Precious🦇

@preshyct

Fictional stories.

my bag

Joined August 2025

1.2K Following

1.7K Followers

12.2K Posts

Precious🦇

@preshyct

about 9 hours ago

THE WOMAN WHO RECEIVED BIRTHDAY GIFTS FROM A DEAD MAN ! PART 2 Maya sat in her car outside her father’s house for almost twenty minutes. She had driven there without telling anyone. The address from the pendant was his. But something felt wrong. Her father had always told her that her mother died in this house. Maya finally walked inside, her father wasn’t home. She searched the rooms until she found something behind an old bookshelf in his bedroom. A narrow door. She used the brass key, It opened. Behind it was a small room filled with boxes. Photographs, Medical records, Letters. And dozens of black boxes identical to the ones she’d received every year. Maya opened the nearest file her mother’s name was on it, Evelyn Carter. Below it was a date. The date Maya’s mother supposedly died. But underneath that was another document. A hospital discharge record. Patient: Evelyn Carter. Discharged: 17 years after the reported date of death. Maya stopped breathing. Her mother had survived. For seventeen years, someone had been hiding it. Then she heard the front door open. Her father was home. “Maya?” She quickly grabbed the file and hid behind the door. He walked into the room. Then stopped. He knew immediately. “You found it.” Maya stepped out. “You told me she died.” Her father’s face collapsed. “I was trying to protect you.” “From who?” He didn’t answer. Instead, he walked to the desk and pulled out a photograph. It showed Maya’s mother standing beside a man Maya had never seen before. On the back was a date. Three days before Maya was born. Her father finally spoke. “Your mother didn’t disappear.” “She ran.” “Why?” He looked at Maya. “Because the man in that photograph was your real father.” Maya stared at him. Her entire life suddenly felt like a lie. Then her phone buzzed. Unknown number. One message. “Your father is lying again.” Another message arrived immediately. A photograph. Maya opened it. It was her mother. Older and Alive. Standing in front of a house. And beside her was the same man from the photograph. Maya looked up at her father. “Where is she?” He didn’t answer. He simply whispered: “She knows you’re looking for her.” Maya’s phone buzzed one last time. “Come alone.” Then an address appeared. And Maya recognized it immediately. It was her childhood home. The house her father had burned down twenty-four years ago.

Precious🦇

@preshyct

about 9 hours ago

@JacquesMeta Good morning Jacques

Precious🦇

@preshyct

about 15 hours ago

@CryptQuorra Would post part 2 soon

Precious🦇

@preshyct

about 15 hours ago

THE WOMAN WHO RECEIVED BIRTHDAY GIFTS FROM A DEAD MAN! Every year on Maya’s birthday, a black box appeared outside her apartment. No delivery notification, no sender, no fingerprints. Just a small black box with her name written across the top in handwriting she didn’t recognize. The first time it happened, she assumed it was a mistake. Inside was a gold necklace. She didn’t wear it. The second year, there was an old photograph. It showed Maya at six years old, sitting on her mother’s lap. Maya had never seen the photograph before. Her mother had died when she was six. The third year, the box contained a small brass key. Nothing else. Maya took it to the police, they found nothing. No cameras caught anyone leaving the package. No courier company had delivered it. There wasn’t even a usable fingerprint on the box. So Maya threw the key into a drawer and tried to forget about it. Until her 30th birthday. At 7:14 that morning, another black box was waiting outside her door this time, there was a note inside. Only one sentence. “You finally have everything you need to find out what happened to your mother.” Maya read it three times. Her mother had died from an illness. That was the story she’d been told her entire life. She called her father. He answered immediately. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.” Maya didn’t return the greeting. “Dad… did Mom leave me anything?” There was silence. Not confusion, fear! Then he said quietly, “Where did you find that?” Maya’s stomach dropped. “You know about the boxes?” Another silence. Then her father whispered: “Listen to me carefully. Whatever you do, don’t use the key.” The call ended. Maya stared at the phone. Then she opened the drawer. The key was gone. She searched everywhere. Nothing. Until she noticed something she’d never paid attention to before. The gold necklace from her first birthday gift had a tiny keyhole hidden beneath the pendant. Her hands began to shake. She inserted the brass key, It clicked. The pendant opened. Inside was a folded piece of paper. Maya unfolded it. There were only six words. “Your mother never died, Maya.” And underneath it was an address. An address she knew. Her father’s house.

Precious🦇

@preshyct

1 day ago

I thought my dad was secretly a superhero. Then I found out what he was actually doing every night. For two months my dad would leave the house at 11pm and come back at 3am, every single night. He always came home smelling faintly like smoke and looking exhausted. I started keeping a log. Actual notes on my phone, dates and times, like I was building a case file. I finally asked him directly where he kept going. He told me it was “personal business” and to drop it. This made me more suspicious, not less. One night I heard him on the phone in the garage, saying: “No, it has to be tonight, the whole thing collapses if we wait.” I nearly called my mom at her sister’s house to warn her we needed a family meeting. Instead I followed him. In my own car, at a safe distance, like I’d watched exactly one too many crime documentaries. He drove to a warehouse on the edge of town. Lights on inside. Cars in the lot I didn’t recognize. I parked, took a breath, and walked in expecting genuinely anything. Inside: eleven grown men in folding chairs around a card table, and my dad standing at the front holding a whiteboard marker. Dad: You’re supposed to be asleep. Me: What is this? Dad, visibly caught: It’s a Dungeons & Dragons campaign. We’ve been running it for eight years. Your mother thinks it’s a poker night. Please don’t tell her either version is a lie, I’ve built an entire mythology around this. Me: You told MOM you play poker? Dad: The truth felt more embarrassing than gambling. The other eleven men just stared at me in complete silence, mid-campaign, waiting to see if I’d blow the whole operation. I didn’t. I sat down. I rolled a d20. I got a natural one and my dad’s character died in the resulting explosion he’d been building toward for three real world years. Dad: We are never speaking of this again. I speak of it constantly.

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Precious🦇

@preshyct

1 day ago

THE DELIVERY GUY KNEW MY ORDER BEFORE I WAS EVER A CUSTOMER!! I’m 29 years old. This started four months ago and I still don’t have an explanation that lets me sleep easy. I moved into a new apartment in March. Small kitchen, decent light. The previous tenant left behind a stack of unopened mail I forwarded back to the leasing office without really looking at it. First week in, I ordered pad thai from the same delivery app I always use. Extra peanuts, no bean sprouts, mild spice. My usual, same as every apartment I’ve ever lived in. The delivery driver knocked, handed it over, and said, “Same as always, right?” I laughed. “You remember me from one order?” He looked confused. Said he’d been delivering to that exact address for two years. I told him I’d just moved in. He got quiet, said “huh, weird,” and left before I could ask anything else. I let it go. Delivery guys mix up addresses constantly. Second month, small things started lining up in ways I hadn’t set them up. The bathroom shelf had my exact toothbrush, cup then soap arrangement before I’d even unpacked that box. The kitchen drawer had a junk-drawer system identical to the one I’ve kept since college,rubber bands left, batteries right and I hadn’t touched that drawer yet. I asked my landlord if the previous tenant left in a hurry. Landlord: Not exactly. She just stopped answering calls. We had to let ourselves in eventually. All her stuff was still there, like she’d just stepped out. Me: Did she look like me? Landlord, after a pause: I don’t see why that matters. He never actually answered. I checked the lease file at the office two weeks later, quietly, when the receptionist stepped away. The previous tenant’s name was similar enough to mine that I actually said it out loud in the empty office, just to hear how close it sounded. Last week a different delivery driver knocked, different app, different order, I’d switched it up on purpose, tom yum instead of pad thai, just to test something I couldn’t fully admit I was testing . He looked at the receipt, then at me. “Someone already called this exact order in an hour ago. We figured it was a duplicate so we only sent the one.” I hadn’t called anything in. I checked my delivery app history that night. There was an order I didn’t place, same time, same items, paid with a card ending in numbers that weren’t mine. I still live here. I haven’t asked the landlord anything else. Some nights I just don’t order food at all, and I tell myself that’s the reason nothing’s happened since. I don’t fully believe that reason. I just don’t have a better one yet.

108

Precious🦇

@preshyct

1 day ago

@roughrexx @grok what’s that?

Precious🦇

@preshyct

2 days ago

@Brookcalls So early🌚

Precious🦇

@preshyct

2 days ago

@_CherishSan It’s fictional And are you back?🥹😭

Precious🦇

@preshyct

2 days ago

I matched with a guy on a dating app. Three weeks in, I found something in his apartment that made me question if we’d actually met by accident. I’m 24 years old. This happened over the last two months and I still don’t know what to do with it. Back in June I matched with a guy on Hinge. Normal profile, hiking photos, a dog that wasn’t his (borrowed from a friend, he said, which checked out later). We matched, talked for a few days, then met at a coffee shop near my office. His name doesn’t matter here. I’ll call him Chris. Chris was easy to talk to. Almost too easy. We had the same taste in shows, same opinions on pineapple pizza, same weird habit of refilling water glasses before they’re empty. He mentioned my building’s coffee shop like he already knew it was my regular spot. I said something like: “Wait, how do you know I go there?” He laughed and said I’d mentioned it in my profile bio. I went back and checked later. I hadn’t. I let it go. People misremember things. We kept seeing each other. Every date felt like he already knew what I’d order, what movie I’d pick, what I’d complain about after work. I told my friend it felt like dating my own diary. Friend: That’s either really romantic or really weird. Me: I genuinely can’t tell which. Three weeks in, I stayed over at his place for the first time. Nice apartment, nothing unusual. I got up in the middle of the night for water and passed his home office. Door was cracked open. On the desk: a printed photo of me. Not a screenshot from the app. A photo from an angle I didn’t recognize, taken outside my own apartment building, dated two months before we matched. I didn’t sleep the rest of that night. In the morning I asked him, as casually as I could manage, how long he’d actually been using the app. Chris: A while. Why? Me: Just curious how we ended up matching. Chris: The app doesn’t really work like people think. It’s not random. Me: What does that mean? He didn’t answer that one. Changed the subject to breakfast like I hadn’t asked anything at all. I left an hour later. Told him I had plans. I didn’t. I haven’t gone back. He’s texted a few times, normal stuff, like nothing happened. I haven’t told him what I saw. I don’t know if I’m about to find out I dated someone genuinely dangerous, or if there’s some boring explanation I’m too spooked to consider. Either way, I’m not going back to that apartment to find out which.

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Precious🦇

@preshyct

2 days ago

@UziCryptoo Get out of my comment😹😭

Precious🦇

@preshyct

3 days ago

I pitched an idea in a meeting. My manager, Renata, shut it down on the spot. Renata: Not the direction we’re going. Let’s move on. I remember feeling stupid for even bringing it up. Nobody else in the room made eye contact with me. Three weeks later she presents it in the all-hands. Word for word. Same structure, same examples, even the same typo I never caught in my notes doc. Gets a standing ovation from the VP. Me, in the back of the room, silent, i didn’t say anything. What was I going to do, argue with a slide deck? For a while I told myself I imagined it. Maybe great minds think alike. Maybe I was being paranoid. Then I started noticing other things a Slack message of mine, paraphrased in her weekly update. A stat I’d pulled from a report, suddenly “her research.” Small enough each time that calling it out would’ve made me look unstable, not her look guilty. I started saving screenshots. Not to use them, just so I wasn’t losing my mind. Two months later I get pulled into a conference room. Not by Renata. By HR and someone I’ve never seen before. HR: This is Priya, from Legal. Priya: We need to ask you some questions about the Q3 retention proposal. Me: The one Renata presented? Priya: The one you originally wrote. We have the email thread. Me: I never, how do you have that? Priya: We don’t. Someone forwarded it to us. Anonymously. My stomach dropped. Not because I’d done anything wrong because someone had been watching this closely enough to have receipts I didn’t even know existed. Turns out someone had been quietly documenting the whole thing. Screenshots, timestamps, the original doc with my name in the metadata, going back further than I’d even started paying attention. Me: Who sent this? Priya: We don’t know. It came from an external account. No name. I never found out who it was. Renata got moved to a “special projects” role that doesn’t exist on the org chart the corporate version of being sent to sit in the hallway. I got the promotion that was supposed to be hers. For a while I just felt relief. Then, slowly, something closer to unease. Somebody had been paying attention to my career longer and closer than I had. Six months later, cleaning out an old shared drive nobody used anymore, I find a folder buried three levels deep: “for whoever needed it.” Inside: my original doc, timestamped and untouched. And three other employees’ ideas different names, different departments that had gone the exact same way, over the exact same years, under Renata. Someone had been building a case against her for a long time. Not for themselves. For whoever eventually needed it most. I still don’t know who did it. I’ve stopped trying to guess. I just know it wasn’t the first time. And every so often, when something quietly resolves itself in this building before it should a credit correctly given, a bad actor quietly reassigned I wonder if it’s happening again, to someone else, right now.