ChromedOutCortex

New song from Hoji...

Damn! Thanks for the catch. ...and, it's fixed.

Kris got to the office, and like every other day, grabbed a coffee from the kitchen then punched in and went straight towards his station. The soft hum of fluorescent lights filled the open floor. He passed Ethan’s glass-walled office, where his manager sat scrolling through something on his monitor. Ethan looked up, caught Kris’s eye, and smiled. He lifted a hand and gave a small wave then motioned him inside. Kris hesitated, glancing behind him to see if Ethan meant someone else. But

“Mom, I’m home!” I called as I walked in the house. “About time! Jeez, I’ve been slaving over a stove since you left!” Jay shouted back, voice thick with fake suffering. He appeared from the kitchen with an onion in one hand and a knife in the other. Was he really cutting onions? Doubtful. “Hey, Jay,” Jamie called. “Oh hey, about time you brought him home. I’ve been losing my mind here,” Jay said, dramatic as ever. “Cut the drama. This is the first time I’ve left you to

Kris felt lucky to have the job. Lucky, that’s what everyone told him. The call centre had been hiring just as the recession hit, and fresh out of college, he needed a paycheck more than a dream. Tech support wasn’t what he’d studied for, but it paid the bills, barely. As long as he didn’t eat out and nothing unexpected came up they could meet bills every month. His mom said that he was the first in the family to finish college. That had meant something once. Now it just meant sitting

Honestly - I'm trying so hard not to make 'em dark. This one ends... 😉

Dean was always the first one at the shop. Always. He was just an employee here, but Terry liked his “boys” in by eight, even though the man himself rarely showed before nine, sometimes later. In high school, Dean had dreamed big. He wanted to work on race cars, maybe even build one someday. But dreams didn’t pay rent, and this dying town didn’t have much use for them anyway. “Motherfucker!” The wrench clattered to the floor. A bright line of red opened across his knuckles. “

Thanks!

Hi - I'm working on a story, and am setting the future publish date on them but I made an error and need to change it for two chapters recently posted. How can I do that? Did I just miss something? Do I need to delete those chapters and just add them again?

Dean had always been good with his hands, fixing what other people broke, tightening bolts until they stopped rattling, keeping engines alive long after they should’ve died. Machines made sense to him. They didn’t talk back. They didn’t lie. They didn’t ask him to feel anything. He liked it that way. In the shop, the air was thick with oil and the smell of burnt rubber. The noise filled the space where thoughts tried to form. He could lose himself in the rhythm of it, wrench, turn, rep

Dean had spent most of his life pretending not to feel. It was easier that way, easier to fight, to fix, to fuck, than to face what was underneath. His father taught him early that softness got you hurt. So he built a life of noise and distraction: engines louder than his thoughts, nights that ended before morning could ask questions. Kris had spent his life quietly holding things together. After his father died, it was just him and his mother, small home, smaller dreams, and the fear that one more break would undo them. Neither expected love to expose what they’d buried, loneliness, guilt, and the need to be seen.

Yes, I publish them every Saturday. I'll be focusing on this platform only, so will be upping that to 2x per week instead of once, but probably multiple stories. I have four I'm working on right now. 😉

Mom appeared in the doorway a moment later, hair still mussed from sleep, but her eyes scanning the kitchen. The drying rack, the gleaming stove, the table wiped clean. She arched one brow. “Well… this is new,” she said, a smile tugging at her mouth. “Jamie’s fault,” Jay said quickly. “Good fault,” she replied, setting her mug under the coffeemaker. Jamie stepped forward with a little bow, his voice careful but confident. “Ohayō gozaimasu, Okāsan.” Good morning, Mom

Soon! I promise, very soon!

Streetlights combed through the cabin in slow stripes as Jamie pulled away from the curb. I settled into the passenger seat, the night soft around us. “Do you think any coffee shops are open?” I asked. “This is Vancouver,” he said, grinning. “There’s gotta be one. Worst case, the hunt’s the fun part.” “I’ll text my mom. Want me to ping your sister too?” “Yeah. You text your mom first, then shoot Sarah a note from my phone.” He passed it over. I fired off a quick message