HeyJaredThrough the Literary Glass
Glance into the art and craft of storytelling. Discover thought-provoking literary fiction short stories, behind-the-scene insights, and practical tips for writers and aspiring authors alike.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 11
- Latest publication
- Sep 29, 2026
- Audience
- Checking…
- Earliest in this view
- Aug 17, 2026
Latest issues
Adults should be free to be grown children (opens the original)
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The thing I like the least about getting older is the expectation that I’m not allowed to have fun. All the wonders that brought a smile to my face and the curiosities to my heart had to be let go, loosened from my fingertips by force, never to be held again.It’s not justification for naivety but a cry for an unrestricted life, to bring fullness and fondness back into my heart. I no longer say ‘when I grow up’ because I’m still caught in the fragrances of my past, the remnants of what could have
I need you on my lips (opens the original)
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It’s like being caught in your honey trap, a sickly sweet goodness wrapped around your tongue, mingled with your natural pheromones, and tied together with your tight grip within the strands of my hair. If anyone could crawl into my thoughts, they would have me admitted to a ward for how much you consume my mind at such an unhealthy level. It’s borderline psychotic to match the way you tease me, edge me into submission. Your pull-backs, the nose kisses, soft nibbles against my earlobe, caresses
It pains me to hold back my tongue (opens the original)
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I used to be so loud. My echoes would carry across communities, but when connection dwindled, no signal was found. Judgement followed. My tongue curls against my teeth only to rangel itself into a knot so tight, it chokes me into submission. Free will and free speech are cloaked in a facade when your inner battle clutches their perspiring hands against your mouth. The saltiness forces you to spit your words out like venom, never to me heard on new ears, never to erupt your thoughts again. Its on
You can’t keep restarting (opens the original)
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I’m caught in my own web of memories, spun, broken, cherished, all before my very eyes. It makes me sad. At quarterly fixtures, reassessment is initiated to bring us back, bring forward the desired change, and hopefully incite progress and success in the eyes of society, reimagined under our vision. Yet when those fruitions fails to materialise before us, we struggle to hold onto time; it slips through our fingers like silk, as if its purpose was to never be held in the first place. The mere sig
A quiet noise (opens the original)
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In silence, we surrender. Caught in the hush of the world whilst the war rages. Let the river flow out of reach of the thirsty. The ground shakes at the bruise of their skin, a numbing, unregistered, and waiting. I could provide a barrel, neck-deep, yet I show mercy. If a droplet kissed their tongue, it would not only be their knees that would crack under pressure, but their soul. The incredible saltiness, challenged against the Nile, is marinated in weakness, doused in self-loathing, and garnis
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