We do so without fear of scrutiny. Of accusing eyes.
Today is No Diet Day, when weight watchers take a break from keeping their eyes on their weight.
We forget the courtroom, the hammer and the pedestal.
***
Mangoes
In my palm.
Pur sweetness.
Then, my eyes on–
The sugar. Sodum. Fat.
A man grabs snacks.
With abandon.
They fly neatly-
in packs, into the trolley.
I turn green.
***
The Family.
Voices at the dinner table.
Loud. Lingering.
“Too much.” “Beware.”
“Too much.” Beware”
Fried chicken
Dances in front of her eyes.
They chomp.
***
Late.
Rain falls.
I break.
Tough drops. Hard taps.
Butter melts. Soaks–
The bread. But–
It warms my heart.
***
My body was not unkind. It–
Adjusted. Stayed. Endured.
The world translated weight
To mumbers.
I taste –
Slowly. Calmly.
Without a hammer
Or a pedestal.
***
Original story by Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin. AI tags are coincidental.
Mirrors of the Mind by Michelle Liew is a collection of psychological and supernatural short stories that explore the quiet unease beneath ordinary moments. These are not tales of spectacle, but of subtle fracture — where memory distorts, silence speaks, and the self is not always singular. In these stories, what is unseen often carries the greatest weight, and what lingers is not what is shown, but what is felt.
Lola unpacked the blankets she brought, focusing on the sweaty, cringing mother before her. It was a routine delivery.
“One last push…you’ve almost got it…” she cajoled.
The woman before her breathed. And shoved at her contracted muscles for the last time.
No sound.
The baby was in good health. But was quiet.
The quiet stayed.
Not.One. Sob.
Most births ended with noise. This ended with –
A quiet pause.
***
Lola continued her work, helping little ones meet the world.
But some births were – awkward.
Some babies didn’t cry at once.
They paused.
Then turned their heads to something-unknown.
Looked.
And thought.
Paused.
Turned.
Looked.
And thought.
These babies didn’t enter the world in silence. They arrived with minds filled with-
Recognition.
***
The baby arrived. Still. Quiet.
No sobs. No movement. Then –
Its head turns to her.
Lola.
Its eyes locked onto hers with uncanny, practiced ease.
A chill coursed through Lola’s spine. Fingertips gripped. Refused release.
Something passed between them.
Unmistakable.
Shared.
***
The baby turned, silently watching her. Lola jumped, screaming.
A terrified Lola’s hands almost loosened around the baby. Startled, she almost dropped the infant in its crib.
The baby’s silence grew, along with its presence.
Its eyes fixed on Lola.
Confirming.
***
Then it came to her. These babies knew.
Long before coming into the world.
She continued her midwife duties.Delivered babies.
One evening. In the delivery room, as usual.
“Come on, one final push…” Her voice rang out sweetly.
The woman before her contracted her muscles and shoved.
3…2…1…
No sound. As she expected
She didn’t wait for the baby to cry.
Then her voice broke. Loud, infantile sobs.
The baby wrapped its fingers around hers.
And smiled, tenderly.
***
Mirrors of the Mind by Michelle Liew is a collection of psychological and supernatural short stories that explore the quiet unease beneath ordinary moments. These are not tales of spectacle, but of subtle fracture — where memory distorts, silence speaks, and the self is not always singular. In these stories, what is unseen often carries the greatest weight, and what lingers is not what is shown, but what is felt.
We mark Star Wars Day with an original poem by Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin. May the Fourth be with you.
Mirrors of the Mind by Michelle Liew is a collection of psychological and supernatural short stories that explore the quiet unease beneath ordinary moments. These are not tales of spectacle, but of subtle fracture — where memory distorts, silence speaks, and the self is not always singular. In these stories, what is unseen often carries the greatest weight, and what lingers is not what is shown, but what is felt.
When the story writes itself, the byline is the last thing you can change.
🖥️🖱️
Marcie Kwok breezed into the office, her perfume filling the air as if it belonged to her. Her colleagues rolled their eyes at each other and shrugged. Marcie sat, oblivious to them. She was ready for the day’s writing tasks.Her throne was complete.
She scrolled through her emails for any news fodder.
Then, an article. Filed. Signed. Ready.
She didn’t recognize the too-clear byline.
The too-clear time stamp.
Hers.
But she hadn’t written them. Journalistic integrity restrained her-
No publish button.
🖥️🖱️
She arrived the next day and sat, her mouse adding to her journalist regality.
She checked her office email account. More articles filled it.
With the obvious byline.
The unambiguous time stamp.
It occurred to her. Why shouldn’t she publish them?
After all, they had HER name on them.
She demurred. Then her fingers clicked the publish button.
And more of the public knew of Marcie Kwok. The traffic to her social media accounts spiked.
The likes beneath her posted images grew.
🖥️🖱️
A fortnight passed, one Marcie relished as the Queen of Wordsmiths.
Then, another article in her inbox.
Meticulously penned, in the same tone.
She balked. And lost her majestic air.
The byline -hers again.
The timestamp – again.
The headline –
“Journalist found dead at the fork of Angsana and Chiku Roads…”
Time of death –
That night.
🖥️🖱️
Marcie squirmed, her regal mouse now languishing on its pad.
She picked it up gingerly, scrolling cautiously through the article.
She edited the headline. Made one change.
Now, less certain.
She glanced over her work. Then refreshed the page.
It was–
The same.
🖥️🖱️
The article was filed. Signed. Ready.
Scheduled for publication.
Marcie walked quietly into the office. She sat in her chair.
She used the trackpad –the mouse dangled limply from the USB port.
The headline held.
So did the byline.
As did the timestamp.
She waited.
🖥️🖱️
Mirrors of the Mind by Michelle Liew is a collection of psychological and supernatural short stories that explore the quiet unease beneath ordinary moments. These are not tales of spectacle, but of subtle fracture — where memory distorts, silence speaks, and the self is not always singular. In these stories, what is unseen often carries the greatest weight, and what lingers is not what is shown, but what is felt.
Visit the link just above or lick the picture to access the link.
Original poem by Michelle Liew Tsui-lin. AI tags are coincidental.
Mirrors of the Mind by Michelle Liew is a collection of psychological and supernatural short stories that explore the quiet unease beneath ordinary moments. These are not tales of spectacle, but of subtle fracture — where memory distorts, silence speaks, and the self is not always singular. In these stories, what is unseen often carries the greatest weight, and what lingers is not what is shown, but what is felt.
Available for download (click the link or the pic).
A poem about silence, avoidance, and the presence that remains when we refuse to face it
***
In the room
Still. Silent.
My breath did not move.
Still. Silent
The air stayed.
Still. Silent.
Forgotten.
The light dimmed.
***
Something saw.
I didn’t.
I saw too, did not –
Meet.
It waited.
And waited.
Still-
Unseen.
***
Till when I thought,
It combed my mind.
When I walked,
It darted.
When I stood,
It jumped.
I wanted peace-
It called.
I did not answer.
***
It was always –
There.
In the silence.
Always seeing.
Always moving.
Always following.
Never met.
***
Always –
There.
***
What listens when no one speaks? What follows when no one is there?
Mirrors of the Mind is a collection of five psychological horror stories exploring memory, identity, and the quiet things we try not to see.
I’ve always been drawn to stories that linger rather than shock — ones that stay with you after the page is turned. This collection is my attempt at that kind of quiet unease.
I kicked off my shoes and threw myself at my little schnauzer, Misty. The little beast jumped, tail frantic; she was only too eager for me to return from work. Her next meal was coming.
I chucked the day’s mail onto the dining table. One stuck out slightly, a misaligned ace in a deck of cards.
Another envelope. Not worthy of notice, just another bill to pay. White, almost blank, with no return address. I reached for my letter opener.
“Your CAT scan is scheduled for 2 p.m. on the 13th of April.”
I left it on the dining table and grabbed the dinner my wife had prepared from the refrigerator. Medical appointments could wait.
The envelope caught my eye again.
“Your CAT scan is scheduled for 3:30 p.m. on the 13th of April.”
I shook my head. It had been a long day – my eyes were tired. I sat at my desk, with my work, for the next half an hour.
The dining table needed clearing; the after-dinner mess was still waiting. The letter caught my eye again.
“Your CAT scan is scheduled for 4 p.m. on the 13th of April.”
The time had shifted again. I shook my head, vigorously.
Not by much. But enough.
***
The letters kept arriving, on time, on the first Friday of every month.
“Your CAT scan is scheduled for 1 p.m. for…”
A half hour later.
“Your CAT scan is scheduled at 1:30 p.m. for…”
A half hour later.
“Your CAT scan is scheduled at 1:00 p.m. for…”
Another half hour later.
“Your CAT scan is scheduled at 12:30 p.m. for…”
I glanced at the calendar. The time. 12:30 p.m.
I hadn’t written it.
The time edged nearer, to what, I did not know.
Closing in – I didn’t know where from.
***
I stepped into the apartment the next day, weary from back-to-back meetings. I chucked the mail on the side table.
The white envelope stuck out. A thick signature, in black ink.
My signature. But it could not be. … I never signed anything. Or…
I tried desperately to recall the moment I agreed.
I just couldn’t.
***
The apartment was quiet when I returned the next day.
Too quiet.
I threw the letters on the side table. The same white envelope, sticking out.
Alexa sounded from the corner of the living room. “
Take your grandmother to the hospital.”
My grandmother. The letters. I had shut Alexa down for days…her robotic voice was grating each time it sounded.
Then I remembered.
Edging closer.
She lived too far away.
***
The appointment passed.
But something was missing. I didn’t want to name what.
Life continued. The CAT scan wasn’t needed.
The appointment was.
***
What listens when no one speaks? What follows when no one is there?
Mirrors of the Mind is a collection of five psychological horror stories exploring memory, identity, and the quiet things we try not to see.
I’ve always been drawn to stories that linger rather than shock — ones that stay with you after the page is turned. This collection is my attempt at that kind of quiet unease.
James Kwok shuffled into his apartment and threw himself onto the plush, cream sofa. He was drained, yet satisfied. His advertising company was finally beginning to take off. He patted the recently purchased sofa and lay down, inviting well-deserved sleep.
The computer screen lit.
An email notifcation.
A message about his mother. He glossed over it quickly.
Bookmarked it.
Along with many other unopened bookmarks.
The message was parked. He wasn’t.
***
James stumbled into the apartment the following night, in a drunken stupor.
His colleagues had celebrated his recent promotion.
He still had work to do. But he wanted her to know.
He’d done it.
“Useless” still rang in his ears.
He opened the laptop again. The bookmarked message stared at him, plaintive.
Accusing.
He navigated from it, his mouse firm.
Clicked.
Navigated.
Clicked.
***
He stepped into the apartment the next night, his feet light. His bosses praised his performance.
He found the email.
And clicked.
He didn’t steer the cursor away.
It hovered over the subject line. Then stilled.
***
A word on the email.
“Come.”
Critical.
No one in his family had visited.
He had been the last one she had seen.
***
He stared at the screen before him. Clarity.
In a single moment.
A demand. For not answering.
Was he too late?
***
He opened the email again.
One word.
Useless.
He stared at the screen before him.
And pulled it down.
.***
Mirrors of the Mind is a collection of five psychological horror stories exploring memory, identity, and the quiet things we try not to see.
From whispered voices beneath floorboards to shadows that move only when acknowledged, these stories linger where the mind begins to fracture.
If you enjoy slow-burn, reflective horror, you are welcome here.
The Hubble Space Telescope was launched this day. It altered mankind’s perception of the universe.
It impacted truth and challenged belief.
Belief seen –
Through varied lens.
***
What follows when no one is there?
Mirrors of the Mind is a collection of five psychological horror stories exploring memory, identity, and the quiet things we try not to see.
I’ve always been drawn to stories that linger rather than shock — ones that stay with you after the page is turned. This collection is my attempt at that kind of quiet unease.
