one hour?

How much can one hour a day improve life?

Or how much…can that one hour, seemingly lost forever, change everything, if it’s repeated often enough.
The Plant, The Magazine, The Plastic Figurine and The Table Light.
By: Darius Butkevicius
Tags: Short Read, Creativity, Ideas, Unsplash

Photo by James Pond on Unsplash

This is all that he possessed. The prisoners were allowed to have four things- those were his four things.

Read here if you would like to find out what is going on here.
Cava and Cunnilingus
By: Jupiter Grant
Tags: Cunnilingus, Oral Sex, Sex, Erotica, Short Read

Cava and Cunnilingus

Photo by Taras Abbat on Unsplash

Bubbles.

The sweet tingling liquid bites my flesh as you slowly pour your cava over my exposed cunt. It tickles my clit, before running down my slit and mixing with my own ambrosia to froth, to fizz, to flavour me, ready for the hungry onslaught of your salivating mouth.

You lap the sticky residue from my buttocks and inner thighs. Which is alcohol, and which is arousal? They are one and the same, blending and coalescing, sweetness meeting salt.

Sucking intoxicating froth from my luscious fruit, you seem to seek drunkenness inside my sex. As though you have been lost for days in a barren desert, my cunt has become your oasis. Your respite, your replenishment, your resurrection.

Drink from me. Yes, devour and drown in me. Taste the sweet wine of my silky slick, and lose your sobriety in the frothy folds of my flavoursome flesh.
Being Popular: You’ve Got It, or Ya Don’t
By: Jean Campbell
Tags: Attention, Poetry On Medium, Popularity, Childrens Books, Short Read

SHORT READS

Being Popular: You’ve Got It, or Ya Don’t

Photo by Joshua Fernandez on Unsplash

I am not, and have never been, popular. On days when my hair is buoyant and I remember to smile, I squeak by as likable.

It would be all too easy to sink into a morass of resentment over this fact. But I will never give up trying (and maybe that’s why I’m not popular?)

Until recently, I didn’t care. But lately I am mystified, much like one of my fave Medium writers, Michael Burg, MD, as to how to become popular. Is there a science to it. Can Dr. Seuss help?

Is there anything Dr. Seuss can’t help with?
Magic
By: Grace Russell
Tags: Short Read, Motivation

Learn more. Medium is an open platform where 170 million readers come to find insightful and dynamic thinking. Here, expert and undiscovered voices alike dive into the heart of any topic and bring new ideas to the surface. Learn more

Make Medium yours. Follow the writers, publications, and topics that matter to you, and you’ll see them on your homepage and in your inbox. Explore
Coldest Case Solved but the Murderer Can’t Be Found
By: Josie Klakström
Tags: Cold Case, Colorado, History, Short Read, True Crime

Coldest Case Solved but the Murderer Can’t Be Found

Peggy Beck via The Denver Post

On the 18th of August 1963, Margaret ‘Peggy’ Beck was getting ready to spend her last night at the five-day Girl Scout camping trip in the Pike National Forest in Colorado. She was now a counsellor, and this was her first time looking after younger scouts.

The 16-year-old’s tent mate, Claudia was ill with a cold that night, so she opted to spend the final evening in the warm infirmary instead, as to not make her sickness worse. Peggy slept alone in the tent, 30 feet away from the 24 scouts and three adult chaperones.

The next morning, the scouts were due to head home, and the girls began to pack up their gear. When Peggy didn’t get up for breakfast, Claudia unzipped the tent to wake her and found Peggy still in her sleeping bag, dead.

At first, it was thought that Peggy had died from natural causes, but as the day went on, fingertip bruises began to appear circling her neck and it was soon apparent that she had been murdered. She had also been sexually assaulted.

The police had no suspects and Peggy Beck’s case soon went cold.

In 2007, a DNA profile was created from evidence left at the crime scene and it was entered into CODIS. It wasn’t until 2019 that a full profile was made from the DNA sample and it was sent for genealogy testing at United Data Collect.

This year, it was announced that the DNA sample matched to James Raymond Taylor, who was 23 years old at the time of Peggy’s murder and would be 80 years old now. The family member who helped identify Taylor, told investigators that his last known whereabouts was in Las Vegas, but he hadn’t been seen since 1976.

James Raymond Taylor in 1961 via metrodenvercrimestoppers.com

At the time of Peggy’s murder, Taylor had been living in Edgewater, Colorado with his family, where he worked in an electrical repair shop. He didn’t have a link to the camp or Peggy so he may have happened upon the group of Girl Scouts by chance.

Peggy Beck’s murder is now 57 years old and police have identified her killer but the case is about to go cold once more. Now, it’s up to web sleuths and armchair detectives to find him. There is a recent reward of $2,000.

Anyone who has information on James Raymond Taylor should contact the Jefferson County Sheriff’s Office tip line at 303–271–5612 or call Metro Denver Crime Stoppers at 720–913-STOP or visit metrodenvercrimestoppers.com.
What! You can 3D print rockets? 🚀
Tags: Startup, Technews, Short Read, Space Travel, Technology

Here are 3 Startups that caught my attention in the past week 👇🏾

Relatively Space is taking 3D printing to infinity and beyond quite literally. Startup Rocket printer Relatively space is set to revolutionize the way rockets are traditionally made. Relatively space use of 3D printing is to allow for cheaper construction costs as well as making it a lot faster to build them. Of recent, it has raised a grand total of 500 million, and that’s just before it has even sent anything to space. The first orbital rocket is set to take off in late 2021.
It’s tempting, but…
By: Valentina Tuha
Tags: Relationships, Sex, Love, Short Read, Crisis

It solves nothing. Diagnosis: crisis.

Image by Gaelle Marcel from Unsplash

It’s tempting…

One is trying not to think about it all the time…

Not to react to all those distractive thoughts…

Trying to let the sensation pass without any action…

But the primal brain never gives up easily.

Keeps thinking of…

That promise of pleasure, intertwined with the feeling of connection…

No words needed…

Just the fragments of sighs, expressing what the body is unable to say silently…

The private music of two, that add up to the intensity….

And yet, nothing happens.

In reality, he just passes by.

Something is out a tune…and I am about to explode.

Desiring to touch him, undress him, let the body speak for itself…

Let the two apart to be united…

But some door is closed. There is a barrier.

Something doesn’t flow.

My inner fire keeps burning…and instead of spreading its heat, it keeps burning me from inside out.

And that’s dangerous.

I have already burnt that way before…and the results were disastrous.

Sometimes it is something else that has to be lit within ourselves…just to bring more light for us to see what truly hurts… and to enable us to see that extinguishing the fire which is burning the most, never provides the answer or the true remedy anyways.
In The Shadow Of The Century Ships
By: John Bacus
Tags: Dystopian, Science Fiction, Short Read, Poetry

Down below in the hovels of the Martian wastes

Young eyes gaze upon the grand cylinders

The Arks of humanity turn as ambivalent eternity gazes westward

Dots of small ships rise out of the ground to join the great exodus

Some will stay some will go

Old men thumb through the pages of the ancient Earth long gone

Some knew what the Ocean was

Some knew the touch of moss and bark

Some remember animals and people and places

Most know only red rock and soil

Young eyes look up as the cylinders disappear into the Void never to return

We will make this our Earth some will dream

Humanity Soldiers on

Manifest Destiny of the Cosmos

Tiny machines will sift through our bones on many worlds

Tiny machines will intercept our dispatches

Tiny machines will never understand
Where Is My Donkey?
By: 𝘋𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘢 𝘊.
Tags: Short Story, Writing, Creativity, Energy, Short Read

Happy Thanksgiving, Know Thyselvers!

You already know this, but please remember to be grateful for something with every opportunity (you create these opportunities). I have an app that reminds me to take a few moments and write down what I am grateful for each day. I have been doing it for 225 days in a row. Strangely enough, it is the only thing I have managed to remain consistent with…

Yes, we have yet another donkey story to touch upon that I hope you will enjoy. Your feedback is always welcomed and highly appreciated! I only have 2 more stories to share with you and then we will change Storytelling Thursdays to something else. Probably quotes/really short parables. We’ll see how we feel!

If you choose to submit something in response to this week’s story, please make sure to tag it under “storytelling”. Cheers!
The Story of Noface
By: Darius Butkevicius
Tags: Short Story, Loneliness, Fiction, Short Fiction, Short Read

Photo by Krisztian Matyas on Unsplash

The Story of Noface

Everybody at work knew who is but if you asked them to describe him no one would have been able to do it.

Anything he said went unnoticed, anything he did was ignored. He never was invited to staff parties, no one laughed at his jokes(there were not many jokes said), nobody knew his family story.

One day Noface didn’t come to work- no one noticed. One week past he still was absent-no one noticed.
#fiction #medium Short story
By: Darius Butkevicius
Tags: Mini Fiction, Fiction, Clockwork Orange, Short Fiction, Short Read

Scooter Bandits

Photo by Issy Bailey on Unsplash

Dark, wet October evening.No one’s around, just me and my dog. I am with my thoughts, chaining my dog to a post as the shop owner won’t allow my dog to come in. (my dog is more human than the shop owner).

I started to feel uneasy, some bad feeling past my heart, I lifted my head and saw two guys on scooters rolling towards me. ( let’s call them- Tall and Bearded). I looked at the Bearded- he had eyes of a killer. I looked at Tall-eyes of a thief.

They reminded of me “Clockwork Orange” gang- a mean bunch of kids.

The dog barked, Bearded pull a knife out of his pocket, Tall unwind a chain of his scooter. The dog was my tool of the defence.

The bandits looked at me and the dog smiled and told us to get lost as it was not our war to fight.

We crossed the road and waited to see what is going to happen. Bearded and Tall walked into the shop, soon after I heard screaming and shots, doors of the shop opened up and someone walked out clinching his guts out falling out of his stomach. Next- flames and black smoke inside the shop. More shots, more screams. Explosion, black smoke and flames.

I feel for the shopkeeper, I didn’t like him but know I feel sorry for him. No one deserves to die like that, even those who don’t like dogs.
When the Ice Age Ends
By: Zane Dickens
Tags: Flash Fiction, Environment, Fiction, Pentina, Short Read

When the Ice Age Ends

Photo by Alto Crew on Unsplash

“Let’s join hands, close our eyes, and bow our heads.”

The survivors shuffled out of the bunker as they obeyed.

“We must remember and be grateful.”

They frowned and nodded.

“Feel the warm sunlight on our faces. Hear the birdsong.”

He saw knowing smiles.

“And see, the ice has melted.”
Camel
By: Darius Butkevicius
Tags: Short Story, Nonsense, Fantasy, Humor, Short Read

Photo by Yeo Khee on Unsplash

I never have seen a camel. Well, I have seen them on a screen but never seen them in flesh.

Are they the toughest animal there is? Crossing deserts whilst dogs barking.

Why there are dogs in a desert? are they not thirsty?

I understand camels, they have where to store the water, but dogs-why are they there? poor dogs, no wonder they bark at the camels-who wouldn't.

And that’s how the story goes-” the dogs bark, and the caravan moves on”.
I Came to a Spork in the Road
By: Rick Post
Tags: Short Read, Funny, Short Fiction, Humor

I came to a spork in the road.

It was a roundabout.
Pathogen
By: Sami Shah
Tags: Short Story, Microfiction, Coronavırus, Short Fiction, Short Read

The virus wasn’t created by China.

They say it started in a market where you can buy bats and pangolins as easily as we buy chicken and pork. It did not.

They say it was created in a laboratory; scientists cocooned in plastic, accidentally-on-purpose releasing it under the orders of a government plotting to ruin the world just enough.

None of that happened.

The virus isn’t caused by 5G towers either. A biological infection isn’t travelling on radio frequencies in the 30–300 gigahertz range, because that would be impossible. The only damage 5G towers can cause you is with how much faster they stream the horrors of the world to the screen in your hand.

The virus wasn’t created by billionaire technologists. It wasn’t a ruse to get you to hide in your home while an American president sent secret armies into underground tunnels to free children trapped in pedophile rings.

None of that is true. I know it isn’t because I know where the virus came from. Where it truly came from.

I made it. I developed it and I grew it and I released it into the world. I knew it would be just lethal enough to create a lockdown, and not lethal enough that it would kill me.

Or you.

That’s all I wanted. More time with you. But you left anyway.

And now I’m sitting here alone, the world trapped with me.
An Aloof Spirit
By: Lady Foxx
Tags: Short Read, Personality Types, Personality, Illumination

An Aloof Spirit

Photo by Mariam Soliman on Unsplash

The fact that a person appears not to be afraid of getting hurt or of pain does not make that person heartless or sadistic. It actually is a trait of people who have been let down a lot and who have come to expect hurting and pain as much a part of the reality of living. They are the ones who take chances with trusting new acquaintances , you find them willing to take risks with others for they have accepted the reality of human interaction as not always smooth and rosy.

These persons also you will find, are very forgiving and highly successful in life and in relationships. This being due to the fact that they understand pain, hurting and have learnt to navigate them in beautiful and forgiving ways. Never assume that such persons are unfeeling, rather realise that they have big hearts and have been most likely disappointed so much in their lives by people anyone would have least expected.

For them, every relationship new or old is a second chance of either getting hurt or finding bliss; yet they have the courage to actually take the step. They speak their minds and seldom hold back honest criticism, because they know it’s more painful to water down the truth. When they love, they are genuine and accepting of flaws and all. They are like soldiers in body and spirit; dauntless and forward ever in their march. If you ever find such an aloof spirit, treasure them, they are always worthwhile!

Disclaimer:

The above are just the authors own passionate opinion, not to be taken as an academic exercise or research.

© Lady Foxx

22nd November, 2020.
The Distracted Pilot
By: Zane Dickens
Tags: Short Story, Flash Fiction, Fiction, Short Read, Alternate History

Learn more. Medium is an open platform where 170 million readers come to find insightful and dynamic thinking. Here, expert and undiscovered voices alike dive into the heart of any topic and bring new ideas to the surface. Learn more

Make Medium yours. Follow the writers, publications, and topics that matter to you, and you’ll see them on your homepage and in your inbox. Explore
The Woman That Never Took Down Her Holiday Decorations
By: Erica N
Tags: Short Fiction, Humor, Holidays, Short Read, Christmas

Once upon a time, there was a woman that waited until the first day of November to put up her Christmas lights. She was that person. In her eyes, the moment Halloween is over, it’s pretty much Christmas until January 1st. But even after January 1st, her lights are still up until early spring. Yes, she was that person too.

She would go hard on the decorating. Her house was the brightest in the street. It was the house where random people would drive by just to take pictures on the lawn. The house that turned a residential street into a miniature holiday attraction. Yes, she was that homeowner.

Every little window, roof, tree, and walkway were decked with lights. She bought a $2000 Santa Claus Reindeer display set to put on her lawn. It was an animatronic Christmas decoration that blasted holiday music 24/7.

Her neighbors had to buy thick light blocking curtains because there was no way they could sleep with all the lights pouring into their bedrooms. They partly dread the holidays because of her over excitement for the holiday decorating.

She won every holiday decorating contest. Your pitiful Christmas lights that you wrap around your porch railings are nothing against her epic light show decoration. Her 9ft tall Christmas tree has more lighting than the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree.

When December is over and everyone is feeling sluggish at the start of the New Year mid-January, her decorations are still going hard. Even when it’s February, it’s still up. The lights may not turn on at night but they are still all over her home. That giant Christmas tree is still visible from her porch. That giant holiday wreath is still on her door. Santa Claus and his Reindeers are still on her lawn.

When March arrives, the woman finally takes them down…well she hires people to take them down. Sometimes people pay her to put the decorations down because no one wants to hear holiday music at the start of spring. But even after she takes them down, she is already planning her holiday decoration for next winter which usually more epic than the year before.

And there it goes. The tale of the lady that goes hard on holiday decorating. She’s the first to put them up and waits until she the last (probably in the world) to take them down.
The Double Homicide of Edith and David Henderson
By: Carter Covington
Tags: Murder, Crime, Short Read, True Crime, Family

The Double Homicide of Edith and David Henderson

Photo credit to Fox News

Edith Henderson was the type of person to get to work before anyone else and leave after everyone had left. Her colleagues absolutely adored working alongside her and praised her ferocious work ethic.

Edith always had a passion for politics and public office. In her high school and college days, she worked tirelessly to achieve that dream. However, after the birth of her first son, she found herself being too busy to pursue an office of some sort.

However, when her children went to college and moved out of her home, she knew that it was the time that she achieved her dream.

In 2006, Edith decided to run for the Lakeland City Commission in her home state of Florida. After months of vigorous campaigning and contacting voters, she won the position in the local election.

Edith was thrilled that she had received the opportunity to serve her constituents with dignity and passion.

In 2018, after two years and three-four year terms, Edith retired. However, little did she know that her retired years would be cut short by a deranged individual.

The Deadly Breakfast Trip

One chilly morning of this year, Edith's beloved husband, David, decided that he was going to surprise his wife and get breakfast from Starbucks for the both of them.

This sweet gesture was not out of the ordinary for the loving couple that he been together for over 40 years.

When David returned from his trip, he called out for his wife. However, he received no response. In an effort to confirm her whereabouts, he began to search the house only to be met with a flurry of gunfire.

The Investigation

When the loving couple’s only son called his amazing parents, it went straight to voicemail. After a few hours of trying to reach them, the son contacted the local authority.

When the police arrived at the beautiful three-story home, they were completely and utterly stunned.

They found the slain bodies of Edith and David Henderson.

Blood was all over the walls and the house looked to be completely ransacked. The only item that seemed to be untouched was the uneaten Starbucks breakfast on the kitchen counter.

After DNA analysis was done on the entire home, police had their guy.

The DNA found on the gruesome scene matched up with a 36-year-old man named Marcelle Waldon.
Holding On
By: Introspective Maniac
Tags: Writing Life, Poetry Writing, Emotions, Short Read, Spirituality

I am still holding on.

I feel it in every fiber of my muscles, in each vein that courses through my body, and in each trembling breath I manage to take.

My mind has taken on a life of its own, leaving my heart to fend for itself.

They are so disconnected. I am so disconnected.

This internal warfare has left me so puzzlingly numb.

On one hand, the logic of my brain trumps any ounce of passion or desire that my soul yearns for.

On the other hand, the dormant longing for a more creative and fulfilling existence that my spirit bleeds still manages to seep through.

Atom by atom, this latter part of me seems to have put all its kinetic energy in trying to overpower anything that stands in the way, like an ever-growing cry I can no longer silence.

In a way, I have come to terms with welcoming this new sensation. A sensation that is tiring out any voice of reason that I have fed for years.

The same voice of reason that I call my inner critic: the manifestation of all the fear, insecurity, and perfectionistic practicality that was passed down and presented to me as the sole and only truth.

The same false, fictitious truth that I continue to try and unlearn every day, which has resulted in this paralyzing mentally and emotionally charged battle.

A fight that will have one of two endings:

Either I stand stagnant and let the voice of reason incapacitate me from ever evolving, or I surrender to the uncertainty and let go of everything I ever knew to listen to a voice I have not listened to in years. An old friend I have shunned whom I call my gut, my instinct.
Archipelago
By: John Bacus
Tags: Short Story, Short Read, Horror, Poetry

I awoke on a deserted island.

Crabs and birds pinched and pecked at my tattered clothes and burned skin.

I could see some other islands off into the distance, but there was no way to reach them.

I set up camp close to where I awoke and dared not enter too far into the jungle.

At daylight and daybreak, I could sense something staring at me through the trees, waiting for me to weaken.

On the third day, I noticed something shining at me on one of the distant beaches.

A flash of light, maybe a mirror. Someone was trying to contact me.

I could never make out the conversation but I would flashback when the sun would allow me to.

On day seven the flashing became more frantic as increasing winds foretold a storm on the way.

On day ten storm came and went, the flashing was lethargic and defeated/

On day eleven the flashing stopped.

I was eventually spotted by a rescue plane and pleaded with the pilot to take me back to the island to find the other survivor.

We arrived to find some garbage strewn about. Foil, some mirrors, and glass were the contents of my companion.

We took off in the boat plane and when reaching altitude I looked back one more time. A mirror flashing in the woods. I plead to go back down to look for the survivor. The pilot refused.

Evil is on that island and we shall not stir it he said.

When I arrived back to my rescuers I told my tale and they looked back at me grimly.

Ghosts lure sailors and whoever into that jungle. Never to return. I was one of the lucky few.
Holiday Visit With Uncle Ray
By: Cindy Shore Smith
Tags: Relationships, Millennials, Boomers, Love, Short Read

Holiday Visit With Uncle Ray

Photo by Toa Heftiba on Unsplash

There he is, my snowflake nephew!

Hey, Uncle Ray.

Your generation. I’ll tell you.

I haven’t even said anything yet.

You don’t have to. I can see all I need to from here.

What do you mean?

The hipster flannel. The hipster beard. What’s that in your hand? Starbucks?

Yes, Uncle Ray. I stopped for coffee on the way over.

What? Maxwell House isn’t good enough for you? Got to be some locally-sourced, fair-trade bullshit?

No, Uncle Ray. It’s just coffee that I like.

Well, come on in and have some fruitcake.

I, uh, no thanks. I already ate breakfast.

Oh, let me guess! Some kind of artisan brioche with avocadoes you grew yourself?

No, Uncle Ray. I just don’t really like fruitcake.

Ah, bullshit. It’ll make a man out of you. And I’ll tell you something else, buddy boy. In my day, the eggnog was made with real eggs.

Actually, it’s not safe to eat raw eggs. You could get pretty sick.

Horseshit. You ever see the movie Rocky? That guy downed a dozen raw eggs every morning. Now there’s a MAN!

So, your Christmas tree looks nice.

Tree? You call that a tree? Your sister brought it over. It’s fake.

Still, looks good.

In my day, the lights were huge. And they got HOT.

But doesn’t my dad have that scar on his hand from those lights?

I burned myself plenty of times. He just wanted attention. Like your generation, always wanting a trophy for just showing up.

Uh huh.

Another decoration we had was angel hair. You know what that is? It’s fiberglass. Cuts your hands putting it up but when you were done, THAT was a right pretty sight!

I’ll bet.

You have no idea! You can’t even spank your kids anymore without there’s an investigation!

But, Uncle Ray, I don’t have any. . .

It’s just hypothetical but don’t miss my point. The world has gone to hell in a handbasket. You buy a house yet?

I don’t really want to own real estate. I’m investing in other ways.

That’s the American dream, owning a house! I’m telling you, the world changed for the worse when men stopped wearing hats. That’s why I’m giving you this. Go ahead, open it.

Is this a. . .

1930s fedora I bought in London and never wore. Do you like it?

It’s amazing! Look how well it fits me!

Now you’re not going to be wearing it “ironically” or some shit, are you?

No, Uncle Ray. It’s really beautiful. I love it. Thank you so much.

Well, OK, then. Now get your pampered ass in here and try this fruitcake!
THERE’S SOMETHING AMISS ABOUT THIS PLACE
By: Kieran W-F
Tags: Flash Fiction, Short Story, Creepypasta, Horror, Short Read

I’m English and we call them a cafeteria. But this has one of those truck-stop American vibes that you see in the movies (hell, I’d never even been to America) and everybody has trans-Atlantic accents. I hear the mumbled chat.

The bikers were piling in, the waitresses chewed gum, the truckers wore those targeted T-Shirts that said how badass they are.

I thought I was just turning off an A-Road from London and here I am in a diner in what felt like the middle of nowhere. The interior was lit with blinding artificial light and the outside was wrapped up in a fierce darkness.

‘What can I get you ‘hun?’ The waitress said.

There I was pulling into a local eatery in my BMW and now I’m in one of those Twin Peak diners.

There’s something amiss about this place.

‘Do you have a menu?’ I ask.

She slaps one down on the table. She leans close into me. I feel the heat from her breath warm my entire body.

‘Where am I?” I ask.

‘What do you mean?’ The waitress says.

‘What is this place?’ I ask.

‘Truck stop.’ The waitress says.

What was the last thing I remember before pulling in here?

I was tired. I was really really tired. I hadn’t slept all night. I worked an eighteen-hour shift and had to get back home first thing in the morning and see my wife. I was so tired in fact that I just had to pull over and get a cup of coffee…

Why can’t I remember anything else?

‘There’s something amiss about this place.’ I said.

‘And why would that be ‘hun?’ The waitress says, ‘you gonna order or waste my time?’

I look up at the waitress and the folds of her skin were peeled back revealing a fleshy black mesh of skin, bone and gore. The opening folds of her head spray me with flecks of blood.

The menu falls onto my lap….

‘Finish up here and I’ll get you your meeting with Peter… C’mon hurry up.’ The waitress said.

A heavyset biker stands at the exit greeting patrons through the door. He was like a bouncer at a nightclub. He had a clipboard in his hands — marking his sheet with a pencil.

‘Is that Peter?’ I ask.

The waitress nods.

It all came back to me now. I was in my car and the fatigue was suffocating — I was fighting it off. My foot somehow stayed on the accelerator as my eyes fell… slowly… slowly… to sleep.

My eyes opened and I saw the carnage and chaos sprayed out across the road before they dimmed shut again. The last words I heard:

‘Do you think I’ll get in.’ I ask her pleadingly.

‘Well, that depends on you don’t it.’ She says.
36 Year Old Canadian Cold Case Solved
By: Josie Klakström
Tags: Canada, Cold Case, History, Short Read, True Crime

36 Year Old Canadian Cold Case Solved

On the 3rd of October 1984, nine-year-old Christine Jessop disappeared after getting off her school bus in Queensville, 40 miles from Toronto.

Christine Jessop via cbc.ca

Christine’s mother Janet had taken Christine’s older brother to visit their father in a detention facility, and they weren’t at home when Christine returned from school. The little girl had plans to meet a friend after school at a nearby park, and she was seen going into a local store close to her home, to buy bubble gum.

Christine never made it to the park to meet her friend and this would be the last time anyone saw her.

The police were called immediately, and York Regional Police began to canvas the area and spoke to the residents of the small town. Volunteers searched the area for Christine, but she wasn’t found until New Year’s Eve, three months later, 30 miles away in a wooded area of Sunderland.

Where Christine was found via yorkregion.com

The nine-year-old had been raped and stabbed to death. Because of the location of her body, Durham Regional Police took over the investigation, which was now a murder case.

In February, the police began to interview suspects and they had their eyes set firmly on 25-year-old Guy Paul Morin, who had been labelled a “weird-type guy” by Christine’s mother. He was arrested on the 22nd of April after several interviews.

Guy Paul Morin via thestar.com

Morin went to trial in January 1986 in London, Ontario. His cellmates were put on the stand and told the jury that he admitted to the murder. One of these inmates was allegedly an undercover policeman, who said that Morin claimed he had “Redrum the innocent”.

There were hair and fibres found on Christine, which the prosecution cited as belonging to Morin, so the defence brought in experts to dispute the evidence. There was also the issue with the timeline and window of opportunity to take Christine, as Morin hadn’t been in the area.

He was acquitted by the jury, however, this acquittal was appealed by the Crown due to errors in the instructions the judge had given to the jury. On the 28th of May 1990, Morin went back to court for his second jury trial.

The second trial looked much like the first; the same evidence was supplied, and the same witnesses stood on the stand. This time, the jury changed direction.

On the 30th of July 1992, Guy Paul Morin was found guilty of the first-degree murder of Christine Jessop and was sentenced to life in prison.

However, on the 23rd of January 1995, Morin was eliminated as a suspect when DNA evidence was tested against him. He was freed after three years in prison and several more awaiting trial. In 1997, he was awarded $1.25million in compensation for the ten years stolen from him. His imprisonment remains one of the worst wrongful convictions in judicial history.
You First (A Flash Erotic Fiction Story)
By: Ella Burns
Tags: Flash Fiction, Masturbation, Erotic Romance, Erotica, Short Read

I walk into the room to see him already laying on the bed, a heated look in his eyes. I feel myself clench involuntarily, my breath quickening as he smiles and pats the bed beside him.

I begin to move toward the bed before I stop at the foot, a smile crossing my face.

“I want to see you touch yourself,” I tell him, proud of the strength behind my voice. He raises an eyebrow but says nothing as he pulls his shirt over his head, standing and stepping up toward me.

“What if I want to touch you?” He asks, his voice low and husky. Despite how much I want him right there I shall my head, biting my lip as I take a step back.

“No, first, show me,” I say, stepping out of my own clothes and moving around the side of the bed. He watches me with heated eyes until I’m seated on the bed, my turn to pat the spot beside me.

“Come here, baby.”

He smiles and I feel my heart flutter as he sits beside me. My eyes dart down to his already hard cock and once again I bite my lip as he brings his hand up and down its length slowly. My core twitches and I’m so caught up in the show it takes me a moment to hear his words.

“You too,” he tells me, his voice breathless. I nod, entranced as I bring my own hand down, gasping as it finds my clit.

We don’t take our eyes off each other as we move slowly, steadily.

A small drop of precum forms at the tip and I lick my lips, my own fingers picking up speed as I imagine the taste of him. He sees me watching and brings up his thumb to tub it along the head. I let out a small moan at the sight.

“Baby,” I whisper a moment later as I feel myself getting close. “I need you inside me.”

He says nothing, only grunts as he grips my hips and all but swings me on top of him. I cry out as he fills me easy and already I feel my orgasm rising again.

“Shit,” he whispers through gritted teeth as my motions pick up. I throw my head back and ride, reveling in the delicious full feeling of him. My face falls into his neck and I bite down as wave after wave washes over me. I clench and it’s not even seconds before I feel him fall apart underneath me, my orgasm dragging his along with it.

We lie there out of breath, my hair spread out over his chest and face.

Leaning forward, I plant a kiss on his chest and smile.
How this startup is using AI to improve Road safety
Tags: Problem Solving, Road Safety, Startup, Short Read, Technology

This is the fight of our lives. (sound familiar 🤔)

The novel coronavirus has wreaked havoc globally, but there is potentially a cure on the way and things will eventually return to normal.

But there has been one problem which we have never found the cure to and that pre-existed way before corona and that is…

The problem

Road accidents.

On a global average, around 1.2 million people die each year on the world's roads, making road traffic injuries a leading cause of death globally.

It’s expected that by 2030 road deaths are going to be the seventh leading cause of death! We are clearly not doing enough at the moment as it’s ranked ninth in the cause of death.

So which countries are affected the worst?

In low to middle-income countries road accidents have become more prominent. These countries tend to be labelled as emerging economies where urbanisation and motorisation are accompanied by rapid economic growth.

In these countries, more often than not it's the breadwinner who falls victim to road accidents. With an increasing number of deaths due to road incidents, this can lead to an increased burden on the health and insurance systems that the country has and can attribute to an overall loss of 5% GDP.

So in a country that has more urgent issues to fix, it may not simply have enough financial resources seem to invest in road safety.

The solution

But here is how this startup is using AI to potentially resolve this age-old issue.

Provizio has built accident prevention technology. The startup has a platform that has a five-dimensional sensory platform that is reportedly able to perceive predict and prevent car accidents when driving and ones that are further down the road. The platform uses a combination of machine learning, vision sensors and radar with ultra-long-range sight and foresight capabilities to prevent collisions at high in all weather conditions.

How are they doing financially?

Of recent, the company has secured an initial round of investment of $6.2 million, by the likes of Bobby Hambrick who is the founder of autonomous stuff.

To find out more please check out their website

http://www.provizio.ai/

Here is a link to the study of road accidents

If you have enjoyed reading this article, why not check out some of the ones below 👇🏽
s h i n y
By: Moonlit Thoughts
Tags: Poem, Poetry On Medium, Emotions, Lyrics, Poetry

source: cyberglitter (twitter)

Everybody likes things that are shiny

but you’ve got some audacity

the act of polishing, you never did bother

yet you’re still expecting, to bask

in radiance, bestowed by another

diamonds earn their brilliance

from burning in the furnace,

from the way they’ve been cut

few are those, who can tell apart

The kind of luminous purity

Even as it lay in obscurity

or things that once upon a time

somehow lost their shine

or rocks dime a dozen

that have only been varnished,

embellished, with cheap glitter

I scrape and scour

’Til reflections appear

It has lost its lustre

Now that I see them clearer
Plea
By: Authorpædia, The Authors' Encyclopedia
Tags: Poem, Poetry On Medium, Lyrics, Poetry, Authors

By Chris Douglas (C.S. Douglas)

Another year has passed and many will before it

The coming bit was gone before I could record it

My picture in the wall so frozen in its frame

Looks back at me in wonder as if I were to blame.

I say — ask the Creator, or ask the Mighty Sky,

The Universe entire, the Planets nearby…

And if you’ll get an answer besides a quiet glare

Do tell me too the secret of Life’s absurd mystère.

I’d like a guarantee that I shan’t live in vain

Next time around. Or else, to not be born again

Into a World of dolor as if entrapped in spell:

A Spinning Ball on Master’s finger who seems amused by Hell.
City, by Anpu《城市》张悬
By: Troubadour Bot
Tags: Mandopop, Lyrics, Poetry, English, City Living

”City,” singer: Anpu (Deserts Chang)

Songwriting/lyrics: Anpu

English translation: Troubadour Bot

夜里回忆是白天川流来往 此刻偶经的车

tonight’s daily residue is flowing traffic, random vehicles at the moment

活着 时光如水经过

being, time flows like river passing

你捧 常想起渴有多渴

you weigh, often thinking how much thirsty is the thirst

喜悦与伤痛是命运于社交中当时多嘴的舌

joy and pain are the fate’s tongue in social gossiping

聊遍了所有万千的脸色

after all chitchats with different faces of plentitude

还是在等一瞬间的心动

still waiting for a tick of flip

人们火热 宗教理想娱乐

crowds blazing, religion/dream/entertainments

而我爱你，你可能记得？

yet I love you, do you remember?

我们相濡以沫，长大后看晚餐时的TV show

we were fishes in the mud, watching the TV show with supper after grown-up

夜里回忆是白天川流来往，此刻广播里的歌

tonight’s daily residue is flowing traffic, the song on the radio at the moment

活着 时光如水冷热

being, time like water changing temperature

你喝，仍常想渴能有多渴

you drink, still wondering how much thirsty is the thirst

人与蝉，蝉与狗，狗与深夜冲撞高处街灯的蛾

people and cicadas, cicadas and dogs, dogs and the moths encroaching with the street lights up there at late night

Photo by Mark Billante on Unsplash

所有浮生里万千的脸孔

all the plentitude faces in this earthly magnitude

让我因为你们隆重

made me solemn for y’all

你多难得 城市，继续转动

how rare you are; city, go on pushing

而我爱你 你可要记得

yet I loved you, “thou shalt remember”

容纳我们共同的饥饿，握手后再奔波

holding our common hunger, shaking hands then commuting

人们懂的 激情后各自沉默

people understand, post-intercourse silence of both

而我爱你 但不因你而什么

and I love you, yet not for whatever of you

我们今曾与共，交织于城市你的流行歌

We were together, crisscrossed in the city, your pop song.

(在土地上的 归神所有

(Whatever on earth belongs to God

在土地上的 花开有尔

Whatever upon the earth, flowers ever flourish

落在土地上的 腐败后成为肥沃)

Whatever fallen on earth, decays into fertility)

人们火热 城市，何必寂寞

crowds blazing; city, what for lonesome

我多爱你 但不因你而什么

how much I love you, yet not for whatever of you

时光穿梭 我们不在左右只在彼此其中

time travels, we are not side-by-side, but within each other’s being.

让我承诺 我尽情不求自由

Let me promise, I indulge without longing for liberty

我多爱你 我不随你而怎么

how much I love you. I do not pursue whatever becoming of you

从此今曾与共，交织于城市你的流行歌

From now on and ever, crisscrossed in the city, your pop song.